Parthian Dawn

Chapter 15

I slept for two hours at most as I waited for the new day. Before dawn I dressed and walked to the stables in the middle of the camp to feed and water Remus. Then I groomed him and snatched a mouthful of porridge and water from the stable hands. The area stank of horse and mule dung. Already centurions were barking orders and their men were dismantling tents. The clatter of cooking utensils, the grumblings of mules and the rustle of men donning their mail shirts and personal equipment filled the air. It takes around three hours for a camp to be dismantled and its component parts packed into wagons, loaded onto mules or carried on the shoulders of individual legionaries. Domitus searched me out and we stood watching his men go about their business with consummate ease. They had done this many times before, those who had fought in Italy with Spartacus had done it for years, and I always liked to watch the organised chaos that transformed a heaving camp into a marching army. The first centuries were already forming into column of march, the men six abreast, in preparation for their journey west. By the time the last contingents had departed from where we were now standing, the legion’s foremost century would have covered around ten miles.

After an hour Nergal arrived with my cataphracts, who wore only leggings, shirts and helmets. They carried their bows and quivers, but the scale armour for both them and their horses was carried on the camel train attended by the squires, and which waited to the north. It was a hard life for these boys, up before dawn each day to attend to the horses and then learning the art of war around their everyday chores. But at least they would be spared battle, as their task was to stay in camp, ferrying ammunition supplies to the horse archers and to help tend the wounded. Then, at the end of the battle, they would assist their masters in taking armour off men and horses. If the worst happened and we were defeated, the squires were ordered to flee to Hatra and seek the sanctuary of my father.

The day would be hot and already the air was filled with dust thrown up by the thousands of sandal-clad legionaries and the hundreds of mules of the legion. The men of Pontus, my second legion, albeit still in transformation, were also in camp. Thus nearly eight thousand foot soldiers were on the move, and riding on their flanks would be a thousand horse archers and five hundred cataphracts. At the bridge we would hopefully rendezvous with Dura’s lords and their horsemen.

‘I have scouts riding far ahead, lord, and beyond them are Byrd and Malik,’ said Nergal, ‘but we have heard of no Romans crossing the Euphrates.’

‘Hopefully they still believe that Dura’s army is trapped in the city. As long as we are able to cross the river unmolested, then they will have to fight.’

‘They could escape west across the desert,’ said Domitus.

‘Is it in Roman nature to flee from barbarians, Domitus?’ I asked.

He winked at me. ‘Absolutely not.’

At that moment Surena rode up on his horse, which appeared to have been groomed as it looked decidedly better than when he had ridden it into camp. I vaulted into my saddle.

‘You stay with me,’ I told him.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To fight a battle, so keep close and stay out of trouble.’

He smiled at me. ‘Are we going to kill Chosroes?’

‘No, Surena, we have others to kill first.’

It took us three days to reach the bridge across the Euphrates. When we arrived Nergal, Byrd and Malik were already there, together with a score of Agraci horsemen, black-clad warriors carrying round black shields and armed with long spears and curved swords. As the army marched across the stone arches and engineers mapped out the site for the night’s camp on the west bank, I saw dead Romans lying on the riverbank.

‘You did well, Nergal,’ I said.

‘Not me, lord,’ he nodded at Malik. ‘This was an Agraci victory.’

I nodded to a beaming Malik. ‘My thanks.’

‘It was easy enough. We pretended to be pilgrims and killed them on the bridge. None escaped.’

Nergal was looking at Byrd. ‘Show him.’

Byrd shrugged and reached inside his robe. He pulled out a letter, nudged his horse forward and handed it to me. It was stained with blood.

‘It was taken off a dead Romani courier on his way to Dura.’

By the looks on the faces of Byrd and Malik they knew what its contents were. I opened it and read the Greek words.

To my dear friend Lucius Furius

I have received reports of your excellent progress at Dura and the happy news that you expect the city to fall imminently. That you have encountered no resistance does not surprise me, as it is well known that the eastern peoples are effeminate and degenerate. It would be most desirable if you could capture the so-called King of Dura and his wife, as their parade through the streets of Rome would be a great political boost and would go some way to counter the popularity that Pompey enjoys within the city.

When Dura falls I grant you full authority to do with it as you see fit, though I will retain full control of the dues raised from the tolls levied on the trade caravans, and you are additionally entitled to half of the profits from the sale of its citizens in the slave markets, though what price you will obtain for such wretches I do not know.

Your friend

Marcus Licinius Crassus

I stared at the words after I had finished reading them and felt a rage building within me. It was bad enough that a Roman army was encamped before my city, but it was made far worse by the fact that it was led by Lucius Furius, a tribune whom I had met on several occasions in Italy. A red-haired, arrogant individual whom I had bested in battle several times, though he had always managed to escape. And now he was in Parthia, his army no doubt paid for by Rome’s richest man — Crassus. I threw the letter to the ground. Domitus picked it up but he could not read Greek.

‘Lucius Furius, that overbearing bastard we fought in Italy, leads the army laying siege to Dura, financed by the wealth of Marcus Licinius Crassus.’

Domitus walked over and laid a hand on my arm.

‘Do not let your anger cloud your judgement. It does not matter who leads that army or who paid for it. You still have it exactly where you want it.’

He was right, of course, but for the rest of that day and all morning of the next I was sullen and withdrawn, seething that Furius was in my homeland.

‘What difference does it make?’ asked Surena, his bow tucked inside a new hide case on his saddle together with a quiver full of arrows. Being inquisitive, he had been asking questions about my time in Italy.

‘It just does,’ I snapped, not wanting to discuss the matter.

‘The commander of the Roman army is an old adversary of ours,’ remarked Nergal, ‘King Pacorus fought him on many occasions and always defeated him.’

‘But now he is here,’ said Surena.

‘And now he is here,’ I mused.

Surena beamed at me. ‘You visited his homeland and now he is visiting yours.’

I turned in the saddle to face him. ‘Are you trying to be amusing? Because I have to tell you that it isn’t working.’

‘Well, if you had the chance to kill this Furius and let it slip through your fingers, you now have another chance to finish him. Seems simple enough.’

‘Does it!’

‘Well, perhaps this time you won’t be so careless.’

‘Why don’t you go and do something useful, Surena. I grow tired of your voice.’

He dug his knees into his horse and rode away. ‘The truth always hurts.’

My mood improved, though, when the army halted to await the lords and their followers. This time each one brought around three hundred riders, so that by the time I held a muster of the army we had been reinforced by over six thousand horse archers. The legion numbered four thousand men, the men of Pontus gave us an additional three and half thousand foot, Nergal commanded a thousand horse archers and I had my five hundred cataphracts. That night I held a council of war in the legion’s command tent. The lords, Domitus, Nergal, Malik and Byrd all faced me as I explained the plan for the coming battle.

‘We are two days’ march from Dura. Nergal will throw a screen of riders in front of the army as it marches south. I have no doubt that the Romans know that something is amiss, if only because their supply convoys and couriers have not been getting through. So tomorrow we march south and the day after will give battle.’

‘How many men do the Romans have, majesty?’ asked one of the lords.

‘We have counted three eagles, which means three legions. In addition, the Romans have auxiliaries of foot and their own cavalry. I estimate twenty thousand in total.’

‘May be less now, majesty,’ said another lord. ‘We have destroyed their courier bases and killed their garrisons.’

‘It doesn’t matter how many they are,’ I said. ‘I intend to break their battle line before they can make their greater numbers tell.’

They cheered at this statement. I liked my lords; they were like the life they lived — tough and straightforward.

‘A fitting plan for the “pitiless one”,’ shouted one on the right.

‘The pitiless one?’ I said.

He beamed at me. ‘That is what people are calling you majesty — Pacorus the Pitiless. They say that one who uses his wife and infant child as bait to lure his enemies to him makes the devils of the underworld shake with fear.’

My god, is that what people thought of me? I had to admit that I was taken aback, but then they started chanting my name and stamping their feet. Clearly they were impressed by my unintentional ruthlessness.

Having briefed all of the lords, Domitus and Nergal on our plan of battle before we had even caught sight of the enemy, I was confident of victory. I knew the ground we would fight on and I knew the men I commanded.

On the march south towards Dura I was in high spirits, until Byrd rode up in an agitated state.

‘Horses approaching from the north, big dust cloud. They are many.’

‘Romans?’ I was surprised to say the least. I turned to Nergal. ‘Go and find out who they are. If they are Romans you must delay them until the army is ready.’

As he galloped away to collect his companies I cursed my luck. I had mapped out the coming battle over and over in my head, considering every imaginable possibility and how I would take all into account to fight the battle exactly according to my wishes. And now I risked being undone by an enemy force that had suddenly sprung up from the desert. As Nergal and his horse archers cantered north a sweating Domitus ran up.

‘Problems?’

‘Yes, it appears that there may be a Roman army behind us.’

He raised his hand and then raced back to his officers. Then the sound of trumpets resounded across the area as he about-faced his cohorts and their commanders went about marshalling them into battle formation. The cohorts were marched north so that the wagons and mules carrying their supplies would be in the rear of the army if it came to a fight. I deployed the lords on our right flank, next to the Euphrates, while I took my cataphracts out to the left wing. Behind them, the squires struggled with the camels that were burdened with the cavalry’s supplies. The cataphracts hurriedly rode back to the camels to get their scale armour, and then began a race against time to put it on, one squire helping his lord, the other dressing his horse in its armour protection. Surena rode up.

‘Do you wish me to bring you your armour, Pacorus?’

‘No, I will fight as I am.’ In truth I found scale armour heavy and burdensome, preferring my Roman cuirass and helmet. ‘Get back with the squires. Your knife won’t be much use in a battle.’

He rode off. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

I rode out in front of the thousands of men who were deploying for battle to get a better look at what was coming from the north. I could see them, now — horsemen kicking up a vast cloud of dust. Whoever they were they were moving at speed. They obviously wanted to get to us very quickly. Had Furius got wind of our approach and requested reinforcements? I thought it unlikely. Any Roman soldiers in Syria would have to have wings to get here this fast. I was wondering whether it was possible to defeat this new enemy and then fight those in front of Dura, when I caught sight of Byrd galloping towards me ahead of his pursuers. I reached behind me for my bow, pulled it from its case and then strung an arrow. Whoever was chasing him would be felled before they got near him. He was frantically waving his right arm at me and shouting at the same time. I strained to hear his words. I thought he said ‘fiends’. Marvellous, we were about to be attacked by devils! But as he came closer I realised that he was actually shouting ‘friends’.

He arrived panting and covered in dirt. ‘Friends, Pacorus. Orodes and horsemen from Susiana.’

I relayed the news to the army and soon men were standing, cheering and patting each other on the back. The atmosphere, previously tense and uncertain, was now one of elation and relief. Byrd halted beside me and then Nergal and Orodes arrived, and behind them a column of cataphracts in their scale armour. They slowed and formed into a line of two ranks, then halted behind their prince.

Orodes took off his helmet, his sweat-soaked hair matted to his skull, and beamed at me. ‘Hail, Pacorus. Hope we haven’t missed the fun.’

I nudged Remus forward and shook his hand.

‘Welcome, my friend, it is indeed good to see you.’

He looked behind him. ‘Five hundred heavy cavalry, my personal bodyguard. All I could bring, I regret to say. My dear brother ensured that my father prohibited any more of Susiana’s army coming to your aid. But only I command my bodyguard, and where I go, it follows.’

I smiled at him. I raised my voice so his men would hear. ‘I welcome the men of Susiana, and when the enemy learns of their arrival they will tremble, so great is the terror that the warriors of Susa spread before them.’ They raised their long lances and gave a mighty cheer. At that moment a panting Domitus arrived, rivulets of sweat running down his face.

‘Domitus,’ I said. ‘Prince Orodes has brought reinforcements. Behold, the finest men in Susiana.’

Domitus took of his helmet and wiped his face with a cloth, then replaced his white-crested headgear. He pointed at Orodes.

‘It would have helped if you had sent couriers ahead to warn us of your approach, to save us having to piss around changing direction and formation under this bloody hot sun.’

With that he turned and ran back to his officers.

‘My apologies, Orodes, Domitus can be a little brusque.’

‘Nonsense, he’s right. I’m just glad that he’s on our side.’

It took an hour before the army was ready to commence its march south once more, during which time the horsemen from Susiana rested and took off their scale armour, also stripping their horses of the cumbersome protection. Then it was loaded onto the backs of the thousand camels that Orodes had brought with him, ill-tempered, spitting beasts that carried tents, thousands of arrows, spare weapons and armour, food and medical supplies. There were also a thousand squires, each one riding a horse and armed with a bow, quiver and sword. It was actually a small army that Orodes had brought. In temperament he was much like Nergal, being carefree, cheerful and trusting, in fact everything his step-brother was not. You liked Orodes on sight, and when you got to know him better you realised that your initial impression of him was correct. He was also one of life’s optimists, which made him popular among his men and people. And, in stark contrast to Mithridates, he was fair-minded and absolutely trustworthy.

Once the army had recommenced its journey south, Orodes rode beside me with Nergal on my other side.

‘I heard about your demotion,’ he said, ‘and then word reached me that you had been killed.’

‘Well, one of those rumours was true, and if Narses and Chosroes had had their way my head would be adorning one of the gates into Uruk by now.’

Orodes shook his head. ‘I cannot believe that Chosroes has betrayed us.’

‘I can,’ I replied. ‘Narses is clever. He has promised Chosroes great wealth and power in return for his aid, and Chosroes, being eaten away by jealousy and greed, most probably did not take much persuading.’

‘Narses must know that he has no chance.’

‘I’m afraid, my friend, that he has every chance. The Roman incursions into Hatra and Dura must have seemed like a gift from the gods to him, especially as Media and Atropaiene lie weakened and unable to assist us. What news of Media?’

‘The Romans have made no attempt to lay siege to Irbil, but Farhad and Aschek lack the will and soldiers to trouble them. Events in Hatra and Dura will decide Media’s fate, I fear.’

I did not look at Orodes when I asked him the next question. ‘And what of Mithridates?’

Orodes spat on the ground. ‘He and my step-mother control my father, and thus control Ctesiphon and Susiana. No aid will be sent to you or your father, or for that matter to Vardan.’

‘So Babylon still defies Narses?’ I asked.

‘For the moment, yes, but if no aid arrives then Narses will starve it into surrender.’

After that we rode on in silence, but we all knew that Mithridates was still an ally of Narses. He was playing the long game, waiting to see how events would unravel. I had no doubt that he was behind my attempted murder, but the fact that I still lived did not necessarily negate his plans. He knew that I had to defeat the Romans before I could aid Hatra or Media, and that my father was occupied with dealing with the Roman invasion of his own kingdom. I would not put it past Mithridates to have been in communication with the Romans, perhaps even Crassus himself. It all seemed very convenient, too convenient. I should have killed him as well as Narses. At that moment the world seemed full of people that I should have killed but who were still in arms against me. Useless thoughts. I dismissed them from my mind. One battle at a time.

The night was clear and warm, and Domitus had sited his camp near the river so men and animals could quench their thirsts. It had been a hard day’s march, and everyone was glad to have the opportunity to rest at the end of it. Malik and Byrd rode into camp late in the evening and reported to my command tent. Domitus was stretched out on the floor, his eyes closed, his gladius beside him. I was sitting in a chair opposite Orodes, whose men and animals were camped two miles to the north. We were now approximately ten miles from Dura.

More of Malik’s warriors had arrived during the past two days and he had used them to aid the cavalry screen Nergal had established in front of the army, both to report on the enemy’s movements and to keep Roman eyes away from Dura’s army. Byrd, true to form, kept his own counsel and went where he wanted, though he always returned with valuable intelligence.

‘Romani getting ready to fight you,’ he said, filling a cup with water from a jug on the table. ‘Much activity in their camp. Romani soldiers not happy.’

I was surprised at this. ‘How do you know that they are unhappy?’

He looked at me as if I had asked a ridiculous question. ‘I speak to them, of course.’

This aroused the interest of Domitus, who opened his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. ‘You spoke to them?’

‘Of course. They grumble like old women.’

‘You rode into their camp?’ Orodes was amazed.

Byrd frowned at him. ‘No, I take cart and mule and load it with fruit, then drive it into their camp. I say I Agraci and they no question me further. I not look like soldier.’

He was right there, with his ragged, dirty Agraci robe, wild hair and unshaven face. If only the Romans had known that they had been buying fruit from the finest scout in the Parthian Empire.

‘They not like Dura, say it is too tough a nut to crack. They were promised an easy victory but have suffered big losses. Say it is insult to their manhood to be held at bay by a woman. They grumble of witchcraft.’

‘Witchcraft?’ asked Orodes.

‘Romani soldiers have been pierced by poisoned arrows shot from Dura’s towers. They believed they were at safe distance but arrows found them anyway. Arrows smeared with poison. Romani soldiers who were hit lost use of legs, went blind, then went mad before they died in agony.’

‘Well, she never ceases to amaze me,’ said Domitus.

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘Your old witch, of course. A few weeks ago she came to me and said she wanted some of my men to go hunting, said it was essential for the security of the city.’

Domitus told us how Dobbai had persuaded him to send a century to hunt down as many Arabian cobras as they could find. They came back with two score of the deadly reptiles. Dobbai had them milked of their poison, then killed and skinned them. The snake poison and flesh were mixed with dung and left to putrefy, after which the Amazons smeared their arrows with the poisonous substance.

‘That’s what she told me,’ concluded Domitus, ‘seems to have worked a treat.’

I smiled to myself. Perhaps I should leave these Romans to Gallia, she seemed to be coping very well.

‘So Dura still stands, Byrd?’ I asked.

He drained his cup and smiled at me. ‘No Romani army will take that city.’

After a final council of war, during the course of which I had again explained the tactics that we would use the next day, the lords went back to their men. I had insisted that they and their followers, plus all of Nergal’s horsemen and my own cataphracts, should sleep behind the earth rampart of the legion’s camp. This made for a crowded camp, as the men of Pontus were also accommodated within its circuit, but I did not trust the Romans not to attempt a nighttimes’ assault and I did not want to give them the opportunity for an easy victory Malik and Byrd assured me that their Agraci scouts had the Romans under close watch, but I insisted, and I even requested that Orodes bring in his men as well. He acquiesced, more from not wishing to appear discourteous than because of any sense of danger. Domitus approved.

‘Just because we are home doesn’t mean we get sloppy.’

It was the first time that I had heard him call Dura home and I was pleased. I always worried that he missed his own people, but if he did he never said so and now I was reassured that he felt one of us. I knew that he was immensely proud of his legion, and had every right to be, and also that he was held in great respect by his men.

That night I wrote a letter to my father and mother, explaining that I would be giving battle tomorrow and that afterwards, Shamash willing, I would march to Hatra’s aid. Later I went outside to stretch my legs. I never slept much before a battle, two or three hours at most, but I was seldom tired on the day of action itself. Rather, it was as if my senses were heightened by the prospect of slaughter. My mind raced with ideas, my reflexes were faster than usual and I could almost feel my blood coursing through my body. I put this down to my upbringing, when I had first been introduced to the tools of war as a small boy. By the time I was eight I could shoot a bow from the saddle, wield a small sword, throw a spear with some accuracy and fight with a mace and shield. When I became a teenager I had mastered the use of all these weapons and had learned how to fight as part of hundred-man mounted company, then as a member of a dragon. I had fought my first battle at the age of twenty-two and now, six years later, I stood on the eve of another one. I stared south and saw the black shape of Dura’s walls and its Citadel framed against the clear night sky. No lights flickered in Dura. I smiled. Gallia had all the windows barred with shutters and no lamps burned in the city’s streets. She knew that a sentry or careless individual framed by light made an easy target for an enemy archer or slinger.

Tomorrow I would be with my love once more.

Surena appeared and offered me a cup of water.

‘You should get some sleep,’ I told him, taking the cup and emptying it.

‘I’ve tried, but as soon as I shut my eyes a thousand images fill my mind. I will sleep after the battle.’

I hoped that it would not be the sleep of death. He still had his knife tucked in his belt and wore sandals on his feet.

‘Come with me,’ I said.

We walked among the rows of tents holding sleeping legionaries until we came to the southeast corner of the camp where Nergal and his horsemen were located. The comforting smell of horses, and the not-so welcoming smell of their dung, met my nostrils as I found my cavalry commander sitting on the ground playing dice with his officers.

‘I did not know you were a gambler, Nergal.’

They all saw me and made to stand up. I indicated for them to stay where they were.

‘I’m not really, lord, but I feel lucky and wanted to take advantage.’

I tilted my head at Surena. ‘I came to find this one a sword and some boots.’

Nergal looked at Surena. ‘Pity he can’t wait until tomorrow. There will be many Roman ones lying on the ground.’

This brought laughter and smiles from his officers.

‘I wish to have a sword now,’ said Surena sternly, ‘so I can kill the enemies of Pacorus.’

Nergal stood up and tugged at Surena’s tunic, indicating that he should follow him. ‘That’s King Pacorus to you, boy.’

Surena mumbled something under his breath and followed Nergal. Two minutes later we were in a fenced-off area containing two- and four-wheeled wagons, the whole park being guarded by a ring of sentries positioned every ten paces. Mules were tethered together in another adjacent area, and further away, though judging by the smell not too far away, was the camel park. Nergal nodded to the guards and we walked up to a small hide-skin tent pitched near one of the wagons. Nergal stood in front of the tent.

‘Strabo. Come out, your king has need of you.’

Seconds later I heard a rustling noise and then a large man with long dark hair and a round face shuffled out on all fours.

‘Can’t a man get a few hours’ sleep without being troubled?’ He sniffed and then turned his head to me. He obviously knew who I was because he quickly got to his feet and dusted himself down. He wore a simple white shirt and dark leggings. His feet were bare. He squinted at me with piggy eyes.

‘Well. Apologies, your majesty, but I didn’t know you were coming. No one ever tells me anything, it’s always Strabo do this, Strabo do that. Well, one day we will have a proper set of procedures for dealing with things.’

‘Enough, Strabo. The king needs your assistance.’

‘Well, I will be happy to oblige if I can, though all my assistants are asleep. It’s late. Well, you are lucky that I was just closing my eyes.’

‘The sooner we can have what we came for,’ I said, ‘the sooner you will be able to return to your slumbers. I need a sword and a pair of boots for my squire here.’

He wiped his nose on a sleeve as he studied Surena. Then he ambled over to one of the carts, mumbling to himself as he did so.

‘Like all quartermasters, he is reluctant to part with his supplies. Isn’t that right, Strabo?’ Nergal called after him.

Strabo ignored the jibe as he lifted the canvas cover on the cart and rummaged underneath. He returned with a pair of boots and threw them at Surena.

‘They should fit you nicely. Nice and worn in, they are. Came off a dead one of that lot who fought with Porus last year.’

Surena held them with distaste.

‘Now don’t you get high and mighty,’ said Strabo, ‘they’re fine boots and the previous owner no longer has a use for them.’

‘He’s right,’ I added.

Strabo scuttled off and began rifling through another cart, then reappeared with a sword in a scabbard. He handed it to Surena, who this time was beaming with delight. He drew it slowly from its scabbard. It was a Roman spatha, exactly like the one I carried, though mine had been a gift from Spartacus himself. The blade was long and straight and finished in a point. Both edges were razor sharp and its hilt was made of dark-stained walnut. It was a beautiful piece.

‘Where did you obtain it from?’ I asked.

‘Malik and his Agraci brought in a load of captured weapons after they had butchered a few Roman horsemen on the road north of here. Seeing as you’ve got one, I thought it appropriate that your squire should have one as well.’

‘A fine sword, Surena,’ remarked Nergal, whose own spatha hung from his belt, ‘make sure your conduct is worthy of such a blade.’

‘My conduct?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Will you use it to further your honour or as a tool to butcher innocents? Will you wield it to defend your family and homeland, or to spread death and misery in furtherance of your own selfish goals?’

He looked at me with a blank expression on his face.

‘Well,’ I continued, ‘these things are for the future. But remember that a man’s sword is not just a lump of metal; it is an extension of him. However, it is late and we have troubled Strabo enough for one night.’

‘You’re not wrong there.’

Nergal froze him with an iron stare so Strabo bowed his head to me and scurried away. I told Surena to go back to the command tent and ready my armour and weapons for the morning, leaving me alone with Nergal.

‘Another battle tomorrow, Nergal.’

He grinned. ‘Another defeat for the Romans.’

There would be little time tomorrow for idle chatter, so I welcomed the chance to talk to my friend and trusted commander.

‘After we deal with this lot we will have to march north to aid Hatra, and after that Media. It seems there remains much fighting left to do.’

‘That is what we exist for, is it not?’

‘You sound like Domitus.’

He laughed. ‘That is a fine complement. You know what his men say about him?’

‘No.’

‘That his drills are bloodless battles and his battles are bloody drills.’

Now it was my turn to laugh. ‘I remember the first time I clapped eyes on him. It was when Spartacus had captured that silver mine near Thurri. Domitus was one of the slaves condemned to work in the mine. But after he had been freed he decided to join us. I am glad he did, for I think that I collected the greatest treasure that was in that mine.’

‘The Romans are going to get a surprise tomorrow when they see that there’s a legion facing them.’

‘By the time they realise,’ I said, ‘it will be too late.’

I looked at him. ‘I am sorry that Praxima is in Dura, I did not wish it so.’

He laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘It is not your fault, Pacorus. Praxima would never leave Gallia, you know that. I am proud that she stayed to stand by her friend.’

‘If we win the battle,’ I said, ‘I will have stern words with my wife.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Good luck with that.’

The day of battle dawned clear and windless. It would be hot later, and for some their last day on earth. Surena had laid out my armour the night before. The heavy hide suit covered in iron scales hung on its wooden frame. My Roman helmet, its crest filled with fresh goose feathers, perched on top. My boots he had placed at the foot of my cot, with my leggings and tunic folded on top of them. I always kept my sword on the floor beside me as I slept and my dagger under my pillow. Before I prepared for battle I knelt beside the cot and held the lock of Gallia’s hair in my hand. I closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would give me courage this day, and that my conduct would honour my forefathers.

First I put on my silk shirt, followed by the tunic and leggings. By the time I had pulled on my boots Surena had arrived with a tray of fruit, bread and water. I invited him to join me for breakfast, while outside the racket of an army preparing for battle filed the air.

‘Stay with the other squires in camp,’ I told him. ‘If the worst happens, get your hide out of here as quickly as possible and get across the river.’

He looked surprised. ‘I have been told that you have never lost a battle.’

I thought of the last battle with Spartacus in Italy, in the Silarus Valley. All day we had fought the Romans, and though we had not lost, at the end of it Spartacus lay dead and his army broken. It was certainly no victory.

‘What has happened up to now counts for nothing. Just do as I ask.’

‘I have a sword and would like to fight.’

‘And I would like you to stay alive. Fighting Romans is not like ambushing the soldiers of Chosroes and then running back into the marshes.’

He nodded but I could tell that he was far from happy. He was filled with excitement, and being young he never considered that he might be killed. But then, all of us never really thought that we might die on the battlefield. Each soldier knew that battles were bloody affairs, but in his mind it was always the man next to him who was going to die, never him.

And so, once again, I prepared to fight the Romans. In truth there was much to admire about them and their civilisation. For me, their architectural achievements were things of wonder. Parthia had its great temples and palaces, it was true, but nowhere in the empire was there mighty stone aqueducts carrying water to towns and cities or straight, paved roads that connected its cities. The roads in Parthia were dirt tracks, their surfaces baked hard by the sun, which turned to mud when it rained, but Roman roads were a marvel to behold. They were never washed away by rains; rather, they had drainage channels on each side into which rainwater ran. And those same roads carried Roman armies to the far corners of their empire, from where they invaded foreign lands to fulfil the insatiable Roman desire for conquest. The Romans believed that the earth was theirs for the taking, irrespective of what other peoples thought. And in their thirst for conquest they had developed a military system that was the envy of the world. In Italy, no matter how many defeats they had suffered, the Romans always seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of soldiers with which to create new armies. But above all it was discipline and organisation that gave the Romans victory. Ever since I had returned to Parthia I had endeavoured to infuse Dura’s army with these same qualities. Today I would discover if I had been successful.

Stripped of its mystery and horror, war is a business, no different to farming the land or constructing a building. There are certain guiding principles that must be observed if one is to be successful. If a farmer plants his seeds and does not water them, his crops will not grow. If an architect does not use the proper materials or ignores the laws of physics, his building will collapse. It is the same with war. The building blocks of battlefield success are training, the right equipment, the correct tactics and good leadership. I knew my men were well trained. Domitus and Nergal had spent countless hours on the training fields putting their men through their paces, endless drills to build stamina and strength and to perfect tactics. Practising over and over so each man knew his place in the century, cohort, company and dragon, practising hard and so often that drills became second nature, performed without thinking, even in the white-hot cauldron of combat. I had beaten Roman armies before, in Italy, but this time was different. In Italy Spartacus had been my commander, but here all eyes were upon me. I was both commander and king. If I lost I would lose my army and my kingdom. It would all be decided in the next few hours.

Many people who have not seen the East believe it to be wholly desert, and whereas vast tracts of Parthia are indeed parched and arid, the lands either side of the mighty Euphrates and Tigris rivers are lush and green. The waters of these two rivers have irrigated the land for thousands of years. It is the same in Dura. The land along the western bank of the Euphrates is the home to an abundance of wildlife, watering thousands of livestock and feeding crops. But the area that we would fight on today is bone-dry and dusty. Dura itself had been built on rock that towers above the Euphrates. Immediately beyond the city’s northern wall was one of the two great wadis that flanked the city. Its sheer, high sides made any assault from the north impossible, and it was the same on the city’s southern side where there was also a deep wadi. Beyond the northern wadi the ground descends down to the plain in a gentle slope for a distance of around a mile. It was at this spot, on level ground, that caravans and travellers crossed the Euphrates via the pontoon bridge that now lay dismantled and stacked well inland on the far shore. The large caravan park that had been created to provide shelter and food for both men and their beasts sprawled over a vast area, both west and north. Further north still had been the tent city that had housed the workers who had strengthened the city’s defences and laboured in the armouries. They had all left now, and there were no longer caravans crossing the Euphrates. But they had all left their mark, for the land all around was flat, dry and barren — a giant dust bowl — ideal for a battle. Ideal for the battle that I intended to fight.

I knew that the Romans would anchor their flank on the river. The Roman war machine is based around their mighty legions of foot soldiers. They have little use for horsemen save for skirmishing and carrying out reconnaissance. But they know the damage that highly mobile enemy cavalry can do, especially Parthia’s heavily armed and armoured cataphracts. But if an army’s wing is anchored on a river or another impassable feature, then it cannot be outflanked. And so it was today. They would have no need to place horsemen on their right, opposite what would be my left flank. Nor would I place any cavalry there. On this wing I would deploy the foot soldiers of Pontus. They were not yet equipped as the legionaries of Domitus, but it did not matter. Veteran soldiers, they carried spears with long, leaf-shaped blades and large rounds shields faced in bronze after the old Greek fashion. Most had helmets and all wore thick hide armour to protect their torsos. Their officers could be identified by small, overlapping iron plates fastened to their armour. The soldiers also carried a long sword as a secondary weapon, but it was totally unsuitable to fighting as part of a compact body of men. It was a slashing weapon, not one for stabbing. Pontic warriors did not throw their spears at the foe; they were for thrusting into the belly of an enemy soldier while the shield covered the left side of the body. This would all have to change. But not today. Today, the three and a half thousand soldiers from Pontus would advance in their companies against the Roman right flank. They were not unlike the Romans in their organisation, though their largest battlefield formation was a block made up of five hundred-man companies, but if a Roman legion got to grips with them it would cut them to pieces. The Pontic soldiers would form a battle line of five blocks side by side, with two blocks immediately behind as a reserve. Opposite them would stand a Roman legion of ten cohorts arranged in three lines.

The fate of the men of Pontus would hinge on what happened in the centre of the line, to their right. For here Domitus and his legion would assault the Romans. His legion would be drawn up in two lines, six cohorts in the first line, four in the second; there would be no third line. Its job would be to punch through the Roman centre. Normally such a tactic demanded a wedge formation, but in this battle the legion would be working closely with five hundred of Nergal’s horse archers. It is extremely hazardous for horse and foot to work closely together on the battlefield. In the confusion of combat the result can often be a tangle of horses and men followed by a rout. But Nergal and Domitus had worked for months to perfect their proficiency when acting together. The horsemen would ride in the gaps between the cohorts, five hundred horse archers divided into five columns, the riders in each column riding one behind the other in a long file. Each column would gallop towards the Romans opposite, the lead rider loosing arrows as he approached the Romans. At a distance of around one hundred paces from the enemy front rank he would wheel his horse to the right and gallop parallel to the enemy for a distance equivalent to the frontage of a cohort, shooting arrows as he did so. He would then wheel his horse right again to begin the journey back to Dura’s legion, turning in the saddle as he did so to shoot one last arrow at the enemy over the hindquarters of his horse. During his advance he would ride along the left flank of a cohort in the first line; when he returned he would pass by the right flank of the same cohort, then turn right once again to ride behind the cohorts in the second line to receive a fresh quiver, before galloping towards the Romans once more. When he was riding parallel to the Romans and shooting arrows, how did he know when to wheel his horse right to take him back to Dura’s legion, to ride through the gap between cohorts and not crash into one? The answer was countless hours spent on the training field, sweating and cursing under a hot sun perfecting tactics so that they became second nature, almost instinct, so when the day of battle arrived they were performed without thinking, horse archer and foot soldier in perfect harmony.

In this way files of horsemen would maintain a withering arrow fire against the enemy, five hundred men loosing an average of five arrows a minute — two and half thousand arrows flying towards the enemy. The Romans would not fear this arrow storm. In response their centurions would merely give the order to halt and form a testudo, which means ‘tortoise’. The front rank would kneel down to form a shield wall, and then the second and third ranks would lift their shields to create a forward-sliding roof over their companions in the front rank. And behind them their comrades would haul their shields over their heads to create a roof impervious to my archers’ arrows. The Romans knew that each Parthian quiver held thirty arrows, so if they stood and withstood the hail of arrows my men would soon run out of ammunition. But what they did not realise was that my men could get full quivers loaded onto camels that were positioned behind the second line of Domitus’ legion, so they could empty one quiver, then ride back and replace it with another. And all the time the Romans would be stationary, and then Domitus and his men would hit them with the force of a charging bull, and their line would buckle as my men mangled the Roman centuries.

But it would be on the right wing that the outcome of the battle would be decided. Here, I placed my cataphracts — five hundred heavy horsemen whose task would be to smash through the Roman cavalry to allow the lords and their horse archers to sweep behind the Roman army. My father believed that he had the best heavy horsemen in the Parthian Empire, and in terms of numbers he certainly had the edge, but Dura’s cataphracts were bloodied, highly trained and straining at the leash to earn more glory. They were mostly young men in their early twenties and they burned with a desire to prove that they were the finest heavy horsemen in the world, not just the empire. My father and Vistaspa recoiled from such ambition, believing that it led to false pride and arrogance, but I indulged my men’s thirst for fame and glory. And I knew that this day they would have an added incentive to excel, for the enemy stood on their home soil. I also knew that the Roman cavalry would be unable to withstand my cataphracts. The enemy horsemen were armed with spears, swords and wore mail shirts and helmets. On their left side they carried large oval shields that gave protection from the shoulder to below the knee. But a kontus could go straight through such a shield like a knife cutting through parchment. Nevertheless I wanted the Roman cavalry to be weakened before the cataphracts reached them, so I interspersed five hundred of Nergal’s horse archers among them. The cataphracts would charge in two ranks, and in each rank a cataphract would ride beside a horse archer. The latter would begin shooting arrows at the Romans at a range of around three hundred paces, and would continue loosing arrows until the two lines clashed, the horse archers reducing their pace before the impact. At the same time the archers in the second rank, also falling back so as not to collide with the bowmen of the first rank, would shoot their arrows over the first rank into the approaching enemy mass. In this way when the two sides clashed only cataphracts would be hitting the Romans. This drill was most complex but we had spent months perfecting it on the training fields.

Behind the cataphracts would be Dura’s lords and their men, six thousand horse archers and a few cataphracts, whose task would be to pepper the enemy legionaries with arrows. By then Domitus and his men would have cut their way through the centre of the Roman line, the Roman army would be broken in two and the battle would be won. Bozan, my old instructor and the man who had led Hatra’s army, had once told me that as soon as a battle begins even the best-laid plan falls apart. I prayed that it would not be so on this day.

The arrival of Orodes and his five hundred cataphracts had been a welcome addition to the army, but they had also presented me with a dilemma. They had never worked with any element of Dura’s army. I therefore had no choice but to place them on the extreme right of the right flank. I would have liked them as a reserve, but no Parthian lord, much less a prince, would accept such a passive roll on the battlefield.

As the army spread out into a battle line, mounted on Remus I faced Nergal and Orodes, with Domitus standing beside me. Already my throat was tickly on account of the dust that was being kicked up by men and horses.

‘Do you have any more orders, Pacorus?’ asked Domitus, who clearly wanted to be leading his men rather than standing here.

‘No,’ I replied, ‘as we planned, as soon as I hear your trumpets I will attack their left wing. The rest is in God’s hands.’

He nodded and put on his white-crested helmet. ‘Well, then, the gods keep you safe.’ I lent down and offered him my hand. He took it and nodded, then strode away to rejoin his men. I knew that he would be in the vanguard of the attack. It was useless to suggest to him that he do otherwise as I would do the same. Some kings commanded their armies from the rear, but I had always believed that men respected a general more who led from the front. In any case it was the Parthian way.

‘Shamash protect you, Pacorus,’ said Nergal, who put his hand to his helmet and then wheeled his horse away to join his men who were acting as a screen in front of the legion. I raised my hand in salute.

‘Well, lord prince,’ I said to Orodes, ‘shall we join our men?’

We had both placed the butt end of our heavy lances on the ground, but we now hoisted them up and rested them on our shoulders as we trotted over to the right flank.

As we passed the lords, their men began raising their bows aloft and cheering. I raised my hand in recognition.

‘Your men are confident of victory,’ remarked Orodes.

‘They are glad that we have the enemy finally cornered, I think. Men don’t like foreign soldiers in their homelands.’

Byrd and Malik rode up, halting in front of me, both they and their horses covered in dust.

‘Romani army left camp earlier and is forming up next to river, as you told us it would,’ said Byrd.

‘And Furius?’ I asked.

Byrd cracked a smile. ‘Riding up and down, shouting at his men.’

‘Same old Furius,’ I muttered.

‘Where do want me and my men, Pacorus?’ asked Malik.

‘You can choose your own spot, lord prince,’ I said.

The whole army had by now deployed into its battle formations and was marching in a southerly direction at a leisurely pace. I rode forward to be at the head of my heavy cavalry, bidding Orodes farewell as he galloped over to be with his own men. Most of my cataphracts were bare headed at this stage. The day was already hot; there was no need for them to sweat buckets unnecessarily. They would put on their helmets when they were needed. Ahead of the front rank rode Vagharsh carrying my griffin banner, though when the charge was launched he would fall back to the second rank, and if he fell the standard would be picked up by another. There was no breeze, though, and so the banner hung limp. Behind him the cataphracts and horse archers shared jokes and exchanged insults. I halted beside Vagharsh and peered ahead. I could see Dura and the Citadel in the distance but strained to see the Romans in the plain below. We were less than ten miles from the city now. To my left four thousand legionaries marched in step towards the enemy and beyond them, out of sight, were the men of Pontus.

So far, so good. The atmosphere was calm, almost serene, and were it not for the fact that we were fully armoured and armed, the horses could have been on a morning stroll. I could make out the enemy now, small black blocks in the distance.

On we went, nearing the enemy ranks. We kept aligned to the legion to our left, the rhythmic sound of thousands of sandals hitting the ground in unison filling the air. Some of the horses, sensing men’s nervousness and fear, became jittery and had to be calmed by their riders. Remus, long used to the sights and sounds of battle, showed no signs of emotion. I could see the Roman cavalry now, men armed with lances and shields massing on their left wing, and I could also make out archers on horseback, men who were bare chested and wore no head armour. The Romans had deployed as I had expected them to do.

We halted as the Romans deployed into line, their right flank anchored on the river. I knew that Furius would not wait long before he ordered an attack and so did Domitus. And so my Roman friend launched his assault first, the blast of trumpet calls suddenly filling the air to signal the start of the battle. I glanced left and saw the Duran Legion moving forward like it was on the parade ground, then turned and gave the signal for the cavalry to likewise advance.

I nudged Remus to walk forward as the horns sounded along the line. I urged him to quicken the pace and he broke into a canter. I glanced behind and saw full-face helmets on my cataphracts. Between them, horse archers, their reins wrapped around their left wrist, were stringing arrows in their bows. Vagharsh slowed and let the front rank pass him. I also pulled up Remus momentarily to allow the front rank to catch me up — I had confidence in my men but did not want to be shot in the back by mistake by an archer whose thumb slipped. We were widely spaced as our horses broke into a gallop and as one we levelled our lances at the fast-approaching enemy, holding the thick shafts with both hands on our right sides. I estimated our distance from the Roman cavalry to be four hundred paces.

They scattered before we reached them.

In an effort to break up our charge they had placed mounted archers among their horsemen, but Parthian recurve bows have greater range than Roman ones and our arrows were finding their targets before they had a chance to reply. If the enemy cavalry had reckoned their chances had improved by stiffening their ranks with archers, they disappeared when those same archers began to turn and flee. Some enemy spearmen had advanced towards us in an attempt to mount their own charge, but these now halted in confusion when they saw their ranks thinning. Many turned and joined the archers in attempting to flee, others just sat in their saddles and tried to redress their lines, while a few, a tiny number, levelled their spears and charged us. They were the first to fall, either pierced by arrows themselves or thrown by their horses as iron-tipped arrows slammed into their mounts. The air was rent with the screams of wounded and dying horses as we thundered across the baked ground.

The Roman cavalry was now fleeing back to the safety of its camp. There was little point in chasing after them with three enemy legions still on the field, so I slowed Remus and those either side of me did the same with their own animals. Horns sounded recall and the whole line slowed into a canter, then a trot and finally a walk. I turned and looked up and down the line. There appeared to be no empty saddles. Behind us the lords, as planned, were veering left at the head of their men to attack the Roman legions from behind, the sounds of thousands of iron-shod hooves like thunder to our ears. Orodes rode up.

‘That was easy enough.’

I pointed ahead at the Roman cavalry, which had stopped running and was now attempting to reform. ‘They’ll be back unless we can disperse them.’

I called the commander of the horse archers forward and ordered him to take his men forward to irritate the Roman horse. ‘Stay out of range of their bows and drop as many as you can. If they advance, you retreat. But keep shooting at them. Be like flies around camel dung. Above all, keep them away from their foot. Go.’

He saluted and rode away. Seconds later horns sounded and his men were forming into their companies and trotting forward once more. Following on behind were three score of camels carrying extra quivers of arrows.

‘And now, lord prince,’ I said to Orodes, ‘a more difficult task. Follow us.’

‘Wheel left and reform the line,’ I shouted.

A Roman legion in battle order is usually drawn up in three lines. The one that had been next to the Roman cavalry now had an exposed left flank. I raised my lance and dug my knees into the sides of Remus. He grunted, broke into a canter and headed for the gap between the second and third lines of the Roman legion. It was now a race against time between my horsemen and enemy centurions desperately trying to form a wall of shields on their left flank. The cohorts could stand where they were and form an all-round defence, but that would mean leaving gaps to their front, sides and rear, through which we could pour. Their leaders gambled that they would have time to close these gaps before we hit them. They were wrong.

We broke into a fast gallop less than two hundred paces from the first centuries that were forming the shield wall. Screaming our war cries we crashed into a mass of legionaries, creating a sickening crunching noise as lance tips and horses smashed into them. A horse will not run at a solid object, but the Roman line was still ragged and disjointed and so the horses attempted to lunge through any narrowing gaps. Some failed and tried to turn away, but their momentum was too great so they tumbled over into the enemy ranks, throwing their riders but crushing Romans as they somersaulted and thrashed like rocks careering downhill in a landslide. They carved a path of chaos and broken bodies as the force of horse and rider gouged a path through the enemy. Other horsemen followed, driving their lances into shields and mail shirts, sometimes pinning a legionary to the earth as a kontus was driven straight through a torso and then into the ground behind. A thousand riders hit the flank of that Roman legion, driving deep into its disorganised ranks. Legionaries and horsemen soon became intermingled as the momentum of the charge carried cataphracts deeper into the enemy formation.

I rammed my kontus through the chest of a centurion, let go of the shaft and drew my sword. I swung the blade down to the right and cut deep into the upper arm of a legionary who was running past me. He yelped and fell to the ground. I screamed at Remus and dug my knees into his side. He lurched forward. A Roman attempted to thrust his sword point into his armour, but the iron scales and thick hide defeated his blade. I thrust my own sword at him and penetrated his right shoulder. He squealed in agony and fell to his knees. I rode on, slashing at figures on my right and left. Before battle my scale armour felt heavy and cumbersome; in combat it became as light as a feather as battle frenzy took hold of me. I felt as though the blood of an immortal was racing through my veins. Around me cataphracts were going about their work with a relentless fury. I saw some javelins fly through the air and heard the dull thud of lead pellets launched by slingers hit their target, but in this disorganised melee it would have been almost impossible for missile throwers to have the space or time to launch their weapons with any accuracy.

Roman trumpets blasted and then fell silent as their owners were killed, their skulls caved in by a mace. The din of battle filled my ears and was getting louder. Centurions and officers screamed orders. Remus suddenly kicked out with his back legs. I looked behind me and saw a Roman lying face-down on the ground; he must have been felled by my horse’s rear hooves. A javelin glanced off the armoured rings that protected my left arm. A legionary, bare headed and with no shield, blood pouring down the side of his face, ran at me. I raised my sword high above my head and brought it down. He must have been in the grip of delirium, for he brought up his left arm to parry the blow. Perhaps in his mind he believed that he still carried his shield. My sword went straight though his forearm and severed his limb just below the elbow. He made no sound but merely stared at the bloody stump in disbelief. He looked up at me and then died when one of my men rode past him and crushed in the top of his skull with a swing of his mace.

We were herding the Romans before us, slowly and bloodily, and gradually some semblance of order was emerging out of the chaos. The ground lay thick with Roman dead and a few slain Parthians. Cataphracts grouped around the banner held aloft behind me. Ahead I could see a wall of Roman shields forming and javelins arching through the air towards those cataphracts who were still hacking at the Roman soldiers. Then arrows and slingshots began emptying saddles.

‘Horns, horns,’ I shouted. ‘Sound recall.’

It was futile to keep charging the enemy now that they had sealed their flank. The shrill blast of horns bought the rest of the horsemen back to where our own line was forming. In front of us, and all around, the ground was carpeted with enemy dead and dying. Orodes rode up, helmet dented and a cut on his right cheek, his eyes full of fire.

‘One more charge and they’re finished, Pacorus.’

I shook my head. ‘No, we leave them alone for now. They’re shaken but will hold what they have. They will not charge horse and we will not charge them.’

He looked disappointed. ‘Then what?’

I saw a group of lords riding towards us. I pointed at them. ‘We will soon find out.’

They halted in front of me and raised their hands in salute. They all looked dirty and fatigued. One with a full beard whose helmet appeared too small for his over-sized head spoke. ‘Your men are breaking through their centre. We’ve been shooting arrows at them and now we can see that golden griffin.’

A wave of excitement went through my body. I turned to Orodes. ‘We are wasted here. We will move towards their centre.’

I looked at the lords. ‘Keep shooting at them, we must help Domitus.’

They galloped away and we followed. We had no lances now and both horses and men were tired from our melee, but we had to aid Domitus. We rode towards the river, behind the Roman lines. We left the legion we had attacked in its all-round defence and galloped to behind the Roman centre. I rode at the head of the column of cataphracts, Orodes beside me and our two banners fluttering directly behind us. Through the dust and haze I could hear the din of battle on my left. This was where Domitus and his men were fighting the enemy. Then I saw the masses of horse archers ahead, riders galloping full-pelt at the enemy shield wall, then wheeling away after they had released their arrows, followed by more riders who did the same, an unending stream of archers making the air thick with their missiles.

I ordered half a dozen of the lords to take their men to harass the Romans who still stood on the left flank, the survivors of the legion we had charged so successfully. This necessitated a reorganisation, as archers were recalled, formed into groups around their lords and then redeployed to annoy the Romans’ left flank. The air still resonated with the sounds of battle to the front of the Roman line, indicating that Domitus and his men were still grinding their way through the enemy. I had to aid him, but how?

A blast of trumpets behind made me turn in the saddle. I recognised that sound; it was made by the instruments carried by the legions. I had trumpets in my own legion, of course, but these were coming from behind. Had Roman reinforcements arrived, perhaps from their camp? I turned and rode through the ranks of my cataphracts; Orodes came with me.

‘What is it?’

‘Roman trumpets,’ I said, my stomach knotted with concern.

The cataphracts had also wheeled about and were following us, but then I pulled up Remus sharply. Ahead were two cohorts of legionaries, but these were not Romans. They wore the white tunics of Dura and they were flanked by horse archers wearing helmets, mail shirts and with white cloth showing on their arms. Ahead of them all were two riders, one on a chestnut mare — Epona. The garrison of Dura had come, led by my wife. My men began cheering as they approached, and I must confess that I too took off my helmet and began shouting my praise as the two cohorts and their Amazon escort tramped towards us. The lords and their men also raised a mighty cheer, and momentarily forgot that they were supposed to be attacking the enemy.

Gallia galloped up with Praxima beside her. The cheekguards on their helmets were both fastened shut. She stopped in front of me and cupped my cheek with her hand.

‘Did you think I would sit idly by while my husband and my people fought for their homeland?’

I struggled to hold back my tears. It was so good to see her.

‘Where is Claudia, my love?’

‘Safe in the Citadel protected by Haytham’s men.’

‘Haytham?’

‘I will tell you later. Where is that toad Furius?’

His name refocused my attention back on the battle. I ordered the two cohorts from the garrison to attack the Roman shield wall that had been under arrow fire for some time now. As the men neared the enemy they began banging their javelins on the inside of their shields and shouted ‘Dura, Dura’ as they dressed their lines. I asked Orodes, who had taken Gallia’s hand and kissed it, much to her amusement, to deploy his men on the right of the garrison while my own cataphracts massed on the left.

Another blast of trumpets, this time from the Roman ranks, and suddenly the enemy legion to our left, the one we had assaulted, began moving towards their centre. It was still being peppered with arrows, but its men were now moving crab-like towards the river. Then there was another blast of trumpets from within its ranks, followed by shouts and screams. Its commander, realising that if he stayed where he was the result would be the destruction of his men, had decided to join the legion in the centre, the same legion that was being assaulted by Domitus. With horror I also realised that as he did so his men would in turn hit Domitus in the flank. The discipline of the Romans was magnificent as they shuffled towards their centre, all the time their rear, front and left flank under arrow fire.

I halted my horsemen and the two cohorts from the garrison. Domitus would not be able to break their centre now, not with another legion hitting his flank while his men battled the one in front of them.

I turned to Orodes. ‘We must aid Domitus.’

I rode over to Gallia. ‘You and your women will come with me.’

‘We will not charge them?’

‘Have patience, there is still time to dip your arrowheads in blood.’

I galloped back to Orodes with Gallia and the Amazons following. I left orders for the lords to continue their harassing fire, and then I took the heavy horsemen and female horse archers back around the Roman left flank to find Domitus and his legion. Dust was everywhere. It got in our eyes and down our throats, while the sun beat down mercilessly on our backs. Sweat stung my eyes and my limbs ached but I knew there was still much fighting left to do this day.

We had to take a circuitous route to Dura’s legion, as the lords and their men hovered around the Romans like flies on a dead carcass. They would have run out of arrows long before had it not have been for the camels that were ridden from camp by squires, each one laden with spare quivers, from which the horse archers could replenish their ammunition.

I found Domitus standing with the legion’s colour party grouped around the griffin, just behind the front line. He was having his right arm bandaged by Alcaeus. He looked pale and exhausted as he took a swig from a water bottle and raised his arm in acknowledgement. I halted Remus in front of him and glanced around. The corpses of Roman dead and some Durans lay on the ground.

‘We nearly broke them,’ he said, ‘but then the ones you were supposed to keep occupied hit us on our right flank, so I pulled the boys back. The enemy is shifting left, towards the river. What’s happening?’

‘We scattered their horsemen easily enough and then mauled the legion next to them, and I thought we had them. We are behind them and I was about to launch an assault on their centre when they started moving.’

As we spoke I could see the Romans slowly moving towards the river, still retaining their ranks and discipline, but as they did so they made no attempt to attack our own foot. Alcaeus finished bandaging Domitus’ arm.

‘Is it serious?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he seemed more annoyed than hurt.

‘I have other wounded to tend to,’ remarked Alcaeus, who then sprinted away to where he was needed.

Nergal rode up.

‘The men of Pontus have taken heavy casualties, Pacorus. We have been assisting them but the Romans have pushed them back.’

‘How far?’

‘Not far, two, three hundred paces perhaps, but it is unlikely that they will be able to launch another attack.’

If the Romans next to the river advanced and then swung left, they would hit Domitus in his left flank. I would have to take my horsemen to reinforce our left wing, which was now threatened with collapse.

‘Are the Romans still advancing?’ I asked.

Nergal shook his head. ‘No. They pushed back the men of Pontus, advanced a short distance and then stopped. Most odd.’

‘They’re saving their eagles,’ said Domitus.

‘What?’

‘They are saving their eagles.’

‘You are mistaken,’ I said. ‘There is no way across the river at this point.’

Domitus thought for a second. ‘Any boats?’

‘Of course not.’

He looked up at me. ‘You sure about that?’

I was wrong. As the Romans redeployed what was left of their forces to form a hollow square with one side open at the riverbank, small boats powered by oarsmen were ferrying the prized eagles to safety upriver. We had been outwitted, but there were not enough boats to evacuate their entire army. And as a continuous arrow fire was maintained against the three sides of the Roman square, I gathered the lords and officers of the army to decide our next course of action. The ground was littered with dead and dying horses and men, while our wounded were being ferried back to camp to be treated. It was then that I saw Surena at the head of a score of horsemen charging the enemy. He galloped up to the Roman front rank, shooting arrows as he did so, then wheeled sharply away as those following him took turns to shoot their bows. He rode well, but I would have words with him afterwards about disobeying my orders.

As we sat on our horses in a large circle the lords were all for finishing the Romans quickly.

‘Slaughter them all and then we can go home.’

‘Push them into the river and let them drown,’ said another.

Orodes’ blood was still up. ‘We can break them, Pacorus. They have been fighting for hours. One charge at one point with all our heavy horse and we surely break them.’ The others cheered him and he beamed in triumph.

I held up my hand. ‘I think I will ask them politely if they will lay down their arms.’

There was silence, then spontaneous laughter erupted, indicating that they all thought I was mad. Orodes looked very disappointed.

‘You do know who leads them,’ said Gallia.

‘That is why I think my idea will work.’

I gave orders for all arrow fire to cease as the lords and Nergal pulled back their men out of range of the Romans’ slingers and archers. We now formed a huge semi-circle around the Roman square, the men of Pontus next to the river, the Duran Legion on their right, now reinforced by the garrison, Nergal and his men next to them, and the lords and their horse archers deployed next in line extending all the way to the riverbank. An eerie silence descended over the battlefield. I sat on Remus next to Gallia, Orodes on my right. Malik and Byrd came through the ranks behind me.

‘Romani have taken their standards away on the river. A dozen boats,’ said Byrd.

‘They are five miles away now, Pacorus, maybe more,’ said Malik. ‘You want us to catch them?’

‘No, let them go. Our fight is here.’

I nudged Remus forward and walked him into the space between Parthians and Romans. I took off my helmet as I did so and halted about fifty paces from the line of locked Roman shields.

‘Men of Rome,’ I shouted. ‘I am the king of the land you now stand on. I salute your courage. You have done all that honour demands this day and more, but now is the time to listen to reason.’

I saw no movement from within their ranks.

‘I call upon your commander to come forward to discuss the terms of your surrender, for to continue fighting will surely condemn you all to death. I give you this promise. If you lay down your arms all of you will walk out of here unharmed. Come forth Lucius Furius.’

I rode back to my men and waited. Domitus strode up.

‘Perhaps he left on one of the boats.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘not Furius. His sense of Roman superiority will not let him flee in the face of barbarians.’

And sure enough, a few moments later, he rode out from the enemy ranks. I nudged Remus forward until I stood ten paces from Lucius Furius. He hadn’t changed; he still had red curly hair and an angry expression on his face.

‘Well, Lucius,’ I said, ‘we meet again.’

‘What do you want?’ he snapped, looking down his nose at me.

‘I want you to leave my kingdom and I want Rome to stop its wars of aggression against the Parthian Empire. Will those two requests suffice to satisfy you?’

He sneered at me. ‘Just like the rabble led by Spartacus perished, so will the Parthian Empire fall.’

I sighed. ‘Even now, with death staring you in the face, you still persist in issuing threats.’

He looked immensely smug. ‘Armies may fall, Parthian, but Rome is eternal. What is Parthia but a collection of desert nomads and horse stables devoid of culture and learning? It is Rome’s duty to bring civilisation to the world. That is why I am here.’

I sighed. ‘You are here because you, or more correctly your master, Crassus, wishes to have possession of the trade route into Egypt.’

‘Parthia has no jurisdiction west of the Euphrates. King Phraates has given Rome sovereignty over this land.’

This was staggering. ‘What?’

He smiled, delighting in my uncertainty. ‘It is true. Governor Lucullus has agreed to evacuate the province of Gordyene in exchange for control of all territory up to the west bank of the Euphrates. You see, Parthian, even your own king does not want you.’

I refused to believe that this was so. ‘Here are my terms, Furius. Your men are to lay down their weapons and you will become my hostage. Your master, Crassus, will have to pay a handsome price to get you back. We will see how much he values you, which is only fair as he puts a price on everything.’

‘I reject your terms.’

‘What?’

‘A Roman general never surrenders, especially in his own land.’

‘You are an idiot,’ I replied. ‘To continue fighting will result in your certain death.’

‘All death is certain.’

A most philosophical answer, I had to admit.

‘I give you one last chance to surrender.’

‘I reject your offer, Parthian. I do not bargain with slaves.’

I shook my head, pulled on Remus’ reins and turned my back on Lucius Furius. I heard a jangling noise behind me followed by a hissing sound. I turned to see Furius directly behind me, sword in hand. He was slumped in his saddle, an arrow lodged in his chest. I looked back at my men and saw Gallia with a bow in her hand. The sword slipped from Furius’ hand and then he fell from his saddle. He hit the ground and rolled onto his back. He glazed eyes told me that he was dead.

Mayhem then broke out as horsemen and foot soldiers charged the Romans. Horns and trumpets blasted as thousands of men attacked the wavering shield wall, while the air was thick with missiles as horse archers loosed their bows and Roman slingers and archers replied in kind. Horsemen surged past me led by Orodes, his sword held aloft, while on their flank Domitus and his men hoisted their shields and marched towards the Romans. Around a hundred paces from the enemy they charged, the front ranks racing at the enemy with swords drawn as the ranks immediately behind then hurled their javelins over the heads of their comrades against the enemy. I heard a loud thud as the Durans smashed into the stationary Romans, thrusting their swords upwards into any gaps between the shields. The Roman line buckled and then began to fall back as the impetus of the Duran charge cut its way into the enemy.

The horse archers did not attempt to charge the Romans but merely continued with their harassing fire, pouring volley after volley of arrows into the enemy. Occasionally an arrowhead hit flesh, but mostly it forced the Romans to take shelter behind their shields, but in doing so it prevented them from reinforcing the threatened sections of their line. Orodes and the cataphracts, now wielding swords or maces, rode up to the Roman lines and tried to batter their way through the enemy. But the ranks of the enemy were too dense and they failed. But Domitus did not fail.

Both armies had been manoeuvring and fighting under a hot sun for hours now. The Romans had seen their cavalry scattered, their eagles spirited away and their commander killed, and now they were penned in like sheep against the river. Assaulted once more, their cohesion began to crack as they continued to endure arrow fire from thousands of horse archers, a fire that seemingly never ceased, unlike their own slingers and archers, who soon ran out of ammunition. So Domitus and his men cut their way into the enemy, creating a gap through which Orodes and I led our weary heavy horsemen. The sight of enemy horsemen behind them once again was too much for the weary legionaries. Most of their senior officers, the legates and tribunes who rode on horseback, were now dead, felled by arrows. Soon groups of Romans were throwing down their weapons and giving themselves up. Fighting began to peter out as exhausted soldiers and horsemen disengaged from the Romans and merely watched their opponents submit to them. It was a strange scene — shortly before the Romans had been a tenacious foe, now they were beaten men meekly submitting to their fate. The battle was over.