Parthian Dawn

Chapter 17

We crossed the river and headed north. Gordyene is a mountainous land littered with great mountain steppes and meadows. It is also a fertile country, home to a rich variety of wildlife, such as bears, leopards and the Caspian tiger. High above us, imperial eagles outstretched their vast wings and rode the winds. I hoped that we would not be seeing any silver eagles during our time here. We headed for the country around Balas’ old capital at Vanadzor, an ancient city at the confluence of the Pambak, Tantsut and Vanadzor rivers. We saw no towns or villages as our column made its way towards the city. Atrax had visited Balas many times when he had been a boy, and without his knowledge we would have been blind in this strange land. I accompanied him as we rode ahead of the column, leaving Orodes behind in command of the horsemen. Atrax had wanted to go on ahead on his own to act as our chief scout but I dissuaded him. I did not want his death on my conscience and nor did I want the permanent enmity of my sister should misfortune strike him. But he knew this country and led us away from the main road, in truth nothing more than a wide track that led straight from Irbil to Vanadzor, and instead diverted us into a great forest that had been on our right flank. The forest was dank and dim, the canopy masking further the poor light.

‘Few people live in this forest,’ said Atrax as we moved silently through the trees, ‘though it is home to much game. I hunted here often as a boy.’

‘And now you come to hunt Romans.’

He halted his horse and looked at me. ‘May I ask you a question?’

‘Of course.’

He looked troubled. ‘When I came to Gordyene with Aschek and my father, our plan was to advance straight to Vanadzor, thinking that if we destroyed the enemy’s main garrison we would take the city and they would withdraw.’

I nodded. ‘A sensible strategy.’

‘But we were beaten and forced to withdraw. My point is, the combined armies of Media and Atropaiene numbered many thousands and still we lost. How, then, are you going to defeat them with only a thousand men?’

I smiled at him. ‘By avoiding battle, Atrax. There are many ways to skin a cat. All will become clear.’

Three days later we were camped in the forest vastness to the east of Vanadzor. We had brought eight-man oilskin tents with us from Dura, the same type used by the soldiers of the legion. Eight men and their equipment was a tight fit, but with the days growing colder tightly packed men would keep each other warm. We cut branches from the trees; a collection of cedars, beech, ash and elm, to fashion temporary stables, for if left exposed to the elements, even among the trees, our horses would suffer greatly. And without our horses we would be lost. We all took turns cutting wood to make frames for the stables, then creating wicker panels for their sides. The roofs were also made from wicker panels overlaid with branches. It was hard work and many grumbled that they had come to fight not play at being foresters, but it kept the men busy while we waited.

The camp was purposely spread over a large area and guards were posted beyond its perimeter in every direction. Around the perimeter itself we dug pits and placed sharpened stakes inside them, then covered them with foliage, which was changed on a daily basis. There was only one entry route into the camp and one route by which riders could leave — I was determined that we would not be surprised. Each day the forest was filled with the sounds of chopping as men felled trees and hacked at their branches. I was worried that the smoke from the myriad of fires would give our position away, but we were deep in the forest and in any case the autumn skies were filled with mist and rain.

‘The men have to eat, Pacorus,’ said Orodes, ‘and they need warm food in their bellies this time of year. So we have to light fires.’

Everyone practised entering and exiting the camp, both on foot and horseback, and getting to know the area intimately. We set up shooting ranges to maintain our archery skills, though I also organised hunting parties to track down and kill bears, wild goats, boar and deer. Approaching wild animals stealthily was good training for what was to come. I emphasised that there was to be no wastage of arrows. We were a long way from home and would not be able to replenish our stocks easily.

‘I thought we had come here to fight,’ whispered Surena as we inched our way towards a magnificent Caspian red deer that was grazing at the edge of a clearing in the trees.

‘We are,’ I replied.

The deer suddenly stopped chewing the grass and looked up. We froze. Had he seen us? We stood like statues for what seemed like an eternity, our hearts thumping in our chests. He slowly turned his head to stare in our direction, displaying his massive antlers. He must have weighed five hundred pounds, perhaps more. He flicked his ears and then continued with his meal.

‘Think you can take him?’ I asked.

The distance between us was around three hundred feet.

‘Yes,’ replied Surena.

I strung an arrow as he did the same and raised his bow. He pulled back the bowstring until the arrow’s feathers were against his right ear. I too pulled back my bowstring, just in case he missed. He released the string and the arrow flew through the air, slicing into the animal’s neck. I shot my arrow, which went into the stag’s chest. The animal jerked in surprise, attempted to turn and flee with the two missiles lodged in its body, then collapsed on to the ground as its strength gave way. We both sprinted forward, Surena throwing himself on top of the jerking beast as its life ebbed away. He pulled his dagger and slit its throat, blood gushing from the wound into the earth. It jerked no more.

‘You should have shot him through the chest, to hit the heart,’ I said.

Surena smiled. ‘Too easy.’

‘I used to be cocky like you. It almost got me killed. A big Roman centurion nearly cut me in two. Dig the arrows out; we don’t want to waste any.’

Surena screwed up his face, but then shrugged and began using his dagger to work the arrows free from the deer’s flesh. Soon his hands and the arms of his tunic were covered in blood. He eventually yanked the arrows free and handed me mine. I wiped the three-winged arrowhead on the damp grass and slid it back into my quiver.

‘Why are we skulking around the forest? I thought we were here to fight Romans.’

‘You are skulking around because those are my orders. That should suffice. However, as you are my squire and I am in a generous mood, I will answer. But first, let me ask you a question.’

He too wiped his arrow clean before sitting on the dead deer.

‘When you were fighting the soldiers of Chosroes, why didn’t you meet them in open battle?’

He laughed. ‘They would have cut us to pieces. We only had knives and a few bows and spears. And we were too few.’

‘Exactly, Surena. Now go and fetch the horses so we can haul this magnificent feast back to camp.’

We had been in camp for ten days when one of the sentries came running to my tent. I was sitting on the ground sharpening my sword with a stone, while Surena was grooming his horse. Orodes was replacing the feathers on one of his arrows.

‘One of the out-riders reports two men approaching the forest, majesty.’

Orodes and Surena stopped what they were doing. I rose to my feet.

‘Good, we will go to meet them.’

I pointed at Surena. ‘Saddle your horse.’

Orodes had already thrown the saddle on the back of his mount as I walked over to Remus and did the same. Minutes later we were riding out of camp heading west. I told the officer on duty that we would return shortly.

‘Do you require an escort, majesty?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

We followed the path out of the camp as the out-rider met us at the perimeter. I ordered him to show me the two strangers approaching and so we rode through the trees. Eventually we came to the edge of the forest and rode on to a wide mountain steppe. A chill wind was blowing from the north as I peered ahead and saw the two riders ambling towards us, now no more than a mile away.

‘Who are they?’ asked Orodes, leaning forward in his saddle.

‘Friends,’ I answered, then dug my knees into Remus.

We galloped across the grassland until we reached the mystery riders. I pulled up Remus and halted before the two now stationary men.

‘You found us, then,’ I said.

Byrd looked as unconcerned as ever. ‘Of course, you told me of your plans before we left Dura.’

‘Even so, this is a foreign land.’

‘Simple enough,’ replied Byrd. ‘Get to Vanadzor, then look for hiding place large enough to conceal a thousand men and their horses, not too far from the city. You getting predictable.’

‘Not too predictable, I hope.’ I looked at Malik. ‘Hail, prince. I trust your father is well.’

‘And in your debt,’ he replied. ‘He is most appreciative of your generosity.’

Orodes smiled at them both. ‘Good to see you again, Byrd, and you too, Malik.’

The spirits of the men rose when they saw the new arrivals. Byrd had become something of a legend among us, the man who travelled like a ghost among the enemy. His status was enhanced by his remoteness; he gave his time only to those who had been with him in Italy, or those few others he liked. Everyone else he largely ignored. Malik was liked because he was a fearless warrior who had served Dura of his own volition. No one gave his race a second thought; he was one of us now. That night we skinned the deer, cooked it over a great fire and then Surena cut strips of meat from it for us to eat.

After we had filled our bellies we sat round the fire as it slowly died, Byrd speaking as he stared into the red glow. He and Malik had journeyed to Vanadzor and I wanted to know about its garrison.

‘Garrison was stripped for campaign in Hatra, but still strong.’

‘How many men?’ I asked.

Byrd shrugged. ‘There is a legion camp outside its walls, though many empty spaces where tents should be, plus whatever within.’

‘They have horsemen as well, Pacorus,’ said Malik, tossing a rib into the fire, ‘we saw a few dozen while we were there.’

I shook my head. So much for the Romans giving up Gordyene. They had duped Phraates and had had no intention of yielding any territory. The only question remaining was how long would it take for those soldiers who had invaded my father’s kingdom to return to Gordyene. If they were in Syria, then hopefully they would stay there for the winter.

‘Not easy to move around city,’ said Byrd.

‘You are usually able to blend into your surroundings,’ I told him.

‘City half empty,’ he replied.

‘The plague?’ asked Orodes.

Byrd’s eyes narrowed and he smiled. ‘No. Romani take away half as slaves.’

I should have guessed. Any land unfortunate enough to fall into Rome’s lap is punished for its temerity in resisting, and the slave markets of Italy had an insatiable demand for new merchandise. I was going to say something philosophical about how we are fighting for freedom, but then I remembered that I was not in Italy serving under Spartacus. In any case, I had given the Romans we had taken at Dura to Haytham to share the profits when they were sold as slaves. At that moment I suddenly realised that I too was a slave trader. I hated the Romans even more for reducing me to their level. But then, I did not have to sell the Romans, I could have let them go. So that they could get new weapons and return to kill more of my people? I had made the right decision. I said nothing in response to Byrd’s news, merely avoided anyone’s gaze and stared into the fire.

The next day I called the officers together and told them of my plans. They were quite simple. I intended to ride up to the city walls and insult the Romans, who would hopefully send out a cavalry patrol to apprehend me. I would take Surena and Vagharsh with me, no one else, and would show my banner to the enemy to let them know who was paying them a visit. The rest of the day was spent checking horse harnesses, saddles, bows and swords. We wore no armour aside from our helmets, just two layers of long-sleeved tunics with silk shirts next to our skin. The winters of Gordyene are generally mild, but each man had brought a thick woollen cloak treated with lanolin oil to keep out the cold. My cataphracts did not have their scale armour or the kontus, but they kept their full-face helmets, while the men from Susa had open-faced models. Surena did not have a helmet so he wore a padded felt cap on his head, complete with ear and neck flaps.

It was a three-hour ride from the camp to the capital, a journey across empty steppe land, past fast-flowing streams and through steep-sided valleys covered in trees. Eventually we reached Vanadzor itself, nestled in a narrow valley and straddling the river of the same name. Atrax had told me that the city had originally been a small settlement on the west bank of the river, no more than a collection of wooden huts protected by a stake fence, but in time the wood had been replaced by stone as trade with Armenia and its southern neighbours had brought a degree of prosperity to the kingdom. That had been over a hundred years ago. Now the city looked sad and forlorn, with crumbling walls and no King Balas to sit in its palace. After his defeat and death the Romans had just walked into the city and occupied it without a fight.

On the plain there were some travellers on the wide track that followed the course of the river north to the city gates, two hauling a small cart loaded with animal pelts, another bowed down with a large sack on his back. Two squat towers flanked the gates. We halted to take stock under some trees by the side of the track where the valley narrowed, around a mile from the city itself. The air was damp and the sky grey, with the tops of the hills wreathed in mist. Balas’ old capital looked a miserable place indeed.

We followed the track that hugged the eastern riverbank and then crossed a wooden bridge over the river itself. The waterway was not wide at this point, around forty feet or so, but the water was dark and fast flowing. Then we headed towards the city’s main entrance, once again following the course of the river. The gates were open, though aside from two guards standing sentry I saw no other signs of life. Then I spotted two helmets on the walls either side of the gates, then more as legionaries came out of the towers to peer at the three mystery horsemen approaching. We trotted on until we were around three hundred paces from the gates, the walls above now crowded with around a score of Roman soldiers all staring at us. I nudged Remus forward a few paces and then stopped. I spread out my arms.

‘Romans,’ I shouted at the top of my voice. ‘My name is Pacorus, King of Dura, and I order you to leave the city you now occupy and return to Italy.’

Nothing happened, aside from a few legionaries looking at each other in bewilderment. The two sentries turned to face us and instinctively lifted their shields to protect their left sides. I drummed my fingers on my saddle. After a few moments a burly centurion appeared at the gates, instantly recognisable by the transverse crest on his helmet, and began to stride towards us. The sentries followed him.

‘Surena,’ I said. ‘Do you think you can drop the big fellow in front with the fancy crest?’

He gave no answer, but seconds later I heard a twang and saw the arrow fly through the air, to hit the centurion in the centre of his chest. He immediately doubled over and fell to the ground. I pulled my bow from its case, strung an arrow and released the bowstring. One of the sentries had dropped his javelin and was bending down, trying to assist the centurion. My arrow went into his shoulder and he crumpled onto the ground. Surena shot another arrow that hit the remaining sentry in the thigh, who screamed and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his wound. I rode forward and shot three more arrows at the men standing on the walls, my arrows clattering off the stone, then I heard a great clamour as they raised the alarm. More Roman soldiers ran from the city and formed a line of locked shields in front of us, those behind using their shields to form a roof as protection against falling arrows.

I turned in the saddle. ‘Vagharsh, time for you to leave.’

He nodded and then wheeled away, galloping back towards the bridge, my griffin banner fluttering beside him. Surena came to my side.

‘Should not we be leaving, too?’

‘Not yet. It’s time to see if you have been keeping up with your training rather than pestering young Viper.’

He was indignant. ‘I wasn’t pestering her. She likes me.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘I was wondering if you could put in a word for me.’

I transferred my eyes from the Roman testudo to Surena. ‘What?’

‘She is in the queen’s bodyguard.’

‘What of it?’

‘Well, you must know her personally.’

I shook my head. ‘This may come as a surprise to you, Surena, but I do not know every person who is in Dura’s army. Even if I did know her, it is not my task in life to provide you with young girls.’

I heard a blast of horns and seconds later horsemen thundered out from the city, a column of Roman spearmen in two files heading straight for us.

We turned tail and galloped back towards the bridge with the Romans hard on our heels, then raced across the aged wooden beams onto the eastern side of the river. Moments later the enemy thundered across the bridge and then swung right to catch us. I leaned forward and urged Remus on, Surena beside me. There was no bravado on his face now as he continually glanced behind him at the enemy horsemen straining every fibre to catch us. We galloped along the track, the edge of the forest a green blur as we made our escape. There were trees on either side of us as we followed the course of the river south through the valley. The Romans were still chasing us as we rounded a bend in the track and came to a fork in the road, taking the track that veered to the left that led away from the river. We headed into the forest, the Romans at the head of their column screaming at us to halt. Then I heard another sound, a series of whooshing noises followed by screams and the shrieks of wounded and rearing horses. I slowed Remus and looked behind, to see a heap of riders and their horses on the track. My men had positioned themselves at the edge of the tree line, giving them an uninterrupted field of fire. They loosed their arrows as soon as the Romans came within range, pouring a devastating volley at the head of the column. There was no need to shoot at the middle or rear of the group — disable the head and the body will crumble. As arrows hit the first files, horses lost their footing and fell to the ground and those following collided into them. Those further back tried to veer left and right or halt, but their momentum was such that though their horses came to a sudden stop the riders were catapulted forward from their saddles. The rear of the column managed to slow their horses and avoid the mounds of men and horses to their front, but as they slowed they came under a withering arrow fire from my men in the trees. Arrow after arrow came from the forest, each one finding a fleshy target. Some of the Romans tried to turn and flee, but my men lined the track for half a mile and there was no escape. And then, where there had been shrieks, squeals and shouts, the only sounds were the low moans of the wounded.

Riderless horses scattered as my men walked their mounts out of the trees. Romans that had been thrown from their horses staggered to the feet, dazed and confused, only to be felled by one or more arrows. Some raised their arms and endeavoured to give themselves up but there was no pity shown to the enemy this day. When all had been dropped, I pointed at Surena.

‘Make yourself useful.’

He nodded, jumped from his horse and went among the enemy. Others of my men did the same, all the time covered by the bows of their comrades. Slitting the throats of a disabled adversary is not a pleasant business, but wounded men can recover to fight another day. A handful of Romans had feigned death, hoping that they would go unnoticed. But not today. While this necessary measure was being carried out Orodes and Atrax rode over to me.

‘That was easy enough,’ said Orodes.

‘The next part will take longer,’ I replied.

‘You ride back to the city?’ enquired Atrax.

‘I do indeed, brother. This time perhaps you two would like to accompany me.’

And so the three of us rode back to the gates of Vanadzor, this time with a hundred riders behind us. We did so at a gentle pace; there was no point in tiring the horses unnecessarily. This time the banner of Susa fluttered beside my own. Atrax has wanted to fly Media’s standard in Gordyene but his father had forbidden him to do so. Farhad clearly feared the Romans, but I did not tell his son this. We arrived once more at the gates, which were now slammed shut. I told the others to keep well out of bow range as I once more goaded the enemy.

‘Romans,’ I hollered. ‘Were those horsemen the best you could offer? Their blood now fertilises the earth. Surrender now and save your skins, for to fight further is to invite death.’

I saw no movement on the towers or walls, and so after a few minutes waiting I returned to the men.

‘Why don’t they attack us?’ Atrax was plainly itching for another fight.

I shrugged. ‘They will come in their own time. I suggest we withdraw and get some food inside us.’

‘I want to insult them.’ Atrax made to ride forward but I reached over and laid a hand on his arm.

‘No Atrax, we have done enough.’ His face was a mask of disappointment but I did not want him to get shot for the sake of mere bravado.

We camped five miles south of the city in the forest, though I made sure that I had sentries posted all around. There were other gates out of the city, and just because the Romans had not shown themselves at the southern entrance did not mean that they would not send soldiers from another gate to sweep around our rear and catch us unawares.

After two hours Byrd and Malik rode to where we were camped, our horses tethered to branches and their saddles dumped on the ground. Parties had been sent to the river to fetch water for them, and while we waited for the enemy we checked their iron shoes and groomed them.

‘Romani marching out of city,’ said Byrd.

I was standing in front of Remus holding a waterskin to his mouth. ‘How many?’

‘At least two thousand legionaries, plus light troops and more horsemen.’

I gave the order to reform and the sound of horns filled the forest as the companies were assembled. I called their commanders together and they stood in a semi-circle around me.

‘Our plan is simple. We goad the Romans, annoy them, and then fall back. We wear them down.’

‘We could surprise them, attack from the trees, like we did with the last ones,’ suggested one of my officers.

‘No, they outnumber us and there is no point in charging legionaries. You might kill a few, but once we get close to their locked shields we will ride into a hail of javelins.’

‘What about their horsemen, Pacorus?’ asked Orodes.

‘We can kill them. They will be acting as scouts and riding ahead of the foot. Kill them with arrows. But remember that our aim is to lure the Romans further away from the city.’

‘To what end?’ queried Atrax.

‘Attrition, lord prince. Grind them down, just like the Romans like to grind down their enemies.’

And so it was. We saddled our horses and then rode south, letting the enemy horsemen see us but always keeping a safe distance between them and us. The road we were on led south to Media, but after an hour we left it and made our way back to the camp we had constructed among the trees. As we moved we left small parties of riders, half companies, in the trees either side of the track we travelled along. These men would ambush the Roman cavalry, empty a few saddles and then gallop way. Once they had recovered the enemy cavalry would give chase, only to run into another ambush set further along the track. I took part in these ambushes, as did Surena, Atrax and Orodes, and they were immense fun. We would wait in the forest some hundred paces from the tree line, so anyone on the track would see only darkness if they stared into the trees. Once the enemy horsemen appeared we would shoot at the front and rear of the group, which would sow confusion and terror, then we could pick off those in the middle as men tried to calm their frightened horses. Then we would ride away through the trees, leaving the survivors to deploy against an enemy that was no longer there.

By dusk the Roman cavalry no longer pursued us. We had killed most of them and the rest had retreated to take refuge with the foot. The latter had been under the observation of Byrd and Malik, who rode into our camp after dark, having dismounted at the edge of the forest adjoining the wide steppe where the Romans had built their camp. I forbade the lighting of any fires lest they give our position away, even though we were deep in the forest. It therefore took Byrd and Malik some time to weave their way in the dark through the traps that had been laid among the trees. Eventually they found their way to my tent where Orodes, Surena and Atrax were sitting on the ground eating biscuits washed down with water.

‘There must be four thousand Romans in that camp,’ said Malik, flopping down on the hard earth.

‘Tomorrow we will entice them into the trees,’ I said, ‘but tonight perhaps we might ruffle their feathers.’

‘Ruffle their feathers?’ asked Byrd.

‘Why not? Get close to their camp and kill a few sentries. Keep them all on edge.’

Byrd was unimpressed. ‘Romani camp in middle of grassland. Uninterrupted view in all directions.’

‘We’ll just have to crawl, then.’

Two hours later I was impersonating a snake as I crawled on my belly towards the enemy camp. Like all Roman camps it was a neat rectangle surrounded by an earth mound that was surmounted by a palisade of stakes. Inside the legionaries slept eight to a tent, the latter arranged in neat rows and blocks. The night was overcast; if there had been moonlight we would not have attempted our raid because any sentry would have had a clear view of the illuminated steppe. With me were Orodes, Surena and Atrax. Farhad’s son has immediately volunteered to come with us and I had initially refused his offer, but he had made such a protest that I changed my mind just to shut him up. In truth I regretted that he had come on this expedition, not least because I did not want anything to befall him. On the other hand he was brave and loyal, two qualities that seemed to be in short supply in Parthia at present.

Before we left camp I had borrowed a dark brown shirt to wear instead of my white tunic, and we all left our helmets behind. So we crawled for at least an hour across the steppe, inching closer to the Roman camp that was illuminated by the lighted oil lamps and braziers within. We carried no swords, axes or maces, only daggers attached to our belts, full quivers and our bows. No one spoke as we shuffled in a line towards our target. It was a miserable night: cold, damp, the air filled with spits of rain carried on a cool northerly wind. Hopefully the Roman guards would be wrapped in their cloaks with their heads down. On we crawled. I could hear muffled noises now. Straining my ear I thought I caught the sound of laughter. Perhaps a group of men was playing cards or throwing dice, the universal pastimes of soldiers the world over. Around two hundred paces from the camp we halted and then did not move for at least ten minutes. There appeared be a guard every ten paces, and if any of them had seen movement ahead their first instinct would not be to raise the alarm but to look again to confirm what they thought they had seen. So we remained dead still and the guard would have seen no further movement; he would shrug it off as being a lapse in concentration or a trick of the mind, nothing more.

I rolled onto my back and reached into my quiver. The arrows had been bound together to stop them rattling during the journey. I slowly untied the twine and pulled an arrow out and placed the nock in the bowstring. Then I very slowly assumed a kneeling position, my right knee on the ground. I peered head and saw a guard’s head and shoulders directly in front of me. I drew back the bowstring, keeping my eyes on the target. It would be a difficult shot because the only real target was his face. I slowed my breathing and focused entirely on the target; nothing else existed at that moment. Subconsciously I had already made allowances for the wind and distance. The bow was not a weapon; it was a part of me, at one with my senses and instincts. Time slowed as I released the string. I heard a twang and low hiss, then a dull thud as the arrowhead struck the sentry and he fell to the ground. The others took their shots as I strung another arrow and loosed it. The air was filled with hissing noises as my companions searched out targets, and then other sounds were carried on the wind — trumpet blasts and shouts as the camp was awoken from its slumber.

‘Time to go,’ I said, releasing another arrow at a centurion, his telltale crest betraying his rank, who was standing behind the palisade barking orders.

We ran as fast as our legs would carry us, my heart pounding in my chest as I strained every muscle to get back to the safety of the forest. We must have covered that two-mile stretch of ground in a time that a Greek Olympian would have been jealous of, because when we entered the trees we all collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. Some of my cataphracts had been posted there as a rearguard should we be pursued, and now they helped us to our feet. For a while I had difficulty standing upright and it was painful to breathe, but eventually our hearts returned to normal and anxiety and stress were replaced by boyish enthusiasm as we congratulated ourselves on a job well done. Back at camp we sat on the ground until the grey light of dawn came, exaggerating our feats wildly. Once again we had given the Romans a bloody nose.

In the morning we broke camp and rode to the edge of the forest. The Romans had also left their camp and were forming into ranks on the steppe in front of us. We moved out of the trees and faced them, though they were well over a mile away and we were beyond the range of their archers and slingers. Their cohorts were arrayed in the centre and the light troops — spearmen with shields but no armour, archers and slingers — were deployed on the flanks. A blast of trumpets signalled their advance. Thousands of men began a steady march towards us. I saw few horsemen among their ranks save a small group behind their centre wearing red cloaks and surrounded by standards. The commander and his senior officers, no doubt.

There were only two hundred of us arrayed before the Romans, deployed in one long line at the tree line. But we raised a great clamour and hurled insults at the enemy as we fell back into the trees.

The Romans followed us, sending forward their lightly armed spearmen and archers first. Those of us on horseback withdrew into the vastness of the forest, but always letting the enemy see glimpses of us as we did so. The enemy thought that their light troops, used to operating in open order, would be more than adequate to deal with a few horsemen among the trees. The spearmen entered the trees gingerly, the archers and slingers positioned on their flanks to offer them protection. They shot a few arrows at the fleeting shapes of horsemen among the trees, but the day was overcast and the foliage diminished the light still further. The spearmen kept moving forward, their shafts levelled and their round shields held in front of their bodies. The archers and slingers, carrying no shields to protect them, crouched low in an effort to reduce their silhouettes. Those of us on horseback put away our bows as we kept out of range of the enemy bows and slings. Further we retreated into the forest, back towards our camp. Then our trap was sprung.

Hidden among the trees were the rest of my men, seven hundred archers behind cover waiting for the enemy. The remaining hundred Parthians remained in camp tending the horses and mules, and would form a reserve if we needed them. A Parthian recurve bow has a greater range than its Roman equivalent with its straight limbs, but today my men let the enemy archers get close to them. On horseback a Parthian horse archer can shoot between five and seven arrows a minute; on foot this increases to up to ten arrows a minute. When the enemy had closed to within fifty paces a horn blew and Parthian bows began shooting. My men were hidden and stationary and their first volley was deadly accurate — seven hundred arrows sliced through the air and buried themselves in flesh and bone. After half a minute three and a half thousand arrows had been shot at the Roman archers and slingers, who suffered horrendous losses. Most had been hit and either killed or wounded by the first two volleys, but my men kept on firing until the survivors fled. Two horn blasts signalled that the enemy was now running. I turned and gave the order to sound the advance. Now it was our turn to move forward.

The plan was for those on foot to stay where they were as the horsemen counterattacked. We drew our swords and moved forward, cantering through the trees. The enemy spearmen had been left alone while their archers had been dealt with, but now my archers began directing their arrows at them. Ahead I could see the spearmen, their ranks being thinned by arrow fire, then I signalled the charge. Horns blasted and we screamed our war cries as we galloped at the enemy. Gaps had already appeared in their ranks where dead spearman lay on the ground, and in any case among the trees it was difficult to form an unbroken shield wall. A few threw their spears at the onrushing horsemen and one or two found their target, but many had already turned tail before we made contact. And then we hit them like a thunderbolt.

Had they stood firmed in solid blocks we would not have been able to defeat them, but these men were auxiliaries, not legionaries. They were not trained to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with shields locked facing the enemy, to withstand arrow fire and spear storms and the charge of enemy horsemen. And the rout of their archers and slingers had shaken their morale. I slashed left and right at heads and torsos, taking care to avoid spear points, for neither our horses nor we wore armour. On we rode, hacking and thrusting, splitting thin shields with swings of our swords. Many of the enemy had thrown away their spears and shields and were running as fast as they could to escape us. We pursued them to the edge of the forest and beyond, catching some as they fell to the ground and began retching due to their exertions. They just had time to look up before a swing of a sword blade ended their life. Dozens fled back to the safety of the cohorts deployed on the steppe, which were now advancing towards the forest. I chased after one man who still carried his shield. I held my sword arm straight as I closed on him, then brought it up as I rode past him and slashed down, knocking him off his feet as my blade bit deep into the left side of his skull. I slowed Remus and then wheeled him right, then heard a hiss as a javelin flew past me. In concentrating on my quarry I had ridden dangerously close to a Roman cohort that was closing on me. I yelled at Remus and urged him forward, out of javelin range.

‘Sound recall,’ I shouted, as some of my riders got too close to the enemy and were felled by javelins.

I rode back to the edge of the forest, to be joined by Orodes and Atrax. As the men reformed either side of the royal standards I saw Surena riding up and down in front of the Roman front line, loosing arrows at them.

‘Stay here,’ I shouted to Orodes and Atrax, then rode back towards the advancing enemy. I halted when I was within shouting distance of Surena.

‘Get back, you young idiot. Obey orders for once or I will shoot you myself.’

I turned and galloped back to the men, followed by Surena. His eyes were wild with the excitement of battle.

‘Listen for the horns next time,’ I said. ‘I was nearly killed because I got too close to them.’

In front of us five cohorts of legionaries were getting ready to attack. We had won one relatively bloodless victory; the next fight would be much harder.

‘Back into the trees,’ I said, ‘same tactics as before.’

Except this was not the same as before. These Romans were obviously veterans, because they seamlessly advanced into the forest and then deployed into their centuries, shields locked to the front, overhead and sides.

They moved slowly to maintain their formations and our arrows could make no impression on them. Eventually I gave the order for those on foot to get back to camp as quickly as possible while those of us on horseback maintained a steady fire against the Romans. We did manage to inflict some losses on the Romans when some of them fell into the traps that we had dug, men screaming as they were impaled on stakes in the pits. Their testudo formations were momentarily broken, allowing us to shoot at exposed bodies, but then the Romans would lock shields once more and continue to advance. As they were doing so the rest of the men were evacuating the camp via the other side. Thus ended our fight with the garrison of Vanadzor.

We lost fifty men killed in the action and a further forty wounded, and had shot a great many arrows. We carried on moving east through the forest until we came to a vast expanse of grassland. It was now nearly dusk, but we rode across the plain for another two hours until it was dark and then made camp. We kept the horses saddled in case we had to make a quick escape, for I did not know if there were other Roman garrisons in the area. Fortunately we were not pursued, and so the next day we moved further east once more and pitched a new camp in another great forest that bordered Lake Urmia.

We stayed in Gordyene for six months, operating around Vanadzor and Lake Urmia, launching raids against the Romans and fending off the parties of horsemen they sent against us. After a while we split into three groups, Orodes leading one, Atrax the other and myself the third, riding far and wide to attack isolated Roman outposts and sometimes putting their small garrisons to the sword, at other times being beaten off or unable to storm the wooden towers that had sprung up all over Gordyene. We ambushed supply columns, taking any food the wagons carried. We killed the guards and drivers and torched the wagons, but when the snows came the tracks became impassable and there was no traffic on the roads. As it grew colder we were forced to build huts in the forest to house men and horses and rarely ventured out. We became unshaven, lice infested and filthy. My helmet lost its feathers and rusted, our boots were holed, but we kept our bows and arrows dry and our swords clean and sharp. During the winter we forgot about the Romans and concentrated on keeping our horses and ourselves alive. At the turn of the year Byrd and Malik actually travelled to a small town and purchased fodder from a corrupt Roman official, no questions asked.

When spring came the Romans once again sent out cavalry patrols to hunt us down, so we moved further east out of Gordyene and into northern Atropaiene. The Romans followed us. We were down to six hundred men by this time and were woefully short of arrows. We had eaten all of our mules and many of the men had sores on their faces and bodies due to the cold that we had endured during the winter. Occasionally we laid an ambush for our pursuers, killing a score or more before riding away. But such minor victories only reduced our numbers and ammunition still further. In truth we had become nothing but a group of bandits trying to stay one step ahead of our hunters. My plan to wear down the Romans had turned out to be a flight of fancy — it was we who were being ground down. As we moved further east we reached the shores of the great Caspian Sea, part of the northern frontier of the Parthian Empire. We continued our retreat, striking southeast but still pursued by the Romans.

To save the horses’ strength we were forced to spend days walking them instead of riding, the lack of good fodder having weakened them considerably. Most of them, including Remus, had become skin and bone. Only the horse of Byrd remained unchanged as it had always been a scrawny, thin beast. One day, as we were resting in a canyon by a shallow stream under a warm sun, Byrd and Malik rode into camp. Many of the men had stripped off and were washing or lying in the cool water, their first soak in weeks.

Byrd was agitated. ‘Romani cavalry very close.’ He pointed to the direction from where they had ridden.

‘How many?’ I asked.

‘I estimate two thousand,’ said Malik, now sporting a thick black beard, his robes torn and holed.

‘How long before they get here?’

Byrd shrugged. ‘An hour, perhaps less.’

I called everyone together — five hundred tired men and their equally tired horses. Some were lame and could not carry a man anyway, so I knew that this was the end. They all gathered round me in a big semi-circle; Orodes and Atrax were beside me. The prince was no longer the fired-up youth of last year; rather, he had become a more sober individual, thoughtful though still brave and loyal. I told them what Byrd and Malik had told me. A show of hands revealed that fifty of them had lame horses, which meant that they would not be able to ride to safety, and I also knew that none of us would abandon our comrades.

‘We have failed to stay beyond their reach,’ I said, ‘so the only course of action is to stand and fight them here.’

‘Well,’ said Orodes, ‘I for one am tired of running.’

There were murmurs of agreement.

Atrax smiled at me. ‘We’ve beaten them before.’

‘So we have,’ I replied.

We had no armour, many had lost their helmets and we averaged three arrows per man. Nevertheless, we saddled our horses and formed up into three groups, each one numbering a hundred and fifty and led by myself, Orodes and Atrax respectively. The remaining men and their lame horses were positioned to the rear. All our remaining arrows had been distributed among those who were in the front ranks. Our tactics were simple — we would charge the enemy and kill as many as we could before going to work with our swords. And after that… I smiled to myself. There would be no ‘after that’. I look around. So this is the barren place where I would breath my last. I reached inside my vest and touched the lock of Gallia’s hair. Together for all eternity.

I rode over to Atrax. ‘My apologies, lord prince.’

‘Apologies?’

‘I promised your wife that I would keep you safe. I have failed in that promise.’

‘Much as I love my wife, I would not be anywhere else at this moment. It has been an honour serving with you, Pacorus.’

Honour. How much blood had been spilt in name of that word? It had seemed so simple when I returned from Italy. I had always carped on to Spartacus and anyone else who would listen in his army that the only life worth living was an honourable one. He had smiled wryly and I thought that he was mocking me, but I now knew that he was much wiser than me and realised that in their hearts most men are corrupt and greedy. They talk of honour when it suits them and then ignore it when it is an inconvenience. But then, it was easy for me when I was riding with Spartacus. I had no kingdom to protect and I did not have to deal with other kings, whose ideas concerning how to conduct diplomacy were very different from mine. I had tried to be true to my beliefs and myself. At the end, that is all that matters.

The sound of horn blasts further down the canyon brought me back to reality. The Roman cavalry was deploying into line. I could see a forest of spear points and a great line of green shields that spanned the canyon. They were in no hurry to charge us. There was no need; we were few and they were many. They would take their time. Though we matched their line in length we could only muster a paltry three ranks.

I turned to Vagharsh. ‘Unfurl the standard, Vagharsh. Let them see it.’

He slipped off the waxed sleeve that protected the banner and then held it proudly on his right side. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the material but was not enough to display it fully. Orodes likewise commanded that the standard of Susa be unfurled. Ahead of us the Roman horsemen at last began to move forward. They were around half a mile distant. I looked around. Beside me Surena was placing an arrow in his bowstring, while Orodes was cutting the air with his sword and Atrax was sharing a joke with his men. I could see why his people liked him. He had an amiable manner and quiet courage that never faltered no matter how dire the circumstances. These qualities did not falter now.

‘Surena, it probably does not matter now, but I want you to know that you are no longer a squire. You are a cataphract.’

He smiled with delight. ‘Thank you, lord.’

He looked round and grinned at the men behind. Those within earshot raised their weapons in salute.

‘I’m sorry that it has ended this way.’

He suddenly looked serious. ‘It does not mater. I was, am, a poor boy from the marshes. But because of you I have seen great cities and rubbed shoulders with mighty warriors, kings and queens. Why should I regret that I have experienced such things? Besides, everyone has to die sometime, lord.’

In that moment he was ridiculously proud and sat ten-foot tall in his saddle. At least he would die happy. I rode forward to place myself in front of the men; Orodes and Atrax did the same. I drew my sword and held it aloft. The men raised their bows and began cheering, and then, coming from behind our ranks, I heard a low rumbling noise that began to shake the earth. The cheering died away as men turned in their saddles to peer behind them. I rode back and through our thin line to get a better look. Had more Romans swept around us? I halted and saw a great mass of horsemen filling the canyon and riding towards us. There were hundreds of them; no, thousands. Some riders were hitting the skins of great kettledrums with thick drumsticks, others were blowing horns, and above the approaching mass flew the sun banners of Margiana and the Caspian Tiger standards of Hyrcania. The armies of Khosrou and Musa had come.

Momentarily stunned by this gift from the gods, I rode up and down our line shouting like a mad man.

‘Let them pass, let them pass. Move aside.’

My men did so as a great block of cataphracts swept past us and then halted a hundred paces or so in front of where we had previously been positioned, men and horses in scale armour, rank upon rank of them as far as the eye could see. Khosrou and Musa galloped up, while in front of us the Roman cavalry had halted upon seeing the horde that they now faced.

I bowed my head to the two kings. ‘Majesties, I thank you for your timely arrival.’

Musa, his big round face encased in a helmet that had a black horsehair crest, smiled. ‘The King of Dura is a welcome guest in my lands.’ He jerked a finger down the canyon. ‘Romans are not.’

Khosrou’s narrow eyes regarded me and then my horse. ‘Well, young Pacorus, it would appear that you have had a long campaign. I think you and your men deserve a rest.’

Musa waved his hand at one of his officers, who galloped to the head of the great mass of horsemen and gave the signal to advance. I sat in awe as the thunder of thousands of hooves reverberated around the canyon and hundreds of cataphracts moved forward as one. Seeing this tidal wave of men and horseflesh approaching, the Romans beat a hasty retreat, pursued by a torrent of Parthian cavalry.

The camp of the two kings was located five miles due east of the canyon, on a large grassy plain that was crisscrossed by small streams. The camp was a sprawling collection of brightly coloured tents of varying shapes and sizes, the largest being the two royal pavilions that stood side by side in the centre. Behind them was a vast fenced-off area that housed the horses of the royal bodyguards, a myriad of wood and canvas windbreaks forming stalls and stables for the animals. A host of squires and servants scurried around like an army of ants, tending to their masters and the horses, digging latrines, cooking food, feeding and mucking out horses, and repairing armour and sharpening weapons. The armies’ other horses were corralled in fence-off areas beside the tents of their owners, men and horseflesh as far as the eye could see. And beyond the tents parties of horse archers established a screen of scouts ten or more miles away in all directions from the centre of the camp. It was as if a great tent city had suddenly sprung from the earth.

We spent several days as the guests of the two kings, during which time both we and our horses rested and consumed great quantities of food. We burned our threadbare clothes and were given new robes, in my case a fine pair of leather boots, baggy red leggings and a purple shirt with gold trimmings. I was offered a new helmet but asked if my own could be repaired instead. I gave it to one of Musa’s chief armourers, a squat, stocky man with forearms as thick as tree trunks and a neck to match. He examined my helmet with its dents, broken cheekguards and battered crest.

‘You’d be better getting yourself a new one.’

‘It was a gift from a friend,’ I said, ‘and I would prefer to keep it.’

He ran his fingers on the inside of the helmet and then held it at arm’s length.

‘It’s a nice piece, I’ll grant you that. I suppose I can fix it. Won’t be cheap, mind.’

‘I will give you gold to repair it.’

This obviously discarded any doubts he may have had about the task. He placed the helmet down on his anvil and rubbed his hands.

‘Well, then, I’ll get started. A gift, you say? Mmm, doesn’t look Parthian. Persian, perhaps?’

‘No,’ I replied, ‘it is Roman.’

‘Weren’t those the lot that we chased off a few days back?’

‘Indeed they were,’ I replied.

He nodded. ‘Come back in two days.’

On the sixth day I was invited to a meal by the two kings. They had already been generous hosts, giving us new saddles, horse furniture and replacing our arrows as well as our clothes. The men’s spirits soared when they learned that our Roman pursuers had been tracked down, engaged in battle and defeated. A great many had been killed and the rest had been captured. No doubt the meal that was being prepared was in celebration of this victory.

The heavy cavalry of Musa wore scale armour like my own cataphracts, but the armoured horsemen of Khosrou wore bands of hardened leather laced together for protection or suits of black horn scales. They also wore leather armour on their arms and thighs. They carried long spears that were lighter than the kontus and on their heads they wore helmets fashioned from thick hide. Each man also carried a bow and quiver, plus a sword and dagger. Their horses were smaller than our own mounts but they were swift and hardy beasts, born and bred on the endless northern steppes. Only the men of Khosrou’s royal bodyguard wore metal scale armour and helmets. What struck me was the sheer number of Khosrou’s men — there were swarms of them.

I made my way to partake of the kings’ hospitality but was taken aback when I arrived outside Musa’s pavilion. Khosrou and Musa were seated cross-legged on top of a large square, wooden platform made up of two layers of thick planks lashed together. Carpets and cushions had been piled on top of the platform, and a procession of servants stood around its edge with platters heaped with food and jugs holding drink. But my eyes were drawn to what was underneath the platform, for I could see feet protruding from beneath the planks, and then I spotted the top of a head between the feet, and then another and another. With horror I realised that the platform was resting upon a host of bodies.

‘Pacorus, welcome,’ Musa, dressed in a flowing white robe edge with red and gold, rose and beckoned me over. Khosrou was dressed in a simple white shirt and black leggings. He bowed his head and said nothing, but noticed my startled reaction.

‘Welcome. Sit, sit, enjoy my hospitality,’ said Musa, as though feasting on top of dead men was the most natural thing in the world. As I stepped onto the platform I thought I heard a groan from underneath.

I sat next to Musa and opposite Khosrou. A servant offered me a small silver eating bowl, others brought cooked lamb and hare. My appetite had greatly diminished.

‘Thank you, lord,’ I said. ‘Your hospitality is most generous.’

He nodded and smiled. ‘It is not often that we have a hero of Parthia in these parts, isn’t that right, Khosrou?’

I heard another groan and put down my bowl. I beckoned over a servant proffering a cup, and then ordered a second to fill it with wine. Another groan. I took a large gulp.

‘Pacorus does not approve of our eating arrangements, I think,’ said Khosrou, a small grin creasing his lean face.

Musa pushed a handful of meat into his mouth. ‘In their haste to catch up with you, the Romans gave no thought to the lands they were crossing. I cannot have armed bands roaming freely in my kingdom. What sort of king would that make me?’

‘A weak one,’ said Khosrou, his eyes still on me.

‘Exactly,’ retorted Musa, eating more meat. ‘And I deal harshly with bandits in my kingdom, as I’m sure you do in yours.’

‘Margiana and Hyrcania have an alliance,’ said Khosrou, ‘so I was more than glad to lend my friend Musa assistance.’

‘To cut a long story short,’ continued Musa, ‘my men scattered the Romans and took some prisoners. They lie underneath us. And I have sent a message to Rome that I will not tolerate any incursions into my kingdom.’

My appetite did not return, though I warmed to their company. Musa was gruff and plain speaking, while Khosrou was more measured in his talk. He had eyes like a hawk and missed nothing. As we talked at least the groaning beneath me ceased.

‘I must apologise for my unannounced entry into your kingdom, lord,’ I said to Musa. ‘I meant no offence.’

‘And none was take,’ replied Musa.

‘Though we did wonder why you were so far from home,’ added Khosrou.

So I told them about my promise to Farhad and my expedition into Gordyene. Of how we had battled the Romans and then had been pursued by them.

‘I believed that the Roman garrison in Gordyene was smaller than it was. I was wrong,’ I said.

‘We have heard that the Romans have been reinforcing their forces in Gordyene,’ said Khosrou, ‘not reducing them as they promised Phraates.’

‘So you know about the agreement between Phraates and the Romans,’ I said.

Musa nodded. ‘Of course, we are well aware of the machinations at Ctesiphon.’

Khosrou pointed a finger at me. ‘You should have killed Mithridates and Narses when you had the chance. It will harder for you to do so now.’

I also told them about the agreement between my father and Narses concerning the latter giving up his claim to be King of Kings in exchange for the crown of Sakastan. Even Khosrou smiled at this.

‘Clever, very clever. At a stroke Narses becomes ruler of the largest kingdom in the empire.’

‘That is what I told my father,’ I replied, ‘but he would not listen.’

‘He had no choice,’ mused Khosrou, ‘not with the Romans at his throat and Narses and his army nearby. How’s your woman?’

The mood suddenly changed as I told them about Gallia and my new daughter, of how she had defended Dura against the Romans while I had been away from the city.

Musa interrupted me. ‘We heard that you used her and your child as bait for the Romans to take.’

‘No, lord, that is untrue. I told her to seek refuge in Hatra but she ignored me.’

‘Your reputation increased greatly when the story spread. Pacorus the Pitiless is your name in these parts,’ said Khosrou with approval.

‘And what will you do now?’ asked Musa, holding out his cup for a servant to fill.

‘Go to Ctesiphon,’ I replied, ‘so that I may hear from Phraates himself of the agreement he made with the Romans.’

Khosrou exchanged glances with Musa. ‘We are coming with you. Affairs in the empire need settling.’

The two kings did not take their armies south to Ctesiphon, their royal bodyguards, their wagons and spare horses sufficing as escorts. The combined royal retinues still numbered over four thousand men, plus my own party of five hundred, now refreshed and re-equipped. My helmet had been repaired and once again it sported a crest of white goose feathers. Remus had a new saddle and iron shoes and his constitution had benefited greatly from a plentiful supply of good fodder. I rode beside Khosrou and Musa, with Atrax and Orodes immediately behind, followed by the royal standards. Musa sent couriers ahead requesting passage through Atropaiene, which was freely given by Aschek. Indeed, he himself insisted that we journey via his capital. He was a much-changed man since the last time I had seen him, with dark-rimmed eyes and sunken cheeks. He looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The defeat at the hands of the Romans had obviously shaken him to the core, but he seemed genuinely glad to see us and even smiled when Musa informed him that he would fight to preserve the territorial integrity of his own kingdom and that of Atropaiene. And when Khosrou said that he too would lend Atropaiene assistance if required, Aschek was temporarily relieved of his black mood. But gloom and despondency hung over his palace like low cloud, and I could tell that the fight had been knocked out of him.

‘You should have taken your whole army into Gordyene, Pacorus.’

‘It needed rest and replenishment after our fight with the Romans,’ I replied.

He shoulders slumped. ‘Is there no end to these Romans?’

Ctesiphon — grand, sprawling, slightly ramshackle and decadent. The first time I had visited the royal residence it had been a centre of power. The aged Sinatruces had maintained its defences and garrison, had kept the numbers of his courtiers and staff at a minimum, and had not abused the office of King of Kings. I had seen him in his autumn years when his body was feeble and giving up on him, but his mind was still sharp to the end. He knew that empires crumble from within, and had sought to keep the petty jealousies and ambitions of the empire’s kings in check. When he first became King of Kings he had done this by force, leading armies to crush his enemies and laying waste their lands to set an example. His reputation was fierce, but he was also a fair ruler who forgave his truly repentant enemies and never bore a grudge. He stamped down on any signs of treachery ruthlessly, however, and was careful not to abuse his high rank. In return the kings gave him obedience and the empire flourished. Above all, Sinatruces was a good judge of character. How different was his son.

Ctesiphon was now a place of catamites, whores and debauchery. Incense filled our nostrils as soon as we entered the palace, its corridors filled with gaudily dressed courtiers and their capricious wives. Men walked arm-in-arm with other men while eunuchs with shaved heads and dark make-up around their eyes regarded us warily. Even the guards looked decadent, dressed as they were in red boots, bright yellow baggy leggings and tops with bright red felt caps on their heads. They carried wicker shields painted white and carried spears with brightly polished blades.

‘They wouldn’t last five minutes on the battlefield,’ Khosrou mumbled to me in disgust.

The throne room had undergone a transformation since the last time I was here. There were several throne rooms in the palace but this was the largest. Under Sinatruces they had always been sombre, foreboding places designed to intimidate guests, but now their purpose was to awe visitors. The stone pillars had been cased in gold leaf and the walls had been painted white. White marble tiles covered the whole of the floor, while the royal dais was covered with small red tiles. Phraates and his queen sat side-by-side on the dais, with Mithridates hovering like a vulture on the high king’s left and a portly court official standing behind the King of Susiana. A group of beautiful, haughty women dressed in expensive white robes and dripping with gold jewellery stood next to the dais near the queen, while clustered around the great columns were groups of courtiers.

I stood before the dais, Khosrou on my right and Musa on my left, Atrax and Orodes completing the line. All chatter died away as we bowed our heads to Phraates. Aruna displayed her usual icy beauty, though Phraates looked withered and withdrawn, bewildered even. He waved his hand at us but his eyes were blank and his stare vacant. I wondered if he was drugged.

‘Welcome to Ctesiphon.’ Phraates’ voice was feeble.

There was an awkward silence. Courtiers looked at each other and the queen’s serpent-like eyes fixed me. I decided to grasp the cobra by the neck.

‘Lord king, I have come to your court to seek clarity on a most pressing issue.’

Phraates’ brow furrowed. ‘Issue?’

‘Yes, highness, for I have heard that you have traded my kingdom for Gordyene. If so, I have to report that the Romans have not evacuated Gordyene. I know, for I was there not long ago.’

Phraates looked alarmed and cast his eyes down. Musa then spoke.

‘What King Pacorus says is true, great one. I and King Khosrou were forced to defend our realms again these Romans who wandered uninvited into our domains.’

‘And why was this so, King Musa?’ asked Mithridates.

Musa frowned. ‘Why? Because they sent soldiers into my kingdom, that is why.’

Mithridates nodded gravely. ‘But surely, lord king, if they had not been provoked they would not have strayed into your kingdom.’

The queen was nodding. I knew where this was leading.

‘The fact is,’ continued Mithridates, ‘that King Pacorus’ ill-judged adventure provoked the Romans into retaliating.’

‘Are we to let Rome dictate to us?’ I asked. ‘Are its armies free to roam at will throughout the empire, to burn and loot with impunity?’

‘Of course not,’ said Phraates, looking at me, some fire in his eyes at last, ‘but you have provoked them as my son says, Pacorus. It is a most disagreeable situation.’

‘You should demand that the Romans retreat from Gordyene, great one,’ said Musa.

Mithridates smiled. ‘Alas, we are not in a position to demand. The recent civil war has weakened the empire.’

Musa turned on Mithridates. ‘I was not addressing you. Be silent.’

For once Mithridates was lost for words, though his mother was not.

‘Is that how you speak in the presence of the King of Kings, Musa?’ Her voice was filled with venom. Musa ignored her and glared at Mithridates.

‘I must ask again, highness,’ I said, ‘if these rumours of the agreement to trade Dura for Gordyene are true.’

‘Well,’ muttered Phraates, ‘you must understand, Pacorus, that our position was and is most delicate.’

‘The answer is yes,’ spat Mithridates, ‘Dura was ceded to the Romans in exchange for the return of Gordyene to the empire.’

I felt a surge of anger course through me. So my kingdom had been traded like a cheap trinket in the marketplace. In that moment any respect I might have had for Phraates evaporated. He was beneath contempt, while his son and mother were not even worthy of thought.

‘Dura is my kingdom,’ I said slowly, ‘and none may decide its fate except its king.’

‘Except that it is not your kingdom,’ said Mithridates.

‘What?’

Mithridates turned and ordered the portly man who had been standing behind him to step forward. He had pale skin and a wispy light brown beard, with small piggy eyes that darted left and right nervously. He held his effeminate hands in front of his body, his fingers short and puffy.

‘This is Ashlen,’ continued Mithridates, ‘my father’s chancellor and considered something of a legal expert when it comes to the affairs of the empire.’

My patience was fast running out. ‘Is there any point to this?’

Mithridates sneered at me. ‘Ashlen, explain to “King” Pacorus the legal status of Dura.’

Ashlen shuffled forward a few more steps. ‘Well,’ his voice was slightly high pitched, ‘the lands on the western bank of the Euphrates, that were and are administered by the city of Dura, have always been part of the Kingdom of Susiana, not a separate kingdom per se.’ He looked at Mithridates.

‘Please continue, Ashlen,’ said Mithridates.

‘Yes, well, Dura was technically a region that was used by the Great Sinatruces as a place of exile for undesirable elements.’

‘What point is this idiot trying to make?’ I said in exasperation.

‘The point,’ retorted Mithridates, ‘is that my grandfather gave you Dura, which at the time was actually part of my father’s kingdom, that is, Susiana. That being the case, he is only too pleased to exchange it for Gordyene.’

This was ludicrous. ‘And what of the thousands of Parthians who inhabit Dura and the thousands more who live on its lands.’

Mithridates held out his hands. ‘What of them? They were sent there in the first place because the empire did not want them. Thieves and beggars, most of them. I should know, I had the misfortune of ruling over them for a while.’

Mithridates stood with a smirk on his face, while the courtiers and the queen’s ladies looked down their noses at me.

‘So be it,’ I announced. ‘But I will defend my kingdom and all those who live in it, legality or no.’

Mithridates guffawed. ‘Dura is tiny. What chance will you and it stand when the Romans send a larger army against you, standing all alone against their host of legions?’

‘Not alone,’ it was the first time that Khosrou had spoken. ‘Pacorus is my friend and I will stand by him, even if others will not.’

‘As will I,’ announced Musa.

‘And I,’ said Orodes.

‘Media also stands with Dura,’ said Atrax.

Mithridates looked alarmed, as did Phraates. They may not have cared about me, but when a ruler such as Khosrou spoke men listened. It was rumoured that he could raise an army of a hundred thousand men, and Margiana was a power that could certainly make the empire tremble.

Phraates rose from his throne, his face gaunt and pale. ‘Musa and Khosrou, we do not wish to stir your anger, but we must bring Gordyene back into the empire.’

‘Then take it back, high king,’ replied Khosrou, ‘for you have only to give the word and my army is at your disposal.’

Phraates managed a wry smile and then sat back down. ‘There is no point in shedding an ocean of blood when a mere document will achieve our aims.’

‘Lord king,’ said Khosrou, ‘you cannot sacrifice Dura just for the sake of averting war.’

‘Cannot?’ snapped Mithridates, ‘my father is the King of Kings.’

Khosrou turned on Mithridates. ‘I was not addressing you, boy.’

‘Mithridates is a king like you,’ said the queen.

‘Not like me, lady,’ said Khosrou, ‘for I do not crawl on my belly as he does.’

I laughed and the hall erupted in anger, courtiers jabbing their fingers at Khosrou and the queen’s ladies chattering in alarm like a gaggle of geese. The guards around the hall moved menacingly towards us. Eventually Mithridates raised his hands to still the commotion.

‘King Khosrou, we are all friends here, or should be.’

Khosrou was unmoved. ‘Friends do not abandon each other.’

‘I must have Gordyene back,’ said Phraates.

‘Then take it back, highness,’ I said. ‘Dura’s army is at your disposal.’

‘No,’ for once Phraates’ voice was firm. ‘You have caused too much war, Pacorus. You are no longer welcome at Ctesiphon.’

He waved to the guards who levelled their spears and moved to circle me. So it had come to this — all the blood that my men had shed keeping Phraates on his throne and now I was being treated like an outcast, a common criminal. In that moment I despised Phraates and his whole family. No, not his whole family; for as I bowed and then turned to walk from the hall, Orodes accompanied me.

Phraates stood up once more. ‘Those who leave with Pacorus will likewise be unwelcome here.’

‘Orodes,’ said Mithridates, ‘would you turn your back on your family?’

‘I have no family,’ he replied, marching beside me.

Seconds later I was joined by Khosrou, Atrax and Musa. Outside the palace we collected our horses and rode from Ctesiphon to our camp pitched ten miles north of the palace. I never saw Phraates again.

The next day the two kings struck camp and headed back to their homelands. I decided to ride north with them, before heading west to Media to deliver Atrax back to his wife. Khosrou seemed unconcerned by the recent events.

‘Alas for Phraates, an innocent in a nest of vipers.’

‘Things will get worse while he’s high king,’ said Musa, ‘we’d better keep our sword blades sharp and our bowstrings taught.’

‘What will you do, now, Pacorus?’ asked Khosrou.

‘Go home, lord, back to my family.’

He nodded. ‘A wise choice. You and your wife are always welcome in Margiana. I would like to see your blonde beauty again.’

‘Thank you, lord. I will bring her north to see you, I promise.’

‘The same goes for me,’ added Musa.

We said our farewells to the two kings at the eastern border of Media. I, Orodes and Atrax then rode west to Irbil. Byrd and Malik rode ahead to announce our arrival, and some miles from the city we were met by a large party of Farhad’s bodyguard. They were glad to see their prince in one piece, as was his wife when we reached the palace. When we marched into the hall I noticed that there were now three thrones on the dais. My sister’s power and influence in Media was obviously growing. The reunion between husband and wife was tender and touching, and afterwards as Atrax sat between Farhad and his wife he held her hand and grinned at her like a small child. Farhad himself seemed happy and relaxed now that his son and heir was back at his side. That evening he gave a feast for all of us who had returned from Gordyene in his great hall. I sat on the top table on the left side of the king, with Orodes, Malik and Byrd beside me. Atrax sat on Farhad’s other side, next to Aliyeh. As the evening progressed and more wine was consumed, many of Farhad’s bodyguard grumbled that they should have been allowed to accompany their prince, whose reputation for valour had increased markedly during his absence. Farhad told them they obeyed orders and were not free to go on personal crusades, but I could tell that he was pleased with his son and the outcome of our expedition north.

‘The Romans have been keeping very quiet in Gordyene of late. I receive reports that they are reducing their garrison.’

I said nothing but doubted the accuracy of those reports.

‘We also received news from Ctesiphon that the high king is displeased with you, Pacorus, and that you are banished and your kingdom has been given to the Romans.’ There was a triumphant tone in my sister’s voice.

I decided not to rise to the bait. ‘It is true, sister, I have displeased Mithridates and his mother, it seems. It is of no consequence.’

‘Really?’ she was positively gloating now. ‘But have you also heard that King Narses has been made lord high general of the empire?’

My heart sank. ‘No, I had not.’

‘It would appear that you have made yourself an enemy of the whole empire.’

‘You are wrong, Aliyeh,’ said Atrax, ‘Pacorus has many friends, Media among them.’

But my sister’s news had dampened my appetite and I did not enjoy the rest of the evening. All I desired was to get back to Dura. It was now seven months since I left, too long to be away from Gallia and Claudia in the service of a king who was no longer my friend.