Carrhae

Chapter 18

The new day dawned bright and sunny and the army was in the saddle early, three companies of Surena’s horse archers having been left behind to guard the prisoners who would be transported west to the Balikh River after we had determined where Crassus and his army were. That was solved when we rode back on to the battlefield to discover it had gone, leaving behind hundreds of wounded men occupying the area where a day earlier the great square of legionaries had stood. Byrd and Malik had ridden out of camp before dawn and now they returned with news that the main force of Romans was strung out on the road to Carrhae.

‘We ride very close but they make no moves against us,’ reported Byrd.

‘How far away?’ I asked.

‘Three miles,’ answered Malik.

I waved forward Vagises.

‘Take your horse archers and kill as many as you can but do not get too close to Carrhae. There are no doubt horsemen among the garrison.’

He saluted and gestured to his waiting officers to attend him.

‘And Vagises,’ I said, ‘take care of yourself. No heroics.’

He smiled and then went to brief his commanders, and within minutes nearly three thousand horse archers were cantering north to harry the Roman retreat.

Most of the casualties we had suffered the day before had been among Surena’s men — six hundred killed and another three hundred wounded — and so four hundred of his men remained in camp to care for the injured, in addition to those who were guarding the prisoners. But he still retained just under four and half thousand men and now those horsemen deployed around the groups of standing, lying or sitting Roman wounded. What a pitiful sight they were: cut and bleeding men with broken bones, listless faces and torn tunics, waiting in dumb silence as we decided their fate.

‘What do you wish to do with them, lord?’ asked Surena, who had thankfully left his gruesome trophy in camp.

Gallia looked at me in expectation that I would give the order to kill them. We did not have enough medicines to treat their wounds and no wagons to transport them to the nearest town, which in any case was occupied by the Romans. In truth I was reluctant to order their murder because they were unarmed and helpless and I liked to think of myself as a soldier not a butcher. As I heard the laughter of Dobbai in my mind I saw one of Surena’s men dismount and offer a waterskin to a Roman whose left arm was in a sling. The Roman reached out to take the leather container when he saw a horse archer nearby pulling back the string on his bow to test the tension. Thinking an arrow was nocked in it the Roman drew his dagger and stabbed the Parthian in front of him, who collapsed to the ground clutching his stomach. Surena saw it too.

‘Kill them all!’ he screamed.

Gallia nodded approvingly as his men either shot down the Romans, hacked them to death with their swords or rode over those who lay prostrate on the ground. I ordered the cataphracts to accompany me north and turned my back on the scene of slaughter as my ears were assailed by the wails and screams of dying men.

As we travelled towards Carrhae we came across whole centuries of disarmed Romans, marching in step and in their ranks, being escorted south by half-companies of Duran horse archers. The Romans were surrendering in droves, though a few still had some fight left in them. Halfway to Carrhae Vagises returned to report that his men had trapped around two thousand Roman legionaries on a hillock nearby. Spartacus behind me let out a groan when he saw that the commander of my horse archers was holding a pole topped by a silver Roman eagle. He noted Spartacus staring longingly at it and held it out to the young prince.

‘You want it?’

‘Certainly not,’ he snapped. ‘It is worthless if another has taken it.’

Vagises shrugged. ‘I didn’t take it; I found in lying on the ground. Still, it’s a nice trophy. There’s another one on that small rise ahead, though you might have to fight them for it.’

I turned to look at Spartacus and saw his eyes were wide with excitement. ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘it looks as though you have the ear of the gods after all, Spartacus.’

He handed my standard to Zenobia mounted beside Gallia and drew his sword as I nudged Remus forward. I looked at the eagle being carried so casually by Vagises on my left side.

‘My men have taken two more of these,’ he said. ‘The Roman Army is on the verge of collapse.’

I could hardly contain my excitement. To have not only turned back the Roman invasion but also shattered their army was nothing short of a miracle, one that I had Dobbai to thank for. How else could this marvel be explained? The sounds of thousands of horses’ hooves snapped me out of my daydreams as Surena’s men flooded the road in font of us to gallop on towards Carrhae, skirting groups of Roman soldiers trudging in the opposite direction.

‘We killed them all, lord,’ he announced proudly as Vagises moved his horse aside to allow him to join me. He saw the eagle that Vagises held.

‘You should give that to young Spartacus so he can marry Rasha.’

‘I will take my own or none at all,’ insisted Spartacus.

‘There is one but a short distance away,’ I said to Surena, ‘guarded by nearly half a legion. That is where we are heading.’

‘Is Crassus there?’ inquired Surena.

‘No horsemen,’ replied Vagises, ‘most likely he is in Carrhae by now.’

‘If he gets back to Syria he will raise another army to invade Parthia next year,’ said Surena.

That much was true. Losing an army might be an inconvenience and a stain on his honour, but for a man of Crassus’ wealth it would be only a temporary setback. If he raised another army and mounted a second invasion of Parthia then he could still achieve ultimate victory as well as avenge the death of his son.

But for the moment our thoughts were occupied by the two thousand Roman legionaries who had taken possession of a small rise of ground about five miles south of the town. Why they had stopped rather than press on to the sanctuary of Carrhae no one knew. Perhaps many wounded among their ranks had slowed their march or, more probably, they had become lost in the dark and strayed from the road that led north. Whatever the reason they were now being surrounded by horse archers as Vagises’ men circled them like angry wolves.

The commander of my horse archers rode to where I sat with Gallia and Surena observing the Romans, who had formed a shield wall on all four sides of their ragged square and had also locked shields over their heads in anticipation of volleys of arrows.

Vagises halted his horse and raised his hand. ‘Pacorus, the commander of the camel train informed me earlier that he has few quivers left. We used a prodigious quantity of arrows yesterday that has nearly exhausted our supplies.’

‘How many do we have left?’ asked Surena.

‘Whatever your men and mine carry at this moment plus an additional two quivers,’ answered Vagises.

‘That few,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should demand the surrender of these Romans rather than waste more arrows. We still have to deal with those Romans who have reached Carrhae, after all.’

I heard a groan of frustration behind me and Gallia laid a hand on my arm.

‘I think you should fight these Romans, Pacorus.’

‘Why? What is so special about them?’

She glanced at Spartacus behind us.

‘Some have to fulfil their destinies, my husband, just as you have fulfilled yours.’

I looked at Spartacus, who because he wore the uniform of a Hatran cataphract had an open-faced helmet. I saw his eyes full of pleading.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Vagises, your men will soften them up first, but controlled shooting. Tell your commanders to be frugal with their arrows. We may need them in the days ahead.’

Gallia, her face largely hidden behind the closed cheekguards of her helmet, nodded at me.

‘Rasha will love you even more.’

‘Not if Spartacus gets himself killed she won’t.’

But Spartacus was not thinking about death or mortality, only glory and his beautiful young princess. After I had given the order for half the cataphracts — five companies — to deploy into battle formation he rode to join the front rank as the horse archers began to attack the Roman square. To break such a formation is not easy and even though Dura’s horsemen were among the best trained in the empire I worried that the cataphracts would come to grief when they made their charge. The customary tactic was for the horse archers to shoot against all four sides of the square, with the heaviest concentration of missiles being directed against one of those sides, which would be the predetermined target for the heavy horsemen. The attacks against the other three sides were diversions only.

His company commanders under strict orders not to waste arrows, riders charged at the Roman shields with empty bowstrings and then swung right to ride along the wall of shields to discover if the enemy had retained their javelins during their retreat. The lack of missiles thrown from the square seemed to suggest that they had not.

The five companies of cataphracts earmarked for the attack were arrayed in a line facing the south side of the square, but I passed the word that their actual assault should be against its eastern side. The Roman commander would have seen the heavy horsemen lining up and would have deduced that they were going to assault his men once the archers had finished their work. Most likely he would have stripped legionaries from the other sides of the square to reinforce the one that faced south, but Vagises’ horse archers were subjecting the eastern side to the heaviest volleys of arrows. His men were now riding parallel to the shield wall, loosing their arrows at a range of below thirty paces, the slim steel heads going through scutums with ease, though whether they were piercing flesh was impossible to tell.

I raised my hand to the commander of the half-dragon of heavy horsemen that was waiting patiently in three ranks, the butt spike of every kontus driven into the earth beside each rider and helmets pushed up on every head. It was already very warm and they were roasting in their heavy scale armour; to sit in the sun wearing a full-face helmet would only increase their discomfort.

But now the signal was given to move and so lances were plucked from the earth and helmets pulled down as five hundred men rode forward a few paces and then as one wheeled right into column formation, riding parallel to the south side of the square. The commander galloped to the head of the column as it turned again, this time left, to take it parallel to the eastern side of the square, all the time the horse archers continuing their shooting and doing their best to mask the movement of the cataphracts.

I drew my sword and turned to Gallia. ‘It is not right that my horsemen should risk their lives while their king sits idly on his horse.’

‘You and Remus wear no scale armour,’ said Gallia.

‘I will be in the third rank, have no fear.’

‘I am with you, lord,’ said Surena, who also pulled his sword from its scabbard.

‘You and the Amazons are our reserve,’ I said to Gallia, ‘Shamash keep you safe.’

I dug my knees into Remus and he shot forward as Surena followed, both of us galloping after the column of cataphracts that was now deploying into line to face the eastern side of the Roman square. Upon seeing the movement of the cataphracts and their redeployment, Vagises issued orders for his men in front of the heavy horsemen to withdraw as five hundred lances were lowered and the heavy horsemen broke into a trot and then a canter.

No horse will charge into a shield wall and so the cataphracts rode forward at a slow, controlled gallop, the front rank grasping the shaft of each kontus not in the middle but nearer to the butt spike, thereby extending it forward beyond the shoulders of their horses. In this way they could slow their mounts just before impact so the beasts would not panic and either swerve sideways or rear up on their hind legs. The second and third ranks rode forward at a slower pace so as not to collide into the front rank when the impact came — a loud scraping noise that heralded over a hundred kontus points being driven through scutums and into their owners’ bodies.

The riders in all three ranks of the heavy horsemen were widely spaced to allow the second rank to fill the gaps after the initial collision, the next wave of cataphracts moving forward into the openings to drive their lances into Roman shields and bodies. Horrible high-pitched screams pierced the air as men were literally skewered by lances that went through their bodies and into the earth behind, leaving legionaries pinioned to the ground.

Then the cataphracts drew their swords and hacked left and right at helmets, the dark metal splitting them with ease and the skulls underneath. Some Romans avoided the lances and swords and stabbed at horses with their short swords, the blows being deflected by steel scales and thick hide of scale armour. A few stabbed underneath the armour to slice open a horse’s belly, felling the animal and its rider, the pair collapsing onto other legionaries.

The fight was brief and bloody, the cataphracts cutting into the four threadbare ranks that made up this side of the Roman square, prompting some men to flee before the horsemen. Others rallied around the commanders of their centuries, instinctively seeking the security of their comrades, but in so doing they created gaps through which my horsemen flooded. They ignored the groups of Romans who adopted an all-round defence in their centuries and rode into the centre of the square where the senior commanders stood ready to defend the legion’s precious eagle.

One side of the square having been breached and fractured, Vagises sent in companies of horse archers to support the cataphracts, the bowmen shooting down fleeing Romans at short range. Some Romans, fatigued and demoralised, were now throwing down their weapons and attempting to surrender, a risky manoeuvre in the face of enemy horsemen who were not inclined to take prisoners while the battle was still waging. Some were lucky; others were not as more and more horsemen poured into the broken square.

With Surena beside me I accompanied the third rank as it entered the square killing any Roman who crossed its path. I swung my sword at the head of a Roman as he ran past me but failed to hit him. In front of me a lone rider in scale armour charged headlong at the group defending the legion’s eagle.

‘The idiot!’ shouted Surena as Spartacus directed his horse at the score or more men — senior officers and centurions — who guarded the legionary eagle, the sacred symbol of the Senate of Rome and honour of the legion.

I screamed at Remus to move and he bolted forward as I saw with horror Spartacus’ horse smash into the enemy soldiers and collapse to the ground, throwing its rider and rolling over those in its path. I pulled Remus up sharply and jumped from the saddle, sword in hand, as a centurion stood over Spartacus with his gladius drawn back, ready to plunge it into my nephew. I screamed at the top of my voice and ran at the Roman, plunging the point of my blade into his mail shirt. I tripped over Spartacus and tumbled to the ground as the dead centurion fell on top of me and then looked up, helplessly, to see an officer, a tribune in a muscled cuirass, pull the dead centurion off me so he could ram his sword through my chest. I stared, transfixed, as he stood over me, drew up his sword with both hands and then died as a kontus was driven through his body. He pitched forward with the point of the lance protruding from his chest as the cataphract releasing the shaft rode on past me, the point narrowly missing my throat as it stuck in the earth a few inches from my face. Once again a dead Roman had pinned me to the ground.

Surena hauled the body off me and helped me to my feet as Spartacus, oblivious to anything else, ran at the hulking figure draped in a lion skin holding the eagle. The Romans called them Aquilifers, these veterans who were the most senior standard bearers in every legion, and they were selected because they were seasoned soldiers who knew how to take care of the legion’s most precious object.

The Aquilifer rammed the butt spike of the shaft that held the eagle into the ground and drew his gladius as Spartacus swung his sword at the man’s head. The Roman ducked and thrust his own sword into the left arm of Spartacus, which was fortunately protected by tubular steel armour, causing the point to glance off it. My nephew attacked the Roman with a series of lightening-fast sword strikes, his blade moving so rapidly that it appeared that he was holding a weapon of the immortals as it flashed in the sunlight. But the Aquilifer parried every stroke and then smashed his small circular shield into Spartacus, knocking him to the ground.

The Roman raced to stand over him but Spartacus already had his dagger in his left hand and brought it down hard to go through the man’s foot. The Aquilifer screamed in pain and hobbled backwards as Spartacus then swung his sword and cut deep into the side of the Roman’s right calf. He screamed again and this time collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his foot and lower leg. I ran to Spartacus and lifted him to his feet as Surena fought another Roman officer who had rushed to aid the Aquilifer. The latter had managed to haul himself to his feet but was knocked to the ground again as Spartacus swung his sword at the side of his helmet, severing the cheekguard and knocking the Roman senseless. He collapsed again as Spartacus jumped on him and launched a frenzied attack on him with his dagger, stabbing at his face and neck again and again, showering his face, hands and armour with the Aquilifer’s blood.

I hauled Spartacus up once more as Surena killed his opponent with a downward strike of his sword splitting helmet and skull. Cataphracts were now forming around us as more and more horse archers darted around, killing Romans who had thrown down their weapons and raised their hands in a sign of submission.

Spartacus was oblivious to the scenes of carnage around him as he stepped forward and touched the silver eagle with up-raised wings surrounded by a laurel wreath. He grasped the shaft and yanked it from the ground, holding it aloft for all to see while Surena and I flanked him to ensure that the enemy did not ruin his moment of triumph.

Cataphracts swirled around us and cut down Romans with their swords and maces, supported by the bows of Vagises’ men who were now shooting at point-blank range. Romans who had surrendered had been slaughtered, those who had attempted to run had been cut down and now the last vestiges of what had been half a legion were being methodically destroyed. I slapped Spartacus on the shoulder and left him in the capable hands of Surena as Gallia and the Amazons rode to where I was standing, my wife leading Remus by the reins.

‘You should take more care of your horse,’ she chided me.

I hauled myself into his saddle and pointed at Spartacus.

‘I had my hands full keeping him alive.’

‘So he will marry Rasha. All is well.’

I looked around at the hundreds of dead Roman bodies. ‘Yes, all is well.’

The battle was now over, the ground littered with discarded scutums, swords, helmets and legionary standards, in addition to the hundreds of dead bodies with arrows or lances stuck in them. A few Romans, their heads horribly gashed by sword or mace strikes, were still clinging on to life as their lifeblood poured from their wounds, others sat upright on the ground staring in disbelief at their bellies that had been sliced open by Parthian blades. A few poor wretches were endeavouring to push their guts back inside them, not realising that the hand of death was already upon them.

After the frenzy of bloodlust had receded horse archers and cataphracts looked on with pity at their defeated foes, though there remained a small group of Romans still fighting. The calls of horns alerted me to their presence a short distance away from where Spartacus had taken the eagle. There were a score of them, most wounded, some helmetless and all grouped around a figure with a badly gashed head who was holding a century standard, made up of a number of silver disks called philarae, mounted above which was a metal plate bearing the century’s title and from which hung two red leather strips. The standard was topped by an image of a human hand in silver. I had seen many of these emblems in Italy and Spartacus had amassed a great collection of them following his many victories.

The Romans stood in silent defiance, swords in hands as Vagises surrounded them with four companies of horse archers, who calmly strung arrows in their bowstrings and waited for the order to shoot.

‘Wait!’ I shouted, then nudged Remus forward to join Vagises.

‘This won’t take long,’ he said.

‘Don’t waste your arrows, order your men to stand down.’

He looked at me in confusion. ‘Why?’

‘Young Spartacus has his eagle,’ I replied. ‘We could have accepted the surrender of the Romans but Gallia persuaded me to fight them so a boy could marry an Agraci princess. A lot of men have died to facilitate that union. I see no reason to add to the butcher’s bill.’

He called forward one of his officers and relayed my order. Fresh horn calls led to the ring of horse archers placing their arrows back in their quivers and then wheeling about, leaving twenty Romans relieved and confused in equal measure.

‘You are getting soft in your old age, Pacorus,’ Vagises ribbed me. ‘They would not show the same mercy if the positions were reversed.’

‘That is why we are better than them, my friend.’

I nudged Remus forward and halted him around twenty paces from the Romans, who raised their swords at my approach.

‘Soldiers of Rome, you have done all that valour and honour requires and are now free to go back to Syria. When you reach Roman territory once more you can tell all those who will listen that only defeat and death awaits those who invade Parthia. Tell Rome that I, Pacorus of Dura, will crush every army that it sends against the Parthian Empire, just as I have destroyed your army.’

I wheeled Remus about and rode him north as my wife and the Amazons fell in behind me and then company after company of horse archers and cataphracts formed column to follow me. Spartacus rode behind myself, Vagises and Gallia, grinning like a simple-minded fool to all and sundry as he held the trophy in his hand. But the decision to fight for the legionary eagle had been bought at a high price when Byrd and Malik returned to us with news that Crassus had reached the safety of Carrhae’s walls.

Surena had chased him all the way to the town gates but a volley of arrows from the walls had forced his withdrawal. He had approached the gates under a flag of truce and requested a meeting with Crassus concerning the agreement of a peace treaty between Rome and Parthia, which was highly presumptuous on the King of Gordyene’s part but did at least confirm that the Roman commander was in the town. An officer replied that Crassus would reply to Surena’s demand the next day.

We made camp three miles south of the town, near the rippling waters of the Balikh River. At last we could immerse ourselves in its cool waters and wash the filth and blood from our bodies. We unsaddled our horses and brought them cool water to drink and then sat down to work out our next course of action. The prisoners were also allowed to drink from the river and wash their wounds, and their fate was our immediate concern.

‘How many do we have?’ I asked as we sat on stools in a circle round a fire as darkness enveloped the earth, the dim glow of torches on the walls of Carrhae visible in the distance.

‘Just under seven thousand,’ answered Vagises. ‘If we take any more they will outnumber us.’

‘The sensible thing would be to kill them,’ said Surena without emotion.

‘I am not in favour of killing prisoners,’ I said, ‘especially as we now have the means to feed them.’

Before night had fallen Vagises had diverted five hundred of his men across the river to take possession of the Roman camp a short distance away, from where Crassus had marched to engage us. They found it stuffed full of supplies and mules, which would all be conveyed back to Dura. A company was left to guard it while the rest brought back a horde of biscuits, wine, bread, cured pork and grain in wagons.

‘Once they have been taken back to Dura,’ I continued, ‘Orodes can decide their fate. Vagises, how many of the enemy do you think lie dead on this plain?’

He shrugged. ‘Difficult to say, but a guess would put the figure at around twenty thousand, give or take.’

‘That still leaves over twenty thousand Roman soldiers in Carrhae, lord,’ said Surena, ‘plus their commander.’

‘We must prevent him from getting back to Syria and raising another army,’ added Vagises.

‘We have no engines to lay siege to Carrhae,’ said Surena.

That was true but Carrhae was a small town and although it had walls it would not have the provisions to sustain twenty thousand soldiers in addition to its garrison and the population.

‘Crassus will have to either escape from the town or enter into a peace treaty,’ I told them all. ‘There is no other army in Syria to come to his aid and his Armenian allies have been defeated and are being pursued by Orodes. Tomorrow we surround Carrhae and wait for Crassus to come to us.’

Later, after the others had retired to their tents, I could not sleep and sat with Gallia, tossing logs onto the fire. We wrapped our cloaks around us for there was a cool wind blowing from the foothills of the Taurus Mountains to the north of Carrhae. It had been a remarkable two days that had seen Parthia defeat a numerically superior Roman army and take possession of no less than seven legionary eagles. As far as I knew this feat was unique in the annals of warfare. All that remained was to agree a peace treaty with Crassus.

‘Can you make a treaty without Orodes?’ she inquired.

‘Orodes is not here and the time to treat with Crassus is now, when his army lies in tatters and Syria is open to invasion.’

‘You think Crassus will agree to a treaty?’

I smiled at her. ‘He has no choice. He cannot leave Carrhae without my permission and the price of his freedom is a binding treaty.’

She giggled. ‘Crassus the slave, at the mercy of Pacorus, his master. I like that. And what are the terms of your treaty?’

‘Quite simple. The Euphrates shall define the boundary between the empires of Rome and Parthia in perpetuity, and Armenia will no longer be a client state of Rome but will be independent, free to make its own destiny.’

She sighed. ‘Even after all these years you still know so little of the Romans.’

‘I do not understand.’

She tilted her head and looked at me lovingly. ‘To you preservation is everything — preserving Hatra, preserving the empire and the ways of your father and grandfather.’

‘What is wrong with that?’

‘Nothing, absolutely nothing, but to the Romans it is anathema. Rome desires to rule the whole world and subjugate all the peoples who live in it to its rule, and it will not rest until it has done so. Twenty years ago we escaped Italy and came to Parthia, and now we sit round a fire after having fought another Roman army, just as we did when we were with Spartacus all those years ago.’

‘Are you suggesting I should march against Rome?’ I asked half-seriously.

She sighed. ‘I am saying that it a waste of time talking to Crassus. He will say anything to secure his escape, and once he is back in Syria will raise a new army to satisfy his thirst for conquest.’

I leaned across and put my arm around her. ‘I think you will find that he will be more than willing to talk to me tomorrow, my sweet.’

But Gallia was right and Crassus stole a march on me, leaving Carrhae as I sat on a stool talking to my wife by a fire.

It was two hours after dawn the following day when I learned from Malik that Crassus had left the town, along with what remained of his army. Byrd and their men had been scouting the area north and west of Carrhae when they witnessed three columns of legionaries leave the town and head towards the foothills of the mountains. My heart sank as I realised that Crassus was on the verge of making good his escape.

I hurriedly saddled Remus and collected together five hundred horse archers, the Amazons and a further thousand of Surena’s men and rode with him and them north. We skirted Carrhae and headed north towards the foothills of the mountains. We left Vagises behind with orders to allocate guards to watch the prisoners, distribute the camel train’s remaining spare arrows among the horse archers and then bring them and the cataphracts north to scour the area.

I cursed my luck as Remus galloped among the scrub and I searched for Crassus. In front of us were the hills of Sinnaca, an area of thick woods, steep slopes and rocky paths, country that was ideal for travel on foot and for eluding horsemen. If Crassus had managed to reach the hills the game was up and he would be back in Syria in two days. A mile north of Carrhae we encountered Byrd and a dozen of his scouts, one of whom was riding a donkey.

‘This is Abgarus, a cousin of Andromachus,’ reported Byrd. ‘He inform me of whereabouts of Crassus.’

I closed my eyes and thanked Shamash for this miracle. The man on a donkey was an unprepossessing sight, with straggly long hair and a lazy left eye. Nevertheless, if accurate his information was invaluable.

The man smiled as Vagises arrived at the head of two companies of horsemen to swell our force.

‘You saw Crassus?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, lord.’

I gripped my reins tightly in frustration. ‘Then how do you know where he is?’

He smiled submissively again. ‘I saw three groups leave Carrhae last night, lord, but only one contained lictors.’

Surena was confused. ‘Lictors?’

‘Special Roman administrators in plain white togas,’ I told him. ‘On their left shoulders they carry bundles of vine rods bound together by red bands from which an axe head protrudes. These rods are emblems of Roman unity and power but, more importantly, they escort Rome’s consuls and governors on their journeys, the bearers acting as bodyguards.’

‘These lictors half a mile away,’ said Byrd, ‘in a marsh.’

I smiled at Abgarus. ‘My thanks to you. How can I reward you?’

‘I have lived in Carrhae all my life, lord, and made a good living until the Romans came and brought with them their taxes. Now I live in penury.’

From his appearance I knew he was telling the truth.

‘Their expulsion from Carrhae will be reward enough.’

Byrd thanked him and tossed him a bulging leather pouch. Abgarus’ eyes lit up when he looked at the contents and began whistling as he tapped the donkey on the flank and rode back down the road to Carrhae. I had a feeling that he was poor no longer.

Byrd led the way as we left the road and headed in a southeasterly direction, riding over slightly undulating ground towards the hills of Sinnaca. The scrub was getting thicker now with small groups of oak and almond trees dotting the landscape. Byrd slowed his horse as a great expanse of marshland loomed into view, a lush green area of reeds, grasses and low-growing shrubs. The Romans were in the process of extricating themselves from this wetland, to head for the steep slopes of the hills that rose up on our left.

‘Why would they enter such terrain?’ asked Gallia.

‘Get lost in dark,’ replied Byrd, ‘no moon last night.’

Our attention was diverted from the Romans in front of us by the sound of trumpets and I saw a second Roman force appear from those hills and began descending the slope. I estimated their strength to be four cohorts as they marched slowly down the hill to place themselves between Crassus and us.

Surena drew his sword and pointed it forward to signal the advance to his officers behind. We had perhaps two thousand horse archers to throw against two thousand Romans rapidly descending the hill to face us, plus perhaps another three thousand under Crassus. The ground was covered in bushes and we were on the edge of a marsh, which meant we would not be able to outflank the enemy, with the wetlands on one wing and the hills on the other. We would have to charge straight at the Romans, who even though were tired, hungry and deficient in weaponry would still be able to lock shields and halt our advance. We might be able to stand off and shoot down their front ranks but Crassus could still escape into the hills.

‘Surena,’ I said, ‘we cannot destroy them.’

He held up his hand to stay his officers and then turned in the saddle to look at me.

‘We have them, lord. One more charge and we will rid the world of Crassus.’

I smiled though I could have wept. ‘We cannot outflank them and our horse archers are already low on ammunition. After they have used up all their arrows they will not be able to cut their way through ten ranks or more of legionaries.’

‘My other horse archers and your cataphracts will be here soon,’ he insisted, ‘we can hold the enemy’s attention until they arrive.’

I admired his tenacity but the thickening ranks of Romans in front told me our efforts would be futile. Whoever commanded the group of legionaries that had been on the hillside had not only saved Crassus but also his campaign. Now he would escape into the hills, return to Syria and raise another army. I suddenly felt tired and old as the fruits of our great victory withered before my eyes.

‘What now?’ asked Vagises as Surena slammed his sword back in its scabbard in frustration.

‘We watch the Romans withdraw up the hillside,’ I said.

The enemy force that had descended the slope to face us was now fully deployed and presented a shield wall to deter our arrows, with the ranks behind holding their shields above their heads to defeat our missiles. Remus scraped at the ground as more and more of Surena’s horse archers swelled our ranks. It made no difference: we could have fifty thousand men and would still not be able to break the enemy before Crassus escaped. Then I saw a handful of white-robed individuals scrambling up the steep grassy slope and knew they were the lictors, which told me that the governor was with them, though I could not identify him.

I pointed at the small white figures ascending the hill. ‘You see those men wearing white, they are the lictors and Crassus is with them.’

‘How far are they away?’ asked Gallia.

‘Seven hundred paces, perhaps more,’ said Vagises.

She pulled her bow from its case and nocked an arrow in the bowstring. ‘Amazons! Aim shots at those whites figures on the hillside.’

‘You are wasting your arrows,’ I told her as she released her arrow at a high angle, the missile arching into the sky and disappearing from view. Seconds later dozens of arrows were flying towards the Romans scrambling up the hill as the Amazons vented their frustration.

‘Excellent idea,’ said Surena, who likewise began taking shots at the soldiers ascending the hill. Soon the front ranks of his companies arrayed in a line behind us were also loosing arrows, which as far as I could tell were having a negligible effect. I nudged Remus forward and then wheeled him about before raising both my arms.

‘Stop shooting!’

Surena gave the order to desist shooting as one by one the Amazons lowered their bows and finally Gallia also halted her efforts. I returned to her side and looked at her half-empty quiver.

‘You might need the rest of them.’

‘At least Crassus would have had to duck his head,’ she sniffed.

Those Romans who had been wading through the marsh had now all ascended the hill, after which those with locked shields in front of us began to inch to their right to follow them, all the time retaining their testudo formation. We sat on our horses and watched them go. There was no point in wasting any more arrows. We might kill a few and injure more but our prize had alluded us and with it the chance of outright victory.

It took at least half an hour for the huge testudo to traverse the slope and join the Romans who had been under Crassus’ command. While they did so I discussed our next move with Surena.

‘We should demand the surrender of Carrhae,’ I said, ‘and after that the other towns occupied by the Romans in this region — Nicephorium, Ichnae and Zenodotium. When the Romans return next year they will find that their defences and garrisons will have been greatly strengthened.’

‘And Syria?’

I looked at him. ‘What of Syria?’

‘We are close to the border, lord, and could raid the Roman province with ease.’

I thought of the strong and high walls of Antioch. ‘We will not be able to storm Antioch or any other town or city. That being the case, the most we could achieve would be to ravage the countryside.’

‘At least that would give the Romans a taste of what they have inflicted on others,’ said Gallia.

I doubted whether we would kill any Romans using such tactics. More likely the only people that would be affected would be poor Syrians trying to make a living.

‘I will consider it,’ I replied.

‘Why aren’t they moving?’ asked Vagises, looking up at the enemy on the hillside.

I looked at the Romans who had formed into a long line of centuries arrayed several ranks deep facing our left flank in the plain below. But Vagises was right: they were standing immobile on the hillside around six hundred paces from us.

‘Perhaps they intend to attack,’ suggested Surena.

In the next few minutes we hurriedly redeployed and swung our line through ninety degrees to face the Roman line, our horse archers manoeuvring their companies into line order to match the extent of the enemy’s frontage. There certainly seemed to be a high level of activity among the Roman ranks, with officers and centurions running around between the centuries and then towards the rear where the white-attired lictors stood out against the green background.

‘I’ll warrant you wished you hadn’t wasted those arrows now,’ I grinned at Gallia, who scowled back at me.

We stood ready to face the Roman onslaught but as the minutes passed the more I realised that such a manoeuvre would at best be ill advised and at worst suicidal. To launch an attack down a steep hill would result in units becoming disorganised and they would have to redress their lines at the bottom, prior to a charge. And even if they launched a charge we would simply withdraw before them. And what then? They would not wish to get back into Carrhae having crept out from there under cover of darkness; rather, they would have to retreat back up the hill. It made no sense.

‘They are not going to attack,’ I said, ‘pass the word to stand at ease.’

‘What are they doing, then?’ asked Gallia.

I patted Remus on the neck. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

‘I will ride up there and demand their surrender,’ announced Surena with a wide grin across his face.

We all laughed at his proposition, but as sun beat down on us and the Romans continued to stand on the hillside his plan sparked an idea in my mind. I turned to the King of Gordyene.

‘Surena, perhaps we might yet secure an advantage from this curious situation. I would ask you to go to the Romans under a flag of truce and request a meeting with Crassus regarding a peace treaty.’

Gallia, who had taken off her helmet, rolled her eyes. ‘Why don’t you send a squire instead, Pacorus, someone far more appropriate for dealing with the Romans than a king?’

‘I don’t mind, lady,’ said Surena, ‘anything rather than sitting here being bored to distraction. What terms do you demand, lord?’

‘The immediate evacuation of all Parthian territories and a cessation of hostilities between Rome and Parthia for five years.’

Gallia burst out laughing. ‘And ask Crassus to come down and clean Pacorus’ armour at the same time, for you have more chance of achieving that than the aforementioned demands.’

I frowned at her to indicate my displeasure but she waved away my annoyance. Vagises grinned at Surena as he pulled his bow from its case and unfastened the bowstring, before riding forward holding the disabled weapon aloft so the Romans could see that he came in peace. He rode up the grassy slope with some difficulty, his horse losing its footing a couple of times. A group of men left the enemy ranks and came down the slope to meet him, centurions judging by the transverse crests on their helmets. I saw Surena pointing back to where we were sitting and then gesturing with his arms, then one of the Romans left them and went back up the slope to pass through the long line of centuries and stop at a group that included the lictors.

Gallia was clearly bored by it all. ‘We should ride back to camp and then return to Hatra. Hopefully Orodes has had better luck than us.’

‘We have still mauled the enemy and prevented them from invading the empire,’ I reminded her, ‘you are too harsh in your judgement.’

‘You have won a victory but not the war,’ was her unrelenting comment.

I gave the order for the horse archers behind us to dismount as midday approached and the sun roasted our backs, swarms of small flies from the marsh adding to our general discomfort as they plagued both horses and men. Eventually Surena returned with news that Crassus would consider my offer and give his answer presently.

‘He and his men will be gone within the hour,’ said an increasingly irritable Gallia.

I was apt to agree with her but then there appeared to be a great commotion on the hillside as we saw figures running around again and apparently arguing with legionaries in their ranks. I had no idea what was happening and neither did anyone else, but then a small group began to slowly descend the slope and head towards us. There were eight of them, seven attired in bronze muscled cuirasses, red-crested helmets, white pteruges around their thighs and shoulders and red cloaks pinned on their right shoulders. They formed a guard around a bald-headed man of medium height wearing a white tunic with purple stripes and a purple cloak — Marcus Licinius Crassus.

I rode forward with seven companions to match the number of Romans: Gallia, now with her helmet back on her head, Zenobia who carried my banner, Surena, Vagises, Malik, Byrd and Surena’s second-in-command, a sour-faced man with a long scar on the side of his neck called Exathres. As we approached the Romans I saw that every one of their officers had their swords sheathed, a good omen.

We walked our horses forward in a line as the Romans adopted a similar formation, Crassus directly opposite me. At a distance of twenty paces from each other the two groups halted as if by mutual consent and stared at each other. Epona flicked her tail, Remus chomped on his bit while Surena swatted away a fly that was pestering him.

I raised my right hand. ‘Greetings Marcus Licinius Crassus, Governor of Syria and consul of Rome.’

Crassus showed me a faint smile, though he looked very tired and slightly nervous. He raised his right hand in return.

‘Greetings King Pacorus, son of Varaz of Hatra, Lord High General of the Parthian Empire.’

‘It is with regret that we meet under such circumstances,’ I said, ‘but I hope that we may yet depart as friends.’

‘Friends do not make war on each other,’ retorted Crassus.

‘Or invade each other’s territories,’ snapped Gallia.

The high-ranking Roman officers looked angrily at the helmeted figure wearing a mail shirt beside me but Crassus nodded knowingly.

‘I do not think that we have been introduced,’ he said to Gallia. ‘You know my identity and I suspect I know yours, but perhaps we may be formally acquainted.’

Gallia snorted in contempt but fortunately her cheekguards masked her disdain, but then she slowly removed her helmet to reveal her face.

‘I am Gallia, Queen of Dura,’ she announced, fixing Crassus with steely blue eyes.

Crassus pointed up at me. ‘Twenty years ago your husband came to my house in Rome and during our conversations he talked of your beauty, and even though it was two decades ago I can see why he was so eager to talk of your splendour.’

Gallia was unmoved by his flattery. ‘Ten years ago your dog, Lucius Furius, came to my city and tried to take it. Just like you his army was defeated and he himself was killed.’

The other Romans with Crassus bristled at her words but Crassus raised his hand to quieten them. I frowned at Gallia but she was unapologetic and continued to taunt Crassus.

‘Have you come to beg for your life, governor?’

Crassus did not rise to the bait but I could see that his officers were livid at the effrontery being shown to their commander.

‘I have come here because your husband requested a parley. But perhaps you would rather shoot me down with your bow, warrior queen of Dura?’

Gallia reached behind and pulled her bow from its case, prompting the Roman officers to draw their swords and close around Crassus.

‘You think I would not, Roman?’ hissed Gallia.

Crassus gently pushed his officers away and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘Your reputation as a slayer is know throughout the whole world, lady.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘If you wish to kill me then here I am. A famed archer such as yourself will have no difficulty hitting me from such a close range.’

‘There will be no violence!’ I said firmly. ‘We are not here to fight but to determine once and for all the border between the empires of Parthia and Rome.’

Gallia sneered at Crassus and replaced her bow in its case. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Zenobia pass my standard to Byrd who sat next to her but thought nothing of it.

‘Do you hold the authority to determine such a thing?’ asked Crassus mischievously.

‘I am lord high general of the Parthian Empire,’ I replied, ‘entrusted by King of Kings Orodes to negotiate with the enemies of the empire.’

Crassus looked around. ‘And where is King Orodes?’

‘Chasing what remains of the Armenian Army back north,’ remarked Surena, his subordinate stifling a laugh.

‘And you are?’ snapped Crassus, cracks appearing in his composure.

‘Surena, King of Gordyene,’ announced Exathres, ‘the scourge of Armenia.’

Crassus’ eyes narrowed as he studied Surena.

‘Artavasdes is not his father,’ I said, ‘his brother was defeated and killed before the walls of Hatra and now High King Orodes campaigns in Armenian territory. Your ally has been emasculated, governor.’

Whether he had heard of the crushing Armenian defeat I did not know, but even if he had not and did not believe me he knew that his own army had been destroyed and also that Artavasdes was unable to offer him any immediate aid.

‘Your slave state has been crushed,’ gloated Gallia.

‘And now you seek to make me a slave, is that it?’ said Crassus with irritation. ‘Is that why you insist I stand on my feet while you all sit on horses?’

He was right: it was an insult for us to be in our saddles and speak down to him. He was, notwithstanding his defeat, still the governor of Syria.

‘Vagises,’ I said, ‘please let the governor sit on your horse.’

An unhappy Vagises slowly dismounted and then led his horse towards Crassus. His path was blocked by one of the governor’s subordinates, who pushed him aside roughly and tried to grab his horse’s reins. Vagises, his right hand tangled in the leather straps, pushed the man away with his other arm as his horse began to panic and back away. But the Roman, like the other officers, was still holding his sword and without thinking lunged forward and drove the blade through Vagises’ back. Or perhaps he was thinking and had had enough of being taunted by enemies on horseback, one of whom was a woman.

I cried out in anguish as blood came from Vagises’ mouth, he fell to his knees and then pitched forward to lie face-down on the ground. I heard a hiss by my right ear and saw Gallia’s arrow go through the bronze cuirass of Vagises’ killer and then saw Zenobia kill another Roman. Crassus turned-tail and began running back up the slope as Malik’s horse bolted forward and he sliced open a Roman helmet with his sword. Zenobia dropped another Roman with an arrow in his thigh, the man yelping in pain before he was silenced forever by Surena’s sword. Byrd’s horse reared up on its hind legs and threw him to the ground with a loud crack.

Zenobia put an arrow in another Roman as a second ran at me and tried to ram the point of his gladius under my cuirass and into my belly, but I drew my spatha and whipped it down hard onto his forearm, the blow shattering the bone and reducing the limb to a useless bloody pulp. He uttered a high-pitched scream and then rolled around on the ground in pain before Malik jumped down from his horse and silenced him. The last Roman officer was killed by Surena and Exathres, who manoeuvred their horses either side of him and then rained down blows on his head and shoulders, inflicting terrible wounds on his neck and face, notwithstanding that he was wearing a helmet. They laughed as they toyed with him, alternating sword blows to stab and slash him. His gladius was knocked from his hand when a downward strike by Exathres sliced open his knuckles, then Surena used all his strength to deliver a sideways sword strike against the side of the Roman’s helmet, which knocked him to the ground. Half unconscious, he tried to crawl away but Exathres jumped from his saddle, kicked the man hard in his side and then stamped on his back. The Roman made no movement as Exathres stood over him, grasped his sword with both hands and held the point against the rear of his neck, before thrusting the blade down.

I heard another twang and saw the figure of Crassus stagger a few feet as Gallia’s arrow hit him in the back. He had managed to run around a hundred paces before he was hit but he got no further. On the hillside above the Roman soldiers stood impassively in their ranks and made no attempt to save their general. How low their morale must have been.

‘Go, bring me the head and right hand.’

I turned to see Exathres regain his saddle and then gallop forward to where Crassus was crawling forward on the ground. Surena’s lieutenant jumped from his saddle, pulled out his dagger and slit Crassus’ throat, then proceeded to hack off his head with his sword, and all the while the legionaries above stood as witnesses to the violation of their commander’s body. I had no stomach for this. I turned and waved a group of Dura’s horse archers forward.

‘Retrieve the body of Lord Vagises,’ I ordered their commander.

I rode past a smirking Gallia. ‘Satisfied?’

‘Immeasurably,’ she purred.

Malik was helping Byrd back into his saddle. ‘Ankle broken,’ winced Byrd.

‘Get him back to camp,’ I instructed Malik. ‘Everyone, fall back,’ I ordered.

I left Surena and rode with the others back to our waiting soldiers and then withdrew through the ranks of the horse archers of Gordyene. I turned to see their king actually riding forward up the slope to be nearer the Romans but for what reason I knew not. I found out later when he and his horsemen returned to camp with two thousand Roman prisoners. Now we had around ten thousand captives to take back to Dura, from where they would be sent to Seleucia.

‘Orodes can deal with them,’ I said to Gallia as we stood watching flames consume the body of Vagises. ‘He can have the Roman eagles and all the other standards we have taken. I have fulfilled my duty and now I am going home.’

I felt her hand in mine. ‘We are going home.’

I glanced at Surena on the other side of me. ‘Was there any need for that?’

‘What, lord?’

‘Cutting off Crassus’ head,’ I answered.

‘I will send it to Orodes so he can show it to the Armenians. His right hand too.’

‘His hand?’

He smiled triumphantly. ‘I had his right hand cut off as well, the common punishment for thieves.’

The next day we began the march back to Dura. I sent couriers to Hatra with the news that Crassus was dead and his army defeated and that troops should be sent west to secure those towns in the west of the kingdom that I knew would now be abandoned by their Roman garrisons. Surena despatched Exathres north with a company of horsemen to take his grisly gifts to Orodes so I gave him a note for the high king informing him of our victory and hoping that he had met with similar success. Surena was eager for more battle and declared his intention of joining Orodes prior to returning to Gordyene. So I gave him all the captured eagles, except the one that never left the side of Spartacus, the booty from the Roman camp and all the enemy prisoners and bade him farewell at the Khabur River, before the King of Gordyene journeyed on east. We went south to join the Euphrates to follow the river back to Dura.

We retained one of the captured Roman wagons to transport Byrd back to the city as his leg wound was worse than we first thought and it was impossible for him to ride in the saddle. I continued to let Zenobia carry my banner now that Vagharsh was dead, which led to great excitement among the Amazons. Gallia was in high spirits at the prospect of seeing our daughters again. We rode along the northern bank of the Euphrates past well-tended fields, peaceful and prosperous villages before crossing over the stone bridge north of Dura.

Fishermen manoeuvred boats on the river and cast their nets in the water. Near the bank naked children splashed in its cool waters and waved to the cataphracts in their white tunics and floppy hats as they passed. War and death seemed a million miles away as the aroma of camels wafted into our nostrils when we rode by the park that accommodated the animals of the trade caravans. The road leading to the pontoon bridges over the Euphrates and west to Palmyra was filled with traffic as the commercial life of the city continued undimmed and untroubled by Romans or Armenians.

The imposing sight of Dura’s strong yellow walls and the squat edifice of the Citadel always filled me with reassurance and pride. My spirits began to rise as the cataphracts, their squires, Byrd’s scouts and the horse archers peeled away to pitch their tents in the legionary camp west of the Palmyrene Gate. I rode with Gallia, Spartacus still clutching his eagle, Byrd in the wagon, Malik and the Amazons through the city to the Citadel. I bowed my head to the stone griffin above the gates as a guard of honour from the replacement cohort hastily formed up by the gatehouse. Our progress from the Palmyrene Gate to the Citadel was slow as word spread that the king and queen had returned to the city and the main street began to fill with cheering crowds. Spartacus held his eagle proudly aloft, the queen touched outstretched hands and young women begged Malik for kisses. And on a barren hillside north of Carrhae, crows picked at the headless body of Marcus Licinius Crassus.