Parthian Dawn

Chapter 14

I slowly came out of unconsciousness to discover that I had been propped up against a wall of one of the village huts with my wrists tied behind my back. At length I regained the focus in my eyes, the side of my head throbbing with pain from where I had been struck. I leaned back against the wall, my wrists burning from the cords that had been wrapped tightly around them. I had been stripped of my cuirass, belt, sword and boots. My mouth and throat were parched, though mercifully I was out of the sunlight. I squinted in its intensity, and then saw with horror the bodies of dead men arranged in a neat row a few feet in front of me. I recognised them as the corpses of my escort, each of which had been stripped of their weapons and armour but not their white tunics. Like me they had also lost their boots. I closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that they had had quick deaths and that He would be merciful to their souls. Then someone spat on me, causing me to open my eyes.

‘Wake up, majesty.’

I looked up to see Kaspar standing before me. He had shed his own ragged attire and replaced it with the items he had stolen from me. I recognised my boots, cuirass, helmet, belt, my spatha in its scabbard and my dagger fastened to the right-hand side of his belt.

‘How do I look?’ He raised his arms to invite me to admire him.

‘Like a thief,’ I answered, which earned me a vicious kick in my stomach.

‘You should be more polite to me, as you are no longer a king.’

He drew my sword and admired the handle and blade. ‘Maybe I should kill you now and save my king the trouble.’

‘Why not?’ I said. ‘Then you can be a murderer as well as a thief.

He replaced my sword in its scabbard and kicked me again, causing me to bend forward in pain. For good measure he also slapped my face hard with the back of his hand. He then stepped back and stood before me with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked ridiculous with his ill-fitting helmet and cuirass that was too large for his scrawny torso. Nevertheless, he wore the look of a man who had suddenly won a great fortune in a game of chance. Behind him his men were squabbling over the weapons and clothes of my dead escort, whose corpses were now swarming with flies attracted by the freshly spilt blood. One or two were coming to blows and Kaspar turned and watched the fracas with amusement. Eventually, after a few split lips and black eyes, his men settled down to drinking from their waterskins. Soon most of them were sitting on the ground or leaning against walls, laughing loudly and boasting, and I assumed that the liquid they were drinking was wine not water. Kaspar went among his men and helped himself to their drink, then returned to face me once more.

‘Wine?’ He spat the contents of his mouth onto me then grinned as his men fell about laughing.

I must have been tied there for at least two hours, during which time several of Kaspar’s men stumbled over and directed kicks and punches against my body and face. They split my left cheek and my lip, and soon my face throbbed with pain and blood was running down my neck. As most of them were by now very drunk many of the blows missed their target or were administered half-heartedly, but enough connected to send spasms of pain shooting through my body. Kaspar thought the whole exercise hilarious and he roared his approval and encouragement to his men. My right eyebrow was now cut and blood began tricking into my eye. My breathing was heavy and I was thirsty, so very thirsty. One of Kaspar’s men stood before me and emptied the contents of his bladder over my bowed head, then spat on me before he walked away. Then another sauntered up and grabbed my urine-soaked hair, yanking it back so force me to look up at him. With his other hand he pulled a dagger from his belt.

‘Let’s lop off an ear. He don’t need two, do you your majesty?’

He leered at me, his breath stinking of wine. I stared into his eyes, unblinking. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of begging him not to disfigure me.

‘Now don’t you worry, your majesty, this won’t hurt me a bit.’

He laughed aloud and then suddenly released my hair. He straightened his body, coughed and then crumpled on the ground in a heap, an arrow in his back. Seconds later horsemen thundered into the village. Kaspar and his men staggered to their feet as more and more horsemen appeared around them, all of them horse archers with arrows in their bowstrings. Whoever these soldiers were they were superbly equipped and mounted. The horse archers of Dura wore no armour, but these men were attired in scale armour — short-sleeved leather garments reaching down to the thigh and covered with rectangular metal scales arranged in horizontal rows, with each row partly overlapping the row below. Most scale armour was made with iron segments but these men were wearing bronze scales, and on their heads they all wore steel helmets with leather neck guards and embossed metal decoration.

Kaspar’s men now stood and grouped around their commander, looking in confusion at each other, and at their dead comrade lying at my feet. I coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood at him. Then I heard the shrill sound of a cavalry horn being blown and yet more horsemen rode into the village. These were cataphracts, each one wearing armour of bronze scales like the archers, though unlike the archers their horses wore armoured skirts that covered their shoulders and hindquarters, though not their necks or heads. The cataphracts slowed and then halted, and from among them rode a large man on a beautiful black steed whose head and neck shone in the sunlight. One of cataphracts dismounted and held the reins of the horse as its rider jumped to the ground. He was dressed in a suit of scale armour of alternating bronze and silver scales that glittered in the sunlight. He was a tall man with wide shoulders wearing a long-sleeved red tunic beneath his armour, baggy red trousers and a steel helmet inlaid with gold leaf whose cheek guards were tied together. The man unfastened the thick leather thongs and removed his helmet. My heart sank and I prepared for death, for Narses himself stood before me.

The King of Persis turned his large round face to gaze down at me. Despite him being Parthian I was surprised at how fair his skin was, and his hair appeared golden in the sunlight. He also saw the dead soldier lying nearby. He pointed at it.

‘Remove this piece of carrion.’ Two of his men did so as the King of Persis regarded me, then strode over. Like Kaspar had done he too folded his arms in front of his chest, a look of contempt on his face, a glint of triumph in his brown eyes.

‘King Pacorus. We meet in far different circumstances from the last time we encountered one another.’

I looked at him with my one eye that remained open, as the other had closed due to the swelling around the wound to my eyebrow.

‘I would get up and greet you properly, but as you can see I am tied up and do not have my sword.’

His lip curled into a wicked smile as he unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to a subordinate who stood behind him. He then squatted beside me.

‘You smell disgusting. Still, I’m sure you will be made more presentable for your performance in Uruk.’

‘Uruk?’ Uruk was the capital of Mesene and the residence of King Chosroes.

‘Yes, boy, you are to be executed in the palace square so all may see what happens to those who cross me, even the famed young general from Dura who vanquishes his foes. How great will be the fear that I will create when people see your head on a spike.’

‘You would not dare?’

‘Would I not?’ he sneered. ‘I did tell you when we met last year that affairs between us would be settled, and so it has proved to be. But unlike you, I will not let my chance slip between my fingers.’

‘Kill me now, then, and have done with it.’

He looked genuinely hurt at my suggestion. ‘Kill you here, among a collection of hovels in this piece of wasteland? I think not. The death of a king should be witnessed by a multitude so the tale of it will be spread far and wide. And your death will be slow and painful, to give you time to reflect on your insolence towards myself and King Mithridates.’

I chuckled. ‘So Mithridates is still betraying his father?’

‘He betrays no one,’ he said curtly. ‘Once we have destroyed those kings who had the temerity to stand against us, we will keep Phraates as high king, as a sort of figurehead. But the real power will be in other hands. And I will make Parthia strong and feared.’

‘You will fail.’

Narses stood up, held out his hand and was handed back his sword. He buckled his belt. ‘The things that I dislike the most about you, Pacorus, are your ridiculous sense of loyalty and notion of honour. These things have held you back. You could have been the most powerful man in the empire, perhaps King of Kings yourself in a few years. You have a talent for winning battles, I grant you that, but you are sadly lacking when it comes to statecraft.’

‘You mean treachery?’

He smiled. ‘There you go again, talking nonsense. You seek to make the world a better place, to create heaven on earth. But you live in a fool’s paradise. You are blind to the realities around you. Take Chosroes, for example, a man eaten away by jealously. He rules a dung heap and is a pauper among kings, and so I offered him another kingdom if he would but join me, and such is his lust for riches that he readily agreed. I call individuals like him useful idiots. And to think, your father thinks of him as a friend, which is doubly ironic since the kingdom I promised Chosroes was Hatra.’

‘You will never take Hatra.’

Narses tilted his head to one side. ‘How long can a city hold out against a whole empire? Even now my army is marching with that of Chosroes to lay siege to Babylon. One by one your father’s allies are falling. Balas is dead, Farhad and Aschek are broken. So you see, there are none to stand in my way.’

At that moment two of Narses’ men threw Kaspar at their king’s feet.

‘You are the commander of this rabble?’ asked Narses.

Kaspar rose unsteadily to his feet and bowed his head, clearly still the worse for wear. ‘Yes, highness.’

Narses pointed at me. ‘This prisoner is to be taken to Uruk at once. You will commence your journey immediately, and to ensure that he gets there alive a dozen of my soldiers will accompany you and your men on your journey. Now go. Your appearance offends my eyes.’

Behind him the cataphracts and horse archers of Persis were bellowing and cursing at Kaspar’s men to get their horses saddled. The men of Mesene, feeling the effects of too much drink, were sluggish and resentful, but eventually they managed to saddle their horses and clamber onto the backs of their mounts. Kaspar sat on Remus and pulled his own horse beside him. He had attached a rope around my neck that was secured to his saddle — my saddle. He looked at me with bloodshot eyes, grinned and then yanked the rope, causing me to lose my balance and fall flat on my face. As I still had my hands tied behind my back I got up with difficulty, spitting dirt from my mouth as I did so.

Narses rode up to me as his men cantered from the village.

‘Until we meet again in Uruk, then.’

Then he and his men were gone and I began my journey to Uruk. It was late afternoon now and I comforted myself with the belief that we would probably not be on the road for long, not if Kaspar’s men were anything to go by. I stumbled along in the centre of the column, and could see that several of his men were already dozing in their saddles, their chins resting on their chests and reins wrapped around their arms for support. I also saw others lean over to the side and vomit onto the ground. These men were truly the slops of humanity, and I felt ashamed that I had allowed my men to be slaughtered and myself taken by such poor soldiers.

We had not travelled two miles, hugging the bank of the Tigris with a great marsh lying on the other side of the river and disappearing into the distance, when a great herd of water buffaloes suddenly appeared. The beasts with their grey-black coats, their huge heads sporting great backward-curving, crescent-shaped horns ending in sharp points, were nearly the height of a man. Either side of the lumbering beasts herdsmen whacked the animals with sticks, causing them to bellow and grunt with irritation. Within minutes the water buffaloes had collided with Kaspar’s horsemen and chaos ensued as horses and buffaloes intermingled. The men from Persis were highly indignant and shouted curses and threats at the herdsmen to get their beasts out of the way, to no avail. Each water buffalo must have weighed two thousand pounds, and from what I could see there must have been at least fifty of them. Soon they had ambled over to where I stood behind Remus, and I had great difficulty in keeping my feet as buffaloes walked past and threatened to gash me with the ends of their horns. Kaspar’s men, in stark contrast to the soldiers of Persis, did nothing but shrug, carried on dozing in their saddles or laughed at the vain efforts of Narses’ soldiers. Despite my dire circumstances I too found it amusing, but then my instincts told me that something was wrong and the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. I looked around and saw the herdsmen gently tapping the beasts, but they were not trying to get them past the horsemen; rather, they were deliberately herding them to get among the column of riders. And then I noticed that there suddenly seemed to be a lot of herdsmen, dozens in fact. Most strange. Then all hell broke loose.

A water buffalo had stopped right in front of me, flicking its tail to swat away the flies that were plaguing it, when suddenly one of the herdsmen raced forward and stabbed Kaspar in the thigh with a knife. The whole column was then assaulted by herdsmen from every direction. The latter, having got close to the horsemen under pretence of controlling their beasts, leapt at Kaspar’s men and slashed and stabbed at them with knives. They vaulted onto the backs of the water buffaloes and then threw themselves at the horsemen, aiming the points of their blades at eyes and throats or plunging their weapons deep into unprotected chests. Soon the air was filled with ear-piercing screams as the assailants went expertly to work. Kaspar’s men were cut down with ease, those who had been dozing or daydreaming being the first to die. A few managed to resist, but the proximity of their attackers meant they could not use their bows and had instead to rely on their swords, and they wore no armour to protect them from the deadly blades of the herdsmen. Neither did the latter, but Kaspar’s men were stationary in their saddles and became literally sitting targets. Most of the Mesenians did not even manage to pull their swords from their scabbards before they were felled. And when they hit the ground their foes were upon them, stabbing in a frenzied bloodlust, turning their victim into dead flesh.

I slapped a huge, stinking beast on its rump, causing it to grunt and amble forward. The wounded Kaspar lay on the ground but I was still tied to Remus’ saddle. I shouted his name and he turned his head; I was desperate for him not to bolt forward and drag me under the hooves of the water buffaloes. I reached him and patted his neck, but his eyes were wild and I could see that the events swirling around us had unsettled him greatly. With my hands tied behind my back I was helpless.

A figure appeared in front of me, a youth no more than eighteen years of age or younger. He was slightly shorter than me but with broader shoulders and thicker arms. He had a square, clean-shaven face with a thin nose. His shoulder-length hair was black and his eyes dark brown, and now they regarded me cautiously. He held a long knife in his right hand that was smeared with blood. He wore a simple light brown shirt and frayed leggings that ended just below his knees. He wore nothing on his weatherworn feet.

The killing had mostly stopped now, judging by the absence of screams and shouting. The boy continued to watch me as several of his companions appeared by his side. They were dressed in similar threadbare clothes and armed with a variety of knives or short swords. Together they looked lean, proficient and pitiless, like a pack of hungry wolves. I had the feeling that my fate was about to be decided. One spoke to the youth whose eyes were still upon me.

‘Surena, a few escaped. They might be back with reinforcements.’ So his name was Surena and I guessed that he was their leader. He turned to the youth who had spoken.

‘Gather up anything of use and get the animals over the river and into the marshes. We leave immediately. Go.’

The youth nodded and disappeared, leaving Surena and four others facing me. Then he spoke to me.

‘What’s your story?’

‘Release me and I will gladly tell it.’

‘Why should I release you?’

‘Because the men you have just killed were also my enemies.’

Kaspar suddenly groaned and Surena looked at him.

I nodded at Kaspar. ‘That man stole my horse, weapons and armour and was taking me to a place of execution. He is my enemy, just as he is yours. Does that not make us allies at least, if not friends?’

Surena looked at Kaspar and then me and then laughed to reveal a mouthful of white teeth.

‘I will give you the benefit of the doubt, stranger.’ He walked over and cut the ropes binding my wrists and neck with his knife.

However old these young men were, they went about the business of stripping the dead and dying of anything that could be of use to them — weapons, food, clothing and horses — with skill and speed. Most of the horses were stripped of their saddles, which were dumped on the ground, and then gathered up into groups. One horse in each group was left saddled and this animal was ridden by one of the herdsmen, who gathered the reins of the others and led them away. By now the water buffaloes were being directed back over the river and into the marshes, the lumbering beasts grunting in disapproval at having to exert yet more energy.

I walked over to the now dead Kaspar and relieved him of my helmet, cuirass, boots, sword and dagger. Surena looked at me in surprise as I put them on.

‘They are mine,’ I said. ‘He stole them from me. That was a well-planned ambush. My congratulations.’

Surena grinned boyishly. ‘We had been watching them all morning, but then a great host of other horsemen arrived, and those men were well armed. I was going to cancel the attack, but then the men whose horses wore armour rode north and the odds were better than even once more.’

I finished pulling on my boots and then put on my cuirass and buckled my sword belt. I felt like a Parthian once again, though many of the goose feathers in my helmet’s crest were dirty and damaged. I then checked over Remus for wounds. He had none.

‘A fine horse,’ said Surena.

‘He’s mine too.’ I looked at him. ‘You are one of the marsh people?’

‘Yes,’ he pointed at the expanse of wetlands over the river. ‘That is my homeland.’

‘Well, Surena, my name is Pacorus and my homeland lies far to the north. I must get back there quickly as it under attack from the Romans.’

‘Who are the Romans?’

I smiled to myself. Would that all of us had never heard the name of that race. ‘A warlike people who kill and enslave others. I have to get back to my family to protect them.’

Most of the horses and water buffaloes were now wading across the slow-flowing Tigris, which was wide and shallow at this spot. Behind them Kaspar’s dead men lay on the ground where they had fallen, flies already buzzing around them. The subordinate of Surena ran up.

‘We have collected all that we can carry.’

Surena nodded. ‘Good. Keep a watch for any enemy horsemen.’

‘What happened to the soldiers who were better equipped than the others, the ones who wore bronze armour?’ I said.

The subordinate eyed me aggressively.

‘He is not an enemy,’ said Surena.

The subordinate, a wiry youth with a long face and brown hair, twisted his mouth in annoyance. ‘They beat us off and got away.’

‘Then I suggest you make your way home speedily,’ I said. ‘Most likely they will return with reinforcements.’

‘They will catch you again if you ride north,’ Surena said to me. ‘We have seen many soldiers marching north these past few days. You should come with us.’

‘Into the marshes?’ The idea did not appeal to me.

He shrugged. ‘It is nothing to me, but how far will you get on a tired horse and in your state?’

He had a point. My back, stomach and chest ached from the kicks I had received, to say nothing of the punishment that had been inflicted on my face, and Remus hardly looked fresh.

‘Very well, Surena, I accept your offer.’

The water buffaloes were herded into the marshes and after a while were abandoned, much to my surprise. I was informed by Surena that they would make their own way to dry land before darkness fell, and until that time would content themselves with wallowing in the water and eating plants. He also told me that they actually preferred the herbs and grasses found on dry land, but that it was dangerous for a herdsman to take his beasts any distance from the wetlands.

‘The soldiers of Chosroes like nothing better than to use us and our animals as targets for their arrows.’

‘Are you not the subjects of King Chosroes?’

He and those immediately around us stopped and turned to look at me, appalled at the suggestion. ‘We are not under the yoke of any king. We are a free people who have lived in these parts for hundreds of years.’

Surena and his comrades were experts at finding a way through the marshes, keeping to where it was shallowest and avoiding the deep waters. Even so, by the time we reached his village, a collection of large huts built on small spits of dry land, my boots and leggings were soaked. It was late afternoon and very hot and I was plagued by mosquitoes that swarmed around us. But as soon as we emerged from the water to once again set foot on dry land the mosquitoes seemed to disappear.

Surena pointed to small fires burning outside the huts. ‘An old marsh-dweller’s trick. We mix reeds with buffalo dung and when it dries we throw it on the fire. The acrid smoke keeps the flies away.’

And so it did, and as I sat in the sun with my boots drying beside me I found the scene fascinating. Surena and his comrades were storing the captured weapons in his hut, a large structure constructed from bundles of tall, seasoned reeds that formed the walls and were bent inwards at the top to fashion an arched roof. Surena brought over his grandmother to meet me, a small woman with wiry arms who had an iron grip when she greeted me. Her skin was like old leather. She looked at my swollen eyebrow and scuttled away, returning with a handful of fresh buffalo dung that she slapped on the wound and told me to use my hand to keep it in place. I was so shocked that I meekly submitted to her order. It had come to this, a king of the Parthian Empire sitting on a small piece of dry land in the middle of a marsh pressing cow dung into his head.

The swelling around my eye disappeared after two days and I began to regain my strength. The marshes were rich in wildlife, being home to the ibis, Goliath heron and the smooth-coated otter that feasted on the abundance of fish filling the waters. The grandparents of Surena fed me on the fish they caught each day. Surena himself speared a huge barbel that must have weighed around two hundred pounds. He cooked it in the evening. As the sun descended in the sky many people arrived in boats fashioned from long reeds. They gathered around his large fire that crackled and hissed, and then came the water buffaloes. Surena told me that every night they left their wallowing in the mud and water to spend the night on dry land among the marsh people. I found it very strange the first night I spent with these people, being spied on by the great horned beasts just a few feet behind those of us who gathered round the fire that burned day and night. But the beasts were peaceful and eventually I altogether forgot that they were there. This night was no different as I feasted on roasted barbell, tomatoes, watermelon and rice. I sat next to Surena’s grandfather, whose name was Fadil, meaning ‘generous’, and who was just as wiry as his wife, his hands and arms weathered by many years living in these parts, his face tanned and leathery. There was not an ounce of fat on him and his clear grey eyes were very keen. He missed nothing, not least my sword, helmet and cuirass that were lying on reed mats in his hut.

‘You carry a fine sword and wear expensive armour.’

‘The sword and armour were gifts from friends, sir,’ I replied.

‘And your horse is a magnificent beast. Was he too a gift?’

‘No, sir, him I acquired when we stormed a city a few years ago.’

He refilled my cup of water from an earthen jug. Around us fifty or more men, women and children sat on the ground eating their evening meal. ‘Surena says that you were a prisoner of the soldiers of Chosroes.’

‘That is correct.’

He nodded. ‘Why were you their prisoner?’

‘I was under the impression that their master was going to help me, but he betrayed me instead and has joined the ranks of my enemies.’

His eyes fixed me, unblinking. ‘Their master being Chosroes, can I assume that he was once a friend of yours?’

I was aware that these people were the enemies of Chosroes and that I would do well to disassociate myself from the King of Mesene, but I saw no merit in lying. And I was also aware that the other conversations were dying down and that everyone was looking in my direction, not least Surena.

‘There was a time when I counted Chosroes as an ally, yes.’

Surena and several of his friends jumped up amid howls of protest.

‘You have deceived us,’ he shouted. ‘You told me that Chosroes was your enemy.’

I suddenly felt very alone and outnumbered. I stood and held up my hands to him. ‘I told you the truth, Surena, Chosroes is my enemy.’

His subordinate, the youth who had expressed misgivings about me after the ambush, was enraged. ‘We should kill him now. I knew he was not to be trusted.’

There were growls of agreement from the other young men present. The grandfather looked at Surena amid the commotion. ‘You are spoiling my meal.’

These simple words were enough to cool Surena’s wrath, who looked sheepishly at his grandfather, who in turn looked at each of those who had been calling for me to be punished, daring them to challenge him. None did. And where there had been loud voices and shouting, there was now silence. Fadil looked at me.

‘Be seated, Pacorus, please. Continue with your meal.’

‘I do not wish to offend you or your people, sir.’

He smiled. ‘You do not offend anyone. Your manners are impeccable, unlike those of some of my family and their friends.’

I sat back down beside him, though I had now lost my appetite.

The old man pointed at Surena for him to be seated as well. ‘Tell me, grandson, when you first met Pacorus, did you think he was a common bandit who was being taken away to be executed?’

Surena shrugged and looked uninterested. His grandfather continued.

‘Did you not see the quality of his sword, his armour or his helmet? At the very least you must have known that his horse is an exceptional creature.’

‘I’ve seen horses before.’

‘Sometimes, Surena, your wits are as dull as those of a water buffalo. Even a short conversation with Pacorus reveals that he has received an education. I warrant that he is of noble blood, is that not correct, Pacorus?’

‘You are correct, sir.’

He really was quite perceptive and I knew it would be useless to try to deceive him.

‘I am the King of Dura Europos, a city that lies to the north of these parts, on the banks of the Euphrates.’

There were a few growls and also some gasps.

‘I knew that you were different,’ said Fadil. ‘Well, the mystery is now solved.’

‘You must leave,’ snapped Surena. ‘We do not have kings here. They are not welcome.’ There were murmurs of agreement around him.

His grandfather put down his platter of food and stood up. ‘I did not realise that ill manners had become a common custom among our people. Since when did the Ma’adan, the ancient people of the marshes, turn away those who need our help? Since when did we show disrespect to our guests, and turn on those whose only crime is to be different from us?’

‘I will leave in the morning,’ I said. ‘I have no wish to out-stay my welcome.’

‘You are our guest, Pacorus,’ said Fadil with firmness, ‘and can stay as long as you wish.’

Surena looked annoyed and the others cast down their eyes to avert the old man’s stare. As in our own culture, the old were accorded great respect among these people.

The rest of the evening passed without further discomfort. Fadil and his wife asked me many questions about my background. I told them how I had been raised in Hatra, captured by the Romans, fought by the side of Spartacus in Italy and returned home with Gallia. I also related the events of the recent civil war and the Roman invasion of Parthia. As I told my tale I was aware that others quietly moved closer to hear what I was saying, even Surena and his wild young followers. And at the end of my talking I had the impression that the hostility towards me had lessened somewhat. Certainly Fadil and his wife were delighted by my tale, and as I yawned and longed for my bed they were still full of vim.

‘You see, Surena,’ remarked his grandfather as he tossed more dried buffalo dung on the fire, ‘Pacorus was once a slave and fought in an army of slaves. Have you been a slave? I think not. And you take exception to him because he is now a king. Surely the lesson to be learnt here is to judge people on their own merits and not condemn them because of their race or position in life. You condemn Pacorus only because he is a king like Chosroes, but does not the King of Mesene make the same sweeping assumptions about the Ma’adan? Are you not guilty of the same prejudice?’

Surena, clearly out-thought by his grandfather, still maintained an air of defiance. But at length he spoke. ‘I did not mean to insult you, Pacorus. I apologise.’

‘I accept your apology,’ I said.

‘Tell me,’ he replied, ‘this Spartacus of whom you have spoken. What was he like? Why did men follow him?’

‘What was he like? He was like you, full of fire and rage against injustice. But he had a vision of a world free of slavery where all would be equal. He was also the greatest general who has lived in recent times.’

My answer seemed to please him and yet I did not say the words to flatter him. I sensed that he had a sharp mind and an appetite to learn, though his youthful temper was not far from the surface.

‘I think,’ mused his grandfather, ‘that you could learn much from Pacorus.’

My wounds healed quickly, and two days later I made ready to leave the village. The horses that had been captured in the ambush had already been taken away, to the west I was informed, where they would be traded to the Agraci in exchange for weapons. The marsh people were expert in the use of the spear, which they used to catch fish from their reed boats, and I had seen at first hand how they could kill at close quarters with swords and knives, but they had little proficiency when it came to using the bow. This put them at a disadvantage when it came to fighting the soldiers of Chosroes.

‘We do not need bows in the marshes,’ remarked Surena when I questioned him about the subject.

‘It would be a useful skill to learn.’

‘My friends and I know how to use a bow, but my people are herdsmen and fishermen, not soldiers. They have to tend to their animals and put food in their bellies. There is little time for anything else.’

On the morning that I prepared myself and Remus for the journey back to my kingdom Fadil came to me, with Surena tagging along behind him hauling a bulging net of fish he had caught earlier. One thing was certain, the Ma’adan would never starve in these watery lands. Surena dumped his haul on the ground and sat beside it. The day was still young but the temperature was already high as the sun rose in a cloudless, blue sky. Around us villagers busied themselves with the daily chores that were essential to everyday life — catching fish, milking the buffaloes before they disappeared into the cool waters, repairing huts, mending clothes and harvesting reeds to make baskets, spears and boats. Surena was right — these people had no time to be full-time soldiers.

‘So,’ said Fadil, ‘you are leaving us.’

‘I have to get back to my own people, sir. I have been away for too long.’

He nodded. ‘Of course. But I would ask a favour of you before you depart.’

I checked the saddle straps on Remus. ‘If it is within my power to grant it, consider it done.’

He clapped his hands. ‘It is indeed, for I want you to take Surena with you.’

The youth spun round and got to his feet. ‘Grandfather?’

‘You chaff at the bit, Surena,’ said Fadil. ‘You are a good boy and you work hard, but you have a hunger for knowledge and great ambition that living in the marshlands will not satisfy. I believe that the gods sent Pacorus to us for a purpose, and that purpose is to allow you to fulfil your destiny.’

‘I am Ma’adan,’ said Surena with pride. ‘I do not wish to leave my homeland.’

His grandfather laid a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. ‘In your heart you do. Ever since the death of your parents your soul has been restless. You must become what you were destined to be, and that is not a farmer.’

Surena was far from happy at the prospect of leaving. ‘I do not wish to go.’

‘I leave in one hour,’ I told him as he walked off, jumped in his boat and rowed it away. ‘With or without you.’

Fadil picked up the haul of fish. ‘The volatility of youth.’

I took my bow from its case and tested the bowstring, then returned it to its cover.

‘He seems set on staying.’

‘That is because, like all young ones, he does not like to be told what to do. But I think his sense of curiosity will get the better of him.’

‘You do know, sir, that I go back to fight my enemies. Surena will be in danger.’

He unloaded the haul of fish into a large reed basket. ‘He is in danger here, we all are, and I do not wish to see him killed in some fight with the soldiers of Chosroes. He has a certain talent for war but he is young and impetuous, and those two qualities will get him killed if he remains here, that much I know. With you he will learn much, not least how to stay alive.’

‘You have great faith in me,’ I said. ‘Perhaps too much.’

Fadil smiled to reveal a mouth of perfect white teeth. ‘The one, perhaps the only advantage with growing old is that you acquire a certain amount of wisdom. I believe that you are a man in whom one can have faith.’

‘Well, if he does decide to come with me I promise you that I will take care of him.’

‘I know that,’ replied Fadil, ‘otherwise I would not have asked.’

To my great surprise, an hour later Surena appeared at his grandfather’s hut with a horse in tow, a rather scraggy looking dun-coloured beast with only a saddlecloth on its back, though it did at least have a bridle and reins. Surena also brought his comrades-in-arms, the youths who had sprung the ambush that had freed me. And then others arrived, men and their families, until each piece of dry ground in the village was packed with sightseers. Surena, dressed in a tan shirt and bleached leggings that ended just below the knee, nodded at me. I nodded back. He had his long knife tucked into his belt and a reed spear in his hand, while over his shoulder he carried a bow and a quiver filled with arrows, no doubt taken from a dead enemy soldier. He walked over to his grandparents standing beside me and hugged them both. I noticed tears in his eyes as his grandfather spoke softly in his ear, and then he brushed the tears away before he turned and faced the crowd. He held his spear aloft.

‘Ma’adan,’ he shouted at the top of his voice, and they replied in kind, chanting the name of his people as I thanked his grandparents, shook their hands and then led Remus into the marsh. Surena followed me, leaving his family, his friends and his past behind him.

With Surena acting as a guide our journey west though the marshes was relatively easy. He had travelled far and wide throughout his land and knew the location of shallow waters, banks of dry land and how to avoid quicksand, the deadly liquid sand that could swallow a man and his horse in no time at all. He speared fish each day and we ate them at night, the horses being fed on the young shoots that grew in the waters. Surena said nothing to me on the first day and little on the second, but on the third day the walls of his silence began to crumble. He had made a fire after our long journey through the endless waters and reeds, and was cooking fish over it as he began to tell his story. I did not interrupt or question him, for in such circumstances I have learned that it is best to let individuals unburden themselves at their own pace. He did not look at me as he recalled events from his past.

‘My parents died when I was fifteen, killed by a patrol of Chosroes’ soldiers. They had taken our herd of water buffaloes onto dry land on the far side of the river to eat the herbs and dry grasses. My grandfather has told me that my mother, his daughter, was very beautiful and that was why the soldiers raped her first. They forced my father to watch before they killed him, and when they had finished with her they murdered her too. And then they killed all of their animals. I asked my grandfather how he knew it had happened so, seeing as nobody except the soldiers was present, but he just closed his eyes and told me he knew. Only later, when I had killed myself and had seen the types of wounds inflicted on bodies, did I know that he had told the truth.’

He turned his face to me, his eyes moist at the memory of his loss but also burning with hate. ‘I should have been with them, but on that day I was helping my grandfather with the nets.’

We ate in silence and then he spoke some more, again staring into the fire’s flames.

‘The soldiers of Chosroes have waged a war of annihilation against my people, that is why there are so few men, mostly just the young and the old. But we learned to fight back and now we kill those who come to kill us.’

‘Perhaps, Surena, there will be a time when there will be a new king who will be a friend to your people.’

He smiled wryly at the thought. ‘I did not realise that you were a dreamer, Pacorus.’

It took us five days to traverse the marshes and reach the Euphrates. We crossed over to the western side of the river because I did not know if Narses or Chosroes would have patrols out searching for me or whether they would be preoccupied with taking Babylon. I prayed to Shamash that Babylon still resisted them. We rode north for two days, keeping watch for any Agraci tribesmen. I counted Haytham as a friend, but there was no guarantee that any of his people would recognise me as the King of Dura. My tunic and leggings were torn and dirty and Remus was covered in dried mud, and Surena in his poor shirt and half-leggings, barefoot and with no saddle, looked like a horse thief. Our luck held, though, and at length we waded back across the wide Euphrates and then rested on the eastern bank under a group of date palms, before heading north once more.

We rode hard to outrun any hostile patrols that may have been in the vicinity, and I often looked back to see if we were being chased, but all I saw was empty and barren land. On the second day I eased the pace and was again looking behind me when Surena shouted.

‘Riders up ahead.’

I turned to see half a dozen horsemen heading in our direction, black shapes that shimmered in the heat. Surena grabbed the bow that was slung over his shoulder.

‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘We don’t know who they are.’

‘They’re getting closer,’ I detected the worry in his voice.

And so they were, cantering towards us. I could see that they wore helmets and had bows in their hands. I reached behind me and pulled my bow from its case, then strung an arrow in the bowstring. I peered ahead again and saw that the riders wore mail shirts and that the sleeves of their tunics were white. Relief coursed through me.

‘You can put your bow away, Surena. They are friends.’

The six riders were some of Nergal’s horse archers undertaking long-range reconnaissance duties. Fortunately they recognised me immediately and informed me of what had happened since I had been away. Their commander was a dark-skinned man with a long nose who I was surprised to learn was Agraci.

‘Lord Nergal and Legate Domitus took the army across the Euphrates and have set up camp a few days’ march from Dura.’

‘And Dura?’ I asked.

‘The Romans took three weeks to march down the Euphrates before they arrived before the city.’ He stopped and then glanced at me, as if reluctant to convey bad news. I prepared myself for the worst.

‘Go on,’ I ordered.

‘We have received news from the city each day by carrier pigeon. On the first day the Romans arrayed their forces before Dura and demanded its surrender. Queen Gallia stood on the walls and bombarded them with insults, or so we heard. The next day they assaulted the city with their full might and suffered heavy losses. They have not tried to storm the city again, but sit in front of it like old women.’

So Gallia had stayed in the city despite my pleading. I smiled to myself. The arrogant Romans had believed that they could take Dura with ease, but my city was like a scorpion and its deadly sting was its queen. Still, a city besieged cannot hold out forever and I had to get back to camp quickly.

‘You are Agraci, then?’

‘Half-Agraci, majesty, though my mother is ashamed that her son was fathered by a desert nomad many years ago. I live in Dura, so when Lord Nergal was recruiting soldiers I put myself forward. He was pleased to accept me, saying that men are judged on their merits as individuals and not according to which race they belong.’

‘Lord Nergal is correct,’ I replied.

He looked at Surena. ‘Is this man your prisoner, majesty?’

‘I am no prisoner,’ spat Surena, causing the others to turn and look at him.

‘This man is an ally,’ I said.

The Agraci captain shrugged. ‘War brings strange allies.’

I smiled at the irony of his words.

A tiring ride that must have taken us at least thirty miles left both horses and men exhausted. But with a fierce red sun descending in the west I at last saw that sight that never failed to fill me with awe and pride. On the arid ground, as if conjured up by a magic spell, stood the huge camp that housed Dura’s army. The giant rectangle was protected by an earth mound on all four sides, on top of which stood a wooden palisade. At each corner stood wooden guard towers, on the top platform of which stood sentries scanning the horizon. And within the camp itself stood neatly arranged rows and blocks of tents, each tent the home of eight legionaries. We rode through the main gate and down the central avenue of the camp, which led to the headquarters tent where Domitus resided. Many men spotted Remus and began shouting my name, others chanting ‘Dura, Dura’ as our little group made its way to the heart of the camp.

I dismounted in front of Domitus’ command tent, who had stepped outside to see what all the commotion was about. I smiled when I saw my old friend, who in turn locked me in an iron embrace. He turned his nose up.

‘You smell bad.’

‘I’ve had a somewhat eventful journey.’

He slapped me hard on the back. ‘We thought you were dead, but then I remembered that you are under the protection of that old witch of yours, so I stopped worrying. Come inside and have some water.’

‘Just a moment,’ I said, and then walked to where the standard’s pavilion was pitched adjacent to the command tent. The former was a simple square tent, guarded front, sides and rear by chosen legionaries, men who had distinguished themselves in battle. I went inside where four more guards were standing sentry over the legion’s golden griffin. They snapped to attention when they saw Domitus and me enter. I indicated for them to stand at ease once more. The griffin on its pole was held upright in a rack, the gleaming gold creature seemingly about to take flight from its silver plate on which it was anchored. I reached out and touched it its cool metal. Behind me Surena, who had also entered the tent, attempted to do the same. His hand was curtly brushed aside by one of the guards, standing in front of him to bar his way. Surena, aghast that he had been treated thus, stepped back and pulled his long knife from his belt. The legionary smiled at him, but before he could draw his gladius Domitus in a flash had drawn his own sword and now held its point at the neck of Surena.

I shook my head. ‘Surena, put away your knife and wait outside.’

Surena, feeling the steel at his throat, reluctantly did as he was told. ‘I was only trying to touch it.’

Domitus replaced his gladius in its scabbard. ‘It’s not some cheap trinket, boy.’

Surena jerked his head at me. ‘You let him touch it.’

Domitus and the guards began laughing. ‘Well, he’s a king, boy, and the victor of many battles. When your blade has tasted as much blood as his has, then you can come back and lay your hands on our griffin.’

‘What’s a griffin?’

‘Enough, Surena,’ I said. ‘Go and get some food in your belly and make sure your horse is attended to.’

We went back outside and I told the Agraci captain to keep his eye on the boy. Then I went with Domitus into his tent.

I flopped down in one of the chairs and drank greedily from the cup of water he offered me. My limbs suddenly ached with frenzy as I stretched out my legs. Domitus sat down next to me.

‘Where is the cavalry?’

‘Nergal has it scattered over a wide area. There’s no need to keep it in camp as there are plenty of your father’s bases around here to feed men and their animals.’

He was talking of the small forts that were dotted throughout Hatra. Each one had a tiny garrison, no more than twenty-five men, but they were solidly constructed from mud bricks and had high walls, thick gates and towers at each corner complete with arrow slits. They were both a strongpoint and a place of refuge in times of emergency, and any invader would have to reduce them one by one to conquer the whole kingdom. But to do so would be a lengthy process and would give my father time to muster his army.

‘Nergal will be here soon. He reports in every day to hear news of Dura.’

‘And what is the news?’

He smiled. ‘Gallia gave them a bloody nose and since then they’ve done nothing except lob a few missiles at the walls. Perhaps they have decided to starve the city into surrender.’

I nodded. ‘Good, that is exactly what I hoped for. They do not know that we evacuated the population. Talking of which, where is it?’

‘Ten miles north of here. They brought plenty of food with them and there’s an oasis nearby, but a few thousand people cannot remain there for any length of time.’

‘I know that.’ I looked at him. ‘They will be back in Dura within a week.’

He frowned. ‘We could not persuade Gallia to leave the city, I’m sorry.’

‘I knew she would not leave, she told me as much. It is her home, the only one she has ever had. It will take more than a Roman army to evict her from it.’

After I had washed and changed my clothes, I found Surena a new shirt, leggings and a pair of leather sandals. He would have to wait for new boots until we returned to the city. I also found a centurion and told him to take the lad on a tour of the camp. Surena, refreshed and newly attired, was eager to see more of the sprawling tent city and clung to the centurion like an eager puppy.

‘Where did you collect him from?’ asked Domitus as I watched Surena being scolded for picking up a javelin without asking.

‘Would you believe that he saved my life?’

Domitus frowned. ‘That’s what happens when you go off on wild goose chases without an adequate escort.’

Half an hour later Nergal rode into camp. I was delighted to see the commander of my cavalry, with his gangly arms and legs and infectious smile. I had never seen Nergal downcast, even during our darkest moments. The arrival of Byrd and Malik made for a happy reunion and I was glad to be back among my friends and the legion once more. Byrd and Malik had ridden far and wide since the army had left Dura and they reported that the kingdom’s lords were itching to attack the Romans but, true to their word, were waiting until they received orders to do so.

‘They are like hungry dogs, lord,’ said Byrd, ‘they thirst to feed on the Romani corpse.’

As we relaxed around the compact square table in the main section of Domitus’ voluminous tent, I told them about the Roman threat to Media and Atropaiene, of the treachery of Chosroes, the return of Narses and his army, and the inaction of Phraates.

‘So you see, my friends,’ I said, ‘all the fighting that we did last year was for nothing, and now the empire faces a greater threat. It is as if the gods have created this situation to test us to the limit.’

Their faces displayed no outward emotion, though each of them must have been wondering what course of action should be taken. I answered their unspoken question.

‘Very well. There is no point in sitting here thinking of the most dire outcome. First of all we will destroy the Romans in front of Dura. Byrd and Malik, you will ride to the lords and tell them to attack any Roman supply convoys or bases within easy reach of their strongholds. Hit and run only. Tell them not to get involved in long, drawn-out fights. After their raiding practice, they are to rendezvous with the army at the stone bridge over the Euphrates north of Dura.’

‘What of Hatra, lord?’ asked Nergal. ‘Lucullus has Nisibus besieged. Are we not to aid your father?’

Nergal was Hatran himself, and he had family living in the north of the kingdom, cousins and nieces most probably.

‘Hatra will have to wait,’ I replied. ‘One battle at a time. We beat the Romans at Dura first, then we can march north to aid Hatra.’

Domitus, as usual, was toying with his dagger. He looked up at me. ‘And after that?’

‘Assuming that Media has not fallen, we will have to leave Farhad to his own devices and deal with Narses. My father can send reinforcements to Media in any case, but Narses is like a viper in the belly of the empire. This time we will kill him, even if we have to march all the way to Persepolis.’

Domitus put away his dagger. ‘Well, looks like we will be busy for the next few months. Still, it will give my boys something to do, stop them getting broody.’

‘On another subject,’ I said. ‘Where is Rsan?’

‘He decided to stay in Dura, lord,’ replied Nergal.

‘Wouldn’t leave his treasury,’ added Domitus. ‘Could not bear the thought of all that gold lying there without his protection.’

‘I did not think he had the courage to stay in a besieged city,’ I said.

‘He hasn’t,’ mused Domitus, ‘but his parsimony overcame his fear of being skewered on a Roman javelin.’

I had to admit that I had grown to like Rsan, and I vowed to myself that he would never see death at the hands of a Roman.

‘Friends, we march at dawn.’

After Nergal, Byrd and Malik had departed, I sat with Domitus until late into the evening.

‘We heard that you are no longer lord high general.’

‘It seems that Mithridates applied all his energies to announcing to the world that I no longer have Phraates’ favour.’

Domitus began sharpening his gladius with a stone, using long strokes to make the edges razor sharp.

‘There is no hope for Phraates,’ he said. ‘He will meet his death at the end of an assassin’s dagger.’

I said nothing but feared his prophecy would come true. Mithridates and his mother had Phraates under their spell and so the living heart of the empire was paralysed. I thought of Balas at that moment. Roisterous, brave, big-hearted Balas. He had been right all along. We should have elected my father King of Kings and then we would have had a strong empire, not one riven by division and weakened like it now was. And Balas would still be alive. Or perhaps events would have turned out exactly the same. I prayed to Shamash that the empire would continue and thrive, but did He listen, do gods listen to insignificant mortals? I did not know. I looked at Domitus whetting his blade and smiled to myself. I did know that he and his men would not let me down, and nor would Nergal’s horsemen who were now receiving their orders.

‘I had hoped that we would have peace when we all left Italy,’ I said idly.

Domitus stopped sharpening his blade and looked at me. ‘I think that if you really believed that was true you would have retired to a mountain top and lived out your days as a holy man.’

‘No one wants perpetual war, Domitus.’

He shrugged. ‘Yes you do. It’s the only thing you know, and certainly the only thing I know. We are good at it, and because we are accomplished at it war will always search us out.’

‘You make it sound as though it is a living thing, a sort of spirit.’

He carried on sharpening his blade. ‘We Romans have a deity called Mars who is the god of war. He was the father of Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, and he wears armour, a crested helmet and carries a shield. On the eve of battle I pray to him that he will give me the strength to be a good soldier and will grant me victory. That, or a noble death.’

In all the years that I had known him I had never heard Domitus speak thus, but it cheered me that that he had a reflective side and was not wholly a man of iron.

‘You think Mars watches over you?’

He snorted at that notion. ‘No. Caring is for women, but I believe that if he is pleased he will protect a soldier so he can watch him again in battle.’

‘He did not protect Spartacus,’ I said, thinking to catch him out.

‘Spartacus wanted to die that day and Mars granted him a good death. I hope one day that he will extend to me the same courtesy.’

‘Not yet, my friend,’ I told him. ‘I need you for a few more years yet.’

I left him keening the edge of his sword and walked outside. The evening was hot and filled with the smell of leather, the smoke of cooking fires and human sweat. Men sat around in groups talking, playing dice or checking their equipment. Mail shirts were being cleaned of any dirt or, most rare in hot desert climes, rust; swords and daggers were being sharpened and helmet straps examined. Every man was trained in the use of the javelin and gladius, but in battle it was his defensive equipment that saved his life. Roman helmets were very practical items, but I had had the armourers strengthen our helmets with a forehead cross-brace. This made them heavier, but Dura’s legion was Parthian, not Roman, and that meant having to fight hordes of horsemen on campaign. Even Roman helmets could be split by a man on a horse hacking down with a downward sweep of his sword, but the steel cross-brace offered protection against this.

As I passed near to groups the men stood up, but I ordered them to resume their leisure activities. I did not wish to disturb them; I was just glad to be back among them. I felt relaxed in their company, untroubled by what the enemy might throw at us in the coming days.

A strapping centurion, vine cane in hand, marched up and saluted. He wore no armour or helmet but his cane indicated his rank, that and his broad shoulders, thick chest and muscled arms. I recognised his face. As I wracked my brain trying to think of his name, he saved me the trouble. ‘Arminius, sir.’

‘Of course, forgive me, I should know the names of all the Companions.’

He grinned. ‘I think you have enough on your plate at the moment to be bothering with names.’

I tugged his elbow. ‘Walk with me.’

‘We are moving out, tomorrow, I hear.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘time to remind the Romans whose country it is.’

‘I’m glad. I didn’t hold with…’ he glanced at me.

‘Speak freely, Arminius.’

‘Well, I didn’t hold with leaving the queen in Dura. A lot of us are very fond of her and we want to get back to the city as quickly as possible.’

Neither did I, though I knew that at this moment the queen was exactly where she wanted to be, and that it would take more than a Roman army to evict her from her home.