Parthian Dawn

Chapter 9

The following day brought worse news when a rider arrived at Dura with another message from my father that a Roman army had invaded Armenia and Gordyene, and that Balas had been killed in a great battle near Tigranocerta in Armenia. I was stunned by this thunderbolt. It was true the Romans had been fighting the Armenians led by King Tigranes and Mithridates of Pontus, the kingdom to the west of Armenia, for years. But these disputes had nothing to do with Parthia. Now, a Roman army had invaded Parthian territory and had seized one of the empire’s kingdoms.

I read the letter to an ashen-faced Gallia, who had grown very fond of Balas since their first meeting at our wedding. It related that Tigranes had called upon Balas for his help when the Romans had invaded his kingdom, and Balas had agreed to offer aid. But Tigranes and Balas had been soundly beaten and Balas killed. Tigranes had escaped, though what forces he could still muster was unknown. But now my father was forced to send more of his army north to reinforce Vata at Nisibus, for the Romans were now on Hatra’s northern border.

‘That lovely man,’ was all Gallia could say.

‘What are you going to do now, son of Hatra?’

Dobbai was beginning to annoy me. She was like an old crow sitting on a post, cawing away to no purpose.

‘Whatever I shall do will be no business of yours,’ I snapped.

We were on the palace terrace, overlooking the river, and Dobbai rose from her chair to stand leaning on the stone balustrade, looking south.

‘Of course an old woman has no business telling a king what to do, though perhaps in this instance you might like to listen to my advice.’

I handed Gallia the letter and she began reading it, perhaps thinking that if she saw the words they would tell a different tale.

‘What advice?’ I said coolly.

‘The Romans are settling scores with their old enemies, Armenia and Pontus. They have no quarrel with Parthia. Yet.’ She raised her arm and pointed towards the south. ‘That is where the greatest immediate danger lies.’

I waved my hand at her. ‘The greatest danger lies to the east. Narses has Ctesiphon surrounded. That is why we are marching to its aid. I do not need a lecture on strategy.’

Dobbai smiled at me. ‘Perhaps Narses is marching upon you, son of Hatra.’

I was just about to order her from my presence when a guard walked on to the terrace and bowed.

‘Messenger in the throne room, majesty.’

I followed him, and moments later was confronted by a tired and frightened soldier who had obviously ridden hard to get to Dura. His face was caked in dirt and his shirt soaked in sweat. He was panting hard and barely able to speak, so I ordered that a chair be brought for him and water to relieve his thirst.

‘Calm yourself,’ I said. ‘You are no use to anyone if you collapse and die.’

He drank greedily from the cup, which was refilled from a jug held by one of my guards. He sat with his hands on his legs for a few moments, then rose and bowed his head.

‘Thank you, majesty,’ he said as I sat down in my chair on the dais, Gallia and Dobbai joining me. The latter had her own chair beside mine, now that she had appointed herself my official adviser. The messenger looked admiringly at Gallia, who wore a mask of solemnity, and alarmingly at Dobbai.

I leaned forward. ‘Please continue.’

‘I was sent by King Vardan, majesty.’

‘King Vardan is marching north?’ I asked him, suddenly feeling that things were not that bad, for if Babylon’s army was heading north then I and my father could link up with it and our combined forces could then march to the relief of Ctesiphon.

‘No, majesty,’ replied the messenger. ‘Part of the army of Narses has marched south towards Babylon. King Vardan will not be able to aid you until he has defeated this force.’

‘I see,’ this was news that I had not wished to hear. Still, the army of Hatra and Dura combined would still be a force to be reckoned with.

‘There is something more, majesty.’

I had a feeling that I was not going to find what he was going to say agreeable. ‘Continue.’

‘There is another army marching north to Dura.’

I stood up in alarm. ‘What army?’

‘The army of King Porus of Sakastan, majesty.’

I immediately sent riders to the lords summoning them to Dura. After they arrived I convened a council of war. Before he had left us, the soldier from Babylon had told me that Porus was just over a hundred miles from Dura, marching along the eastern bank of the Euphrates.

‘Ten days’ march from us then, give or take,’ said Domitus, his arms folded across his chest as he looked at the map of the Parthian Empire on the wall of the antechamber. Sitting around the table were Rsan, Godarz, Nergal, Domitus, Gallia and Dobbai, while the score of Dura’s lords stood around the walls. I had my back to the map, while Malik and Byrd were standing beside the door. If any of the lords had an objection to Malik being present none said so, though the looming threat of Porus probably diminished any prejudice any of them felt towards him. From the map all could see that Sakastan was on the eastern borders of the empire, north of Carmania and to the east of Persis.

‘How many in Porus’ army, majesty?’ asked one of them, a man in his forties with a scarred face and pale grey eyes.

‘Vardan’s man estimated around thirty thousand.’

A murmur went round the room then all eyes were upon me. I stood up.

‘It seems we have two choices. We can either stay here and wait for Hatra’s army to reinforce us.’

‘By which time Porus might be banging at Dura’s gates,’ said Dobbai.

I ignored her. ‘Or we can march south and fight Porus before he reaches us here.’

‘You will be outnumbered four to one,’ said Godarz, rubbing his chin. ‘Tough odds.’

There was silence. I saw that several of the lords were looking down at their feet, no doubt weighing up our chances in their minds. I caught Domitus’ eye, who smiled at me. I knew what he was thinking — fight a defensive battle and let the army of Porus break itself on the cohorts of his legion. But it had not yet been tested in battle, was it good enough? Then I remembered who had trained it. I nodded back at Domitus.

‘Very well,’ I said, ‘this is my decision. We will march south and fight King Porus. We leave at dawn.’

Byrd had recruited a handful of Malik’s people to act as scouts, and they and their prince left the city while it was still dark, galloping across the pontoon bridge and then south towards our enemy. I watched them go for I managed to sleep only a couple of hours that night. I shared breakfast with a withdrawn Gallia dressed in mail shirt, leggings and leather boots on her feet, her dagger tucked into her right boot. Her sword lay in its scabbard on the table where we picked at bread and fruit. I would have preferred her to stay in the city with Godarz, but arguing would avail me nothing so I did not try. In any case I needed her hundred Amazon archers, and I knew that she would never agree to them going without her at their head. I kept going over the numbers in my mind — five thousand legionaries, two hundred cataphracts and around two thousand two hundred horse archers against thirty thousand. Long odds indeed.

Gallia stood, buckled her sword belt and picked up her helmet.

‘Time to go.’

Her Amazons were waiting in the courtyard, mounted and fully armed with bows and swords. Praxima held the reins of Epona as Gallia embraced Dobbai and then mounted her horse. My cataphracts did not wear their armour and neither did their mounts, for a long march would serve only to tire both man and beast. Instead they carried lances, round wooden shields covered in leather sporting a red griffin and wore their full-face helmets. I wore my Roman helmet, cuirass and spatha. I mounted Remus and nodded to Godarz, Rsan and Dobbai standing on the palace steps, then trotted from the Citadel. Vagharsh was carrying my standard behind me. The city’s streets were beginning to stir with activity as we rode under the stone griffin at the Palmyrene Gate and wheeled right to take the road that went over the pontoon bridge. Already the legion was snaking south along the road that ran parallel to the eastern bank of the River Euphrates.

We covered twenty miles on the first day, the legionaries marching six abreast and the cavalry covering their flanks and the rear. Nergal organised an advanced guard of horse that rode five miles in front of the army, and beyond them rode Byrd and Malik and their scouts, returning to us each night as the camp was being erected. They saw nothing the first day, nor the day after when we had covered a further twenty miles. The lords thought it most amusing that Domitus and his men built a camp at the end of each day, into which was crammed the wagons, mules and men of the legion. I ordered that everyone, including their lordships, should also camp each night within its earthworks, which made it very cramped but very safe. And each morning the wooden fence that was erected on top of the earth rampart was dismantled and the individual pieces of wood loaded onto mules to carry them to the site of the next camp.

On the third day, as the evening sun was dipping in the western sky, Byrd and Malik thundered into camp and rode up the main avenue to halt before Domitus’ command tent, which I had taken over for the purposes of the campaign.

‘Enemy ten miles to south,’ was all Byrd said as he splashed his face with water from a metal basin on the table.

‘Thousands of foot soldiers, plus many horses and elephants,’ added Malik.

‘Elephants?’ I said.

Byrd wiped his face with a cloth. ‘Fifty or sixty at least, all with towers on top of them carrying soldiers.’

Twenty minutes later the war council convened in my tent.

‘What’s an elephant?’ asked Gallia, who looked pale and tired.

‘A big ugly beast, lady, with a long nose that looks like a snake and huge white tusks either side of it,’ said one of the lords.

‘Twice the height of a man,’ added Nergal. ‘Horses do not like them.’

‘Don’t worry about them,’ said Domitus nonchalantly.

‘Are they marching this way, Byrd?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but pace is leisurely, like a stroll.’

‘Very well.’ I looked at all their faces. ‘Tomorrow we will stand and fight them. We will anchor one of our wings on the river. That way they will not be able to outflank us where the water is, and the Euphrates is too wide and deep for them to cross, so there will be no chance for them to attack our rear. When we get to our position tomorrow I will explain our plan of battle more fully.’

They were in high spirits as they filed out of the tent. Domitus pulled me to one side as the others left.

‘I’ll need a few dozen pigs and some tar.’

‘Pigs, tar?’ I was confused.

‘Yes, you know, bitumen. Send Byrd and his scouts to go and buy some from a local farmer. Think you can arrange that?’

‘Yes, but why?’

He winked at me. ‘Trust me, it will be worth the effort.’

He departed, whistling, while I sidled over to Gallia and put my arm round her waist.

‘Are you sure you’re well. You look pale.’

‘Of course I’m pale, I’ve got blonde hair and blue eyes. Or would you prefer a dark-skinned eastern woman to warm your bed?’

She removed my arm and marched from the tent, back to her women. Before battle she preferred the company of her fellow female warriors, and as their leader she wanted to ensure that they were fully prepared for the next day. Tonight was no different, though when I visited her as she was sitting round a fire with her Amazons, she was still in a snappy mood.

‘I’m fine, Pacorus, just pre-battle nerves.’

Whatever it was, it certainly was not that. Before and during battle she had ice-cool nerves. I let the matter rest, kissing her tenderly before I left her with her warriors.

The new day dawned slightly humid, and even before his legionaries had started to form up into their centuries Domitus was at my side, reminding me about the tar and pigs. So I gave Byrd two leather pouches full of money and told him to scour the immediate vicinity and purchase what Domitus required. They were easy enough to find as the area was littered with farms, though many farmers were taking their families and livestock north to avoid Porus and his army. Those that Byrd came across that morning were richly rewarded with silver for their pigs.

I walked to the river with Domitus, Nergal and Dura’s lords. The day was overcast but pleasantly warm for the new year was still young. The river, deep and wide at this point, flowed gently towards the Persian Gulf. Around us, the legionaries were being marshalled into their battle positions. There was much joking and coarse language as centurions shoved and cajoled their men into their places. Their faces showed determination not alarm, and I was confident that they would perform well in this, their first battle. Standing fifty paces or so in front of the five cohorts extending from the riverbank, I looked south. Still no sign of the enemy.

The ground where we were standing was a patchwork of fields and shallow irrigation channels, though these would offer little impediment to elephants or foot soldiers. On our left flank, beyond the last cohort, there were no irrigation channels and the ground was flat and largely featureless aside from a few isolated poplar trees. It was good cavalry country. To extend our front, Domitus had deployed his legion in two lines, with five cohorts in each line. The cohorts in the second line were standing behind the gaps between the cohorts in the first line, thus the last cohort on the left flank in the second line actually extended beyond the end of the first line. In this way, should the legion’s left flank be threatened, this cohort could turn and form a line at right angles to the first line to provide flank cover. On our extreme left flank, beyond the legion, the horse archers of Dura’s lords and my cataphracts, both men and horses now fully armoured, were leading their horses into line on foot, for there was no point in sitting in the saddle for hours until the enemy came into view.

‘What is your plan, majesty?’ asked one of the lords.

‘To beat the enemy,’ I replied, grinning.

There was a ripple of laughter. ‘The plan,’ I continued, ‘is simple. We let Porus attack us with his elephants, then once we have beaten them, the horse,’ I pointed towards our left flank, ‘will attack their cavalry.’

The lords looked behind them at the legionaries checking mail shirts, swords and javelins. Then they looked at each other.

‘Speak freely,’ I said.

The one who had described to Gallia what an elephant was did so. ‘Years ago, majesty, I fought with Sinatruces against the Indians and their elephants. The beasts wear armour and steel covers on their tusks. They only use bull elephants in battle, and they are big and aggressive. They will punch through your legion and trample the men underfoot.’

I looked at Domitus, who now spoke. ‘Don’t worry about the elephants. We’ll use an old Roman trick against them. They won’t even reach my boys.’

‘Very well,’ I said, ‘to your positions.’

The lords walked to their horses, vaulted into the saddles and rode away to their men. Vagharsh held Remus’ reins as I picked up my kontus lying on the ground and with Domitus’ assistance hoisted myself into the saddle. My scale armour felt heavy and I was already sweating. Unlike my men, I did not wear a full-face helmet but retained my Roman helm with its white goose-feather crest. I placed it on my head and looked down at Domitus, who also sported a white crest on his helmet.

‘You’re sure you can stop the elephants?’

He grinned. ‘Quite sure, you just make sure you stay alive.’

‘Upon you the battle rests, Domitus. You have to beat off those elephants.’

He raised his vine cane. ‘We won’t let you down.’

I raised my hand at him and then nudged Remus forward. I rode in front of the legion, raising my lance as I passed the men. They began cheering and banging their javelins on the inside of their shields, shouting ‘Dura, Dura’, as I rode past them and joined my cataphracts on the left flank. Most of them were lying on the ground resting, as were the lords and their horse archers behind them. Squires fussed around, offering waterskins to men and horses. I too dismounted and took a waterskin from Nergal. Its contents were warm, but I drank some and then gave the rest to Remus. His head, neck and body were covered in scale armour, and fine steel grills protected his eyes. The Amazons sat on the ground in groups immediately behind the cataphracts, Gallia walking among them with words of encouragement. She wore leather boots, leggings and a white blouse under her mail shirt. And like me, the rest of my cataphracts and her Amazons she wore a silk vest next to her skin. If an enemy arrow pierced her mail armour it would fail to go through the silk, a material that is difficult to tear. Instead the arrow would carry the silk into the wound with it, wrapping the material around it as it did so for arrows spin when in flight. Thus by gently lifting the twisted silk and turning the arrow by the same route that it had entered the body, the shaft could be extracted, leaving a small entry hole, though I prayed to Shamash that no arrow would strike her.

She walked over to me with Praxima by her side. Nergal embraced his wife tenderly.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘Here we are again, dressed for battle. I thought we had done with war when we left Italy. It seems I was wrong.’

‘Do not worry, lord,’ said Praxima, the thought of imminent carnage sparking a glint in her eyes, ‘we will beat the enemy once more.’

I walked over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘With you beside me I don’t doubt it.’

Praxima may have been the wife of my second-in-command, but she had never lost the semi-feral nature of character. She revelled in war and thought nothing of killing. I had to confess that she still unnerved me.

‘Keep your women close behind my cataphracts,’ I said to Gallia, ‘just like we have practised on the training ground.’

Around me individuals suddenly began to stir and stand up. I looked round and saw two figures on horseback galloping in our direction. I signalled assembly to be called and seconds later horns were being blown and men were mounting their horses. The two figures slowed as they approached and I saw that it was Byrd and Malik, who halted yards from me and raised their hands in salute.

‘Porus come,’ was all Byrd said, before swivelling in the saddle and pointing in the direction he had ridden from. I peered into the distance but could see nothing, but then I heard what seemed like distant thunder, a low, thudding noise.

I turned to Gallia and held in her my arms.

‘Shamash be with you.’

She smiled. ‘And with you.’

We kissed and then her perfect visage disappeared behind her helmet as she closed the cheekguards and vaulted on to Epona’s back. My cataphracts formed into two lines as once more I mounted Remus and scanned the horizon. I still could see nothing, but the rumbling noise was getting louder.

‘They are about eight, ten miles away, marching this way,’ said Malik, sounding alarmed.

‘Many elephants,’ was all that Byrd added.

Nergal rode up and saluted. He would lead the horse archers this day, who were grouped in a solid block behind my own men.

And so we waited until the opposing army came into view, though by the time it did so the area was engulfed by the unrelenting din of its kettledrummers on horseback, drummers on foot, trumpeters and horn players. At first the army appeared as a long black line on the horizon, but as it got closer I began to identify its various elements — foot soldiers, horsemen and, towering above everything else, elephants. It took around an hour for the enemy to come into view and a further hour for them to deploy into battle array. And throughout that period we did nothing but wait, for I did not want to interrupt their careful preparations. It was certainly the most colourful army that I had ever seen, a profusion of red, orange and yellow flags and pennants. And all the while the cacophony of noise filled our ears. The captains of the opposing host saw the legion drawn up and deployed their foot to face them, all the while their cavalry — armed with long lances and protected by helmets, hide shields and leather cuirasses reinforced by iron plates — filing into position opposite my horsemen to prevent us launching a charge before their foot was in position. The latter comprised two groups — archers equipped with long bamboo bows the height of a man, which required one end to be anchored on firm ground before they could be fired, and swordsmen dressed in baggy leggings and loose-fitting tunics carrying ox-hide shields. The archers deployed into a dense mass behind the swordsmen, while in front of the foot soldiers lumbered the elephants. I counted at least sixty, each one with its own guard of ten spearmen who walked on either side of the animal.

The elephants were certainly magnificent beasts, their foreheads protected by large polished bronze plates and their tusks encased in gleaming steel armour. On their backs, secured in place by ropes that ran under their bellies, were wooden boxes holding three archers, with a driver sitting on the elephant’s neck immediately in front of the firing platform. The elephants seemed unconcerned by the deafening noise, unlike our horses that were beginning to get panicky by the commotion and the sight of the elephants. Remus grunted and began to shift uneasily beneath me, requiring me to constantly reassure him. Eventually the elephants were in position in a long line facing the frontline cohorts at a distance of around five hundred paces. Directly opposite my banner was the standard of Porus, a great yellow flag with braided gold cord hanging on a wooden dowel and attached to a long pole. It carried the image of an elephant’s head, the symbol of Sakastan.

After the enemy had finally moved into their positions, I ordered Byrd to ride to where Porus was mounted on his horse amidst a great gathering of his commanders. I told him to convey a message to the king that I requested a parley. So Byrd tied a white cloth around his wrist and held his arm aloft as he trotted across no-man’s land towards the king. When he reached the mid-spot between the two armies a rider came from Porus to meet him and the two halted but feet apart. I saw Byrd gesturing with his hands, nod and then turn around to return to me.

Moments later Porus, escorted by a retinue of a dozen lords, emerged from the front ranks of his horsemen. I signalled to Byrd and Nergal to follow me as I urged Remus forward. Both parties slowed as we approached each other, halting to leave a gap of ten paces between us. I recognised Porus from the Council of Kings, a dark-skinned, handsome man with a neatly trimmed moustache but no beard. In his mid-forties, he had dark brown eyes and a slightly bent nose. He looked magnificent dressed in his cuirass of overlapping square silver scales, open-faced helmet, bright yellow silk shirt, red leather gloves inlaid with silver, yellow leggings and red leather boots. A sword with an elaborate silver cross guard hung from his belt, encased in a red leather scabbard with gold leaf decoration. His horse was an immaculately groomed black stallion, its coat shimmering in the sunlight.

I held my hand up to him.

‘Hail, King Porus.’ He raised his hand in return but said nothing.

I continued. ‘You are a long way from Sakastan. This is Hatran territory, therefore I request that you turn your army around and take it home, for it has no business here.’

‘Where are your father and his army, King Pacorus?’ His tone was sharp, mocking. ‘Is he hiding behind his high walls in fear, and sends his son to do his business?’

‘The affairs of Hatra are my business,’ I replied, ‘so I say again, turn your army around and take it back to Sakastan.’

He said nothing but peered past me to my cavalry deployed behind me, then looked south at the legion standing silently in its ranks. Then he looked directly at me.

‘I do not think that you are in any position to dictate terms, boy. Have you not seen my army and how it dwarfs yours?’

‘It makes a loud noise, I’ll grant you that,’ I sniffed. ‘But this is as far as it goes.’

‘Brave words for a whelp,’ he said. ‘If you prostrate yourself at my feet I will let you live, otherwise we will sweep you aside, just like we did Phraates and his rabble.’

‘Phraates is the rightful King of Kings,’ I reminded him. ‘And all those who take up arms against him are traitors and deserve a traitor’s death.’

His eyes flashed with rage. ‘You dare insult me, boy?’

I laughed at him. ‘I dare. I see that you are not going to surrender after all.’

An evil grin crept over his face. ‘Is she here?’

‘Who?’

‘Your wife, of course, the one who fights like a man? Or is she skulking back in Dura?’

Now it was my turn to be angry. ‘Where my wife is concerns you not, though she has killed better men than you.’

He pointed at me. ‘When your head adorns my city walls, I will make her one of my harem. Or perhaps I will give her to my men as a plaything tonight.

‘The time of Phraates is over. The Parthian Empire has a new leader now. The new age has dawned. I am but the vanguard of Narses, the rightful King of Kings.’

I laughed in his face. ‘He and you are traitors, and will live to regret your insurrection. We are done talking, Porus.’

‘So be it, boy. Tell your woman to be ready to warm my bed tonight.’

He then wheeled his horse away and galloped back to the safety of his army. I did the same, and just as I had taken my lance from Vagharsh the accursed trumpets and drums of the army of Porus echoed across the battlefield. And as the noise increased in volume his elephants, magnificent and terrifying, began to advance towards the locked shields of the legion.

It was the shortest battle that I ever fought in.

The drivers of the elephants kept their beasts under tight control until they were within three hundred paces of the frontline cohorts, and then Domitus sprang his trick. He had distributed the pigs among the centuries of the first line, immediately behind which stood braziers cooking tar. When the elephants approached each pig had its back covered in hot tar, and was then prodded with javelin tips towards the tusked behemoths. Terrified and enraged, the pigs ran towards the elephants squealing loudly as they did so. The elephants immediately stopped and roared with terror as the pigs approached them. Some reared up on their back legs and tipped the drivers and archers on their backs onto the ground, others swerved violently aside and crashed into the elephant next to them, while others turned around and charged headlong into the mass of swordsmen formed up behind. Within minutes those swordsmen were fleeing hither and thither for their lives as all semblance of order and discipline among their ranks evaporated. Then the legion’s trumpets blasted to signal the advance and ten cohorts marched forward. As they did so I turned in the saddle and shouted at my cataphracts.

‘Kill Porus!’

I screamed at Remus and he sprang forward. I held my kontus with both hands on my right side as the four horns of the saddle held me firmly in place, the lance tip aimed at Porus directly opposite. My cataphracts charged, forming into an arrowhead formation, and behind them Gallia’s Amazons followed, loosing volleys of arrows over our heads and into the enemy’s cavalry. Porus, seeing his elephants and then his foot routing, lost his nerve and decided to flee the battlefield. Around him his men, now being hit by arrow fire and seeing their lord turn tail, were in a state of indecision as we hit them. I plunged my lance into a rider attempting to turn his horse around and skewered him on my kontus. Leaving the shaft in his body, I drew my spatha and swung it at the head of a horseman attempting to spear me in turn. But his lance was on his right side and I was on his left, and my sword swing cut into his neck before he had chance to spear me. Then we were hacking at the backs of fleeing riders, chasing them south as they desperately tried to outrun us. Weighted down as our horses were by scale armour and carrying riders similarly protected, many of the enemy cavalry were able to outrun us, but then came Nergal leading two thousand horse archers who overtook my cataphracts and galloped on to hunt down the enemy.

‘Keep after them, don’t let them reform,’ I shouted to him as he passed me.

I halted as hundreds of horse archers streamed past. The other cataphracts also slowed and then halted — there was no use in wasting the stamina of our horses. Gallia’s Amazons, retaining perfect discipline, also halted and dressed their ranks. I rode over to her.

‘Everything is well?’

She unfastened her cheekguards and pushed the steel plates part. ‘All is well.’

The cataphracts formed two lines once more with the Amazons behind them. We rode south to where the legion was following in the wake of the rampaging elephants. Here the battle was also over, as the foot soldiers of Porus were following their mounted companions and fleeing as fast as possible. In front of the advancing cohorts the ground was littered with abandoned weapons, shields and standards. Dead elephants lay scattered among the detritus of battle, while others, horribly wounded, lay on their sides and groaned in agony. No part of Porus’ army made any attempt to rally and fight, and aside from killing a few unfortunates who were wounded and unable to flee, Domitus’ men had not washed their swords in the enemy’s blood.

I found him at the head of the centre cohort in the first line, giving orders to signal a halt to the advance. I dismounted and we clasped arms.

‘How did you know about the pigs?’ I asked, slapping him on the back.

He took off his helmet and took a swig from his water bottle, as legionaries were detached from the ranks to run to the river and fetch fresh water. ‘Old Roman trick that we picked up in the Punic Wars.’

‘Punic Wars?’

He spat on the ground and handed me his water bottle. ‘The last one was over seventy years ago when Rome finally subdued the Carthaginians, a people who lived in a place called Africa. Anyway, the Carthaginians had elephants but the Romans soon learned that they don’t like the squeals of pigs, panics them.’

‘So I saw.’

Around us my cataphracts dismounted and legionaries rested on their shields, joking and chatting with their comrades. Domitus looked round approvingly.

‘Just what my boys needed, an easy victory.’

‘All down to you, my friend,’ I said.

I walked with him back to camp with Gallia beside me. Her Amazons formed a rearguard as the legion formed into a long column and marched at a steady pace behind us. Her face and hair were covered in sweat and she looked deathly white, but I put it down to the stress of combat. When we reached camp Domitus ordered a roll call to determine his losses — they totalled five killed and sixty wounded. I had lost two cataphracts killed and three wounded, while Gallia’s Amazons had suffered no losses. Three hours later an exhausted Nergal rode into camp at the head of the lords and their men. He reported to me immediately in my command tent as the lords filed in behind him, all of them in good spirits.

‘We rode them down and killed them until we ran out of arrows.’

‘Then we used our swords until our blades were blunt,’ added one of the lords.

Nergal pointed to one. ‘Show him.’

The lord threw a bundle of cloth at my feet. ‘A gift to celebrate your victory, lord.’

I picked it up, unfolded it and saw the elephant banner of King Porus. There was a mighty cheer as I held it aloft for all to see. Beside me Gallia’s eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed to the floor. I fell to my knees and cradled her in my arms, desperately searching her body for any sign of a wound. I saw none.

‘Get a doctor!’ I screamed as I held her head to my chest. ‘Gallia, Gallia.’ I got no response and my heart started to beat wildly in my chest. I began to panic as I held my face next to hers, while around me men just stood open-mouthed. Where there had been joy and cheering there was now concern and silence. Moments later Alcaeus, the wiry, black-haired Greek who had been a doctor in the army of Spartacus, was at my side, examining Gallia.

‘Put her on a bed so I can examine her properly, and get these oafs to leave, all of them. The air is foul in here.’

Domitus ushered everyone out while I carried Gallia to a cot in the corner. I gently laid her down and Alcaeus waved me away.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ I asked feebly.

‘If you give me some room and stop asking stupid questions, I will try to find out. Wait outside.’

I obeyed his command and stood for what seemed like an eternity outside the tent. A grim-faced Domitus and Nergal looked at the ground while the lords looked at each other and then me, concern etched on their hard faces. Word spread of what had happened and within no time a great crowd had gathered around us — cataphracts, Amazons and legionaries, all standing in silence and unsure what to do.

Then the tent flap opened and Alcaeus walked out into the light. He pointed at me.

‘You can go in and see her now. Only you mind.’

‘Will she be all right, doctor?’ I asked.

He looked at me and screwed up his face. ‘Yes, if you get her back to Dura. She should never have left. What were you thinking?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Really? Then let me spell it out for you. Bringing your pregnant wife on campaign is the height of idiocy. For a great warlord Pacorus, sometimes you have the intellect of a mule.’

With that he stalked off, pushing his way through the throng. Domitus slapped me hard on the back, while Nergal clasped my forearm. Praxima threw her arms round me and kissed me on the cheek, while the others started cheering. I was going to be a father. Alcaeus stormed back and ordered me to disperse the crowd of well-wishers as they were disturbing Gallia. I did so and then crept into the tent. She was sitting up in the cot with cushions supporting her, some colour having at last returned to her cheeks.

I held her hand and kissed it. ‘Why did you not tell me?’

‘I suspected but was not certain. I’m sorry.’

‘Nonsense, I am truly happy.’ I handed her cup of water from the small table beside the cot. ‘Alcaeus is angry with me for bringing you on campaign.’

‘It’s not your fault, I wanted to be by your side.’

I knelt over and kissed her on the lips. ‘I know, but it’s back to Dura for you now.’

She was going to protest, but her condition and present exhaustion made her think twice and so she said nothing and fell asleep with me sitting on the side of the cot, gently brushing her forehead with my fingers.

The next day I summoned Praxima to my tent and told her that she and Gallia would be riding back to Dura forthwith, and that I would brook no argument. After changing and eating a hearty breakfast of fruit, salted pork and biscuit, Gallia stepped out into the morning light. Domitus embraced her and showed her a colour party of his legionaries, all washed and arrayed in their finest white tunics and shiny helmets. Nergal gave her the captured elephant standard of Porus as a gift, which she said she would take back to Dura to hang in the throne room. When word spread that she was leaving the army, each of the lords asked permission to escort her back to the city. Had I accepted I would have lost all my cavalry, so I had them draw lots to choose the winner, who turned out to be a one-eyed rascal named Spandarat. He was squat, barrel-chested and had arms as thick as tree trunks and hands the size of a bear’s paws.

‘Don’t you worry, majesty,’ he told me as he stood at the head of his two hundred men, ‘I’ll get her back to the city all right, and be back before you’ve had chance to slit any more throats.’

‘Thank you, Spandarat, I look forward to fighting by your side once more.’

He leaned forward in his saddle and stroked the neck of his horse, an old warrior like him, but as hard as tempered steel. ‘I had my doubts about you, especially after we had to put up with that other arrogant young bastard Mithridates, but I have to tell you that I was wrong. Never seen elephants panic like that. Your man, there,’ he pointed at Domitus, ‘knows what he’s doing.’

‘Yes he does,’ I said.

Gallia was mounted on Epona at the head of her Amazons, Praxima beside her. Nergal kissed his wife and bade her a safe journey, and I walked over and stood next to Gallia. ‘Now, when you get back to Dura make sure you have plenty of rest and food. You are eating for two now.’

‘Yes, father,’ she replied.

I waved her forward with my hand. She bent down and I kissed her on the lips.

‘I love you.’

She smiled that most beautiful smile of hers. ‘I love you too, and take care of yourself. Don’t do anything idiotic.’

‘A charm,’ I said, ‘I need a charm.’

‘What?’

‘I need a lock of your hair.’

She took her dagger from the top of her boot and grabbed her long, thick plait that hung down her back, then cut off some strands of her hair and handed them to me. Then she took her helmet from Praxima, put it and tied the cheekguards shut. She commanded Epona to walk forward and then led the column of three hundred riders down the camp’s main avenue and then north to Dura. I stood watching them until they were tiny specs on the horizon and then disappeared altogether. It was the first time Gallia had left my side in over three years. Yet I had no time to dwell on my loss, for that same afternoon Malik and Byrd returned to camp bringing a most unexpected gift. They were both dirty and unshaven and their horses needed a good groom. They halted in front of my tent and Malik dumped the body of a dead man at my feet.

‘Behold, Pacorus, I bring you King Porus.’

I looked down at the mangled body, covered in filth and dried black blood. Glazed, lifeless eyes stared into the sky, and though I thought I recognised the traces of the neatly trimmed moustache I could not be sure as the face had been cut and bludgeoned. But I did recognise the yellow shirt and red leather gloves that still encased his hands.

I looked up at the tattooed face of Malik. ‘Did you kill him?’

He nodded. ‘We caught up with him and his entourage and then charged them. They put up a fight at first, but my men made short work of them. We killed them all, none escaped.’

‘We also found these,’ said Byrd, who reached into his tunic and threw a parcel of parchments on the ground. I picked them up and examined them. They included messages from Narses to Porus and vice-versa.

I nodded at Byrd. ‘Excellent, well done. Get some food inside you and your horses seen to. Good to have you both back.’

‘What do you want to do with that?’ asked Domitus, pointing at the corpse with his cane.

‘Cut off the head, stick it on a pole and place it outside the camp’s main entrance. Give the rest to the pigs.’

The army of Hatra arrived the next day, fifteen hundred cataphracts and nine thousand horse archers led by my father and Vistaspa. The horsemen established their camp two miles upstream from us while my father and Vistaspa paid me a visit. I had the legion parade in battle array in front of the camp, flanked by my own cataphracts and the horse archers of my lords. Afterwards I gave a feast in their honour in my tent. Domitus sat next to Vistaspa and told him about the defeat of Porus and his elephants, while my father congratulated me on my victory.

‘It was not my victory, father, but the knowledge of Domitus that decided the day.’

My father raised his cup of wine to my general. ‘My congratulations. This will allow us to march to Ctesiphon and relieve Phraates.’

‘We have heard of another force of rebels marching south towards Babylon and Mesene,’ I said.

‘Then we must deal with them first,’ replied my father.

He and his army had passed Gallia and her retinue on her way back to Dura. ‘By the way, Pacorus, congratulations on your approaching fatherhood. Your mother will be pleased to be a grandmother at last.’

Everyone banged the hilt of their daggers on the tables in recognition.

‘Hopefully Porus has not gone south and added his numbers to those who are threatening Babylon’s territory.’

I filled my cup with wine from a jug. ‘Porus is dead, father. His head sits on a pole outside this camp.’

The lords banged the tables again and cheered, while my father looked horrified. I saw his look.

‘He insulted Gallia, so it is a fitting end for him.’

He said nothing more on the matter, for which I was pleased — I had no regrets that the head of Porus adorned a pole outside my camp.

The next two days were taken up with reorganisation. Domitus had details of men scouring the battlefield and the path of flight of Porus’ army to retrieve anything of use. The hide shields and broken spear shafts were ignored, but swords, spear points, helmets and daggers were piled onto carts and sent back to Dura. There they would be either melted down and turned into javelins and arrowheads or, if they were of decent quality, stored in the armoury. Birds were already picking at the carcasses of dead elephants and men, which prompted a sense of urgency as we did not want to be infected with the pestilence that dead flesh spreads.

I sent Nergal south with a thousand riders to discover the whereabouts of the rebel force that was rumoured to be ravaging Babylonian territory, but he returned with news that it had been dispersed by Vardan and that Babylon’s army was now marching north to join us.

‘I wouldn’t put too much faith in Babylon’s ragged band,’ said Vistaspa standing in my tent looking at a map of the empire laid out on a large rectangular table. ‘A few cavalry and the rest armed with pitchforks and wicker shields.’

‘Slightly unfair,’ remarked my father.

‘But true, lord,’ said Vistaspa.

Domitus looked at me and shook his head. Unfortunately, what Vistaspa had said was correct. Babylon had once been a great power, the strongest kingdom in the world, but that was hundreds of years ago. The great Persian king Darius had captured it four hundred and fifty years before my time, and then Alexander of Macedon had seized it two hundred and fifty years ago. Since then it had faded in wealth and importance, and though the kings of Babylon were accorded great respect due to the longevity of their line, in truth their power was much reduced.

‘We should move south to link up with Vardan’s army,’ I said, drawing a finger on the map from our present position and following the course of the Euphrates south towards Ctesiphon.

‘Agreed,’ said my father. ‘We can follow the river until we are level with Ctesiphon, which is only sixty miles north of Babylon, then advance east towards the Tigris and relieve Phraates.’

‘If he still lives.’ Vistaspa appeared to be in his usual dour mood.

‘He’s alive,’ said my father, ‘the reports I’ve had from Ctesiphon state that Narses is content to sit outside the city and wait for Phraates to offer terms.’

‘What terms?’ I asked.

My father shrugged. ‘To abdicate in his favour, I assume. Narses wants to be King of Kings and he believes that he has the present holder of that office boxed in at Ctesiphon.’

‘He will have heard of the fate of Porus by now, lord,’ remarked Domitus.

Vistaspa nodded. ‘Yes he will, and if he’s got any sense he will run back to Persepolis.’

‘Or,’ mused my father, ‘he might want us to attack him. After all, he has to defeat us if he wants to wear the high crown.’

‘Do we know the size of his army?’ I asked.

Vistaspa laughed. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Pacorus. You have already showed that numbers matter little when it comes to the fight.’

Domitus smiled but my father was not amused by such bravado. ‘That may be, but hopefully Vardan will also bring Mesene’s army with him.’

Vistaspa raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The next day we marched south, Nergal riding ahead with the lords in the vanguard in honour of their victory over Porus. I rode beside my father and Vistaspa, the banners of Hatra and Dura behind us, followed by my cataphracts, my father’s bodyguard and the legion, with the horse archers and cataphracts of Hatra bringing up the rear. The day was warm and still as we rode at a leisurely pace. Here the land between the Tigris and Euphrates is an alluvial plain, bisected by many dirt roads, fields, irrigation ditches and dams near the rivers to prevent flooding. Usually bustling with trade caravans and farmers working in the fields, today it was a desolate wasteland devoid of activity.

‘You appreciate, Pacorus,’ remarked my father, ‘how war is poison to Parthia. The farmers have all fled north and the trade caravans have taken refuge in the cities. Without farmers there is no food, and without food we cannot fill our bellies. And without trade there are no taxes, and without taxes there is no money to pay for our armies.’

‘Then we must crush this rebellion as soon as possible,’ I replied.

‘You see, Vistaspa,’ continued my father, ‘how youth always wants to decide matters by the sword.’

‘Is there any other way?’ I replied.

‘Our objective is to relieve Ctesiphon and free Phraates, no more,’ said my father. ‘There will be no pre-emptive assault against Narses and his army, at least not until we have permission to do so.’

‘Narses is a traitor,’ I said, ‘who deserves a traitor’s death.’

‘Narses is a king, Pacorus, and you would do well to remember that. He also has the support of other kings. Phraates will want to win them over, not force them into a corner.’

I was unconvinced. ‘Destroy Narses and the rebellion will crumble.’

‘Perhaps you would like his head on a pole outside your camp as well?’

‘Why not? He wants the crown of Phraates, there can be no accommodation with such a man.’

‘It is for Phraates to decide such things,’ said Vistaspa.

‘Exactly,’ said my father icily. ‘You still have much to learn about diplomacy, Pacorus.’

What was there to learn? Narses had led an insurrection and had to be punished. I could not understand my father’s hesitancy, but then I did not have to worry about events in the north of my kingdom like he did, for with the fall of Gordyene to the Romans their legions were now massing on his northern borders. He said nothing of Balas and I did not ask him, but the death of his friend must have weighed heavily on his mind and he obviously had reluctantly marched south to come to the relief of Phraates. I had been disappointed that Vata had not accompanied Hatra’s army, but Vistaspa had informed me that my old friend had been given the responsibility of ensuring that the Romans did not encroach upon Hatran territory.

Five days later we met Vardan and his Babylonian hordes. Babylon might not have been the power it once was but Vardan had mustered an impressive number of troops, all dressed in various shades of purple and carrying banners of the same colour, while behind Vardan himself fluttered his banner depicting a great white horned bull called a gauw upon a purple background, the beast being the symbol of Babylon. He rode at the head of his royal bodyguard, five hundred magnificent horsemen wearing so-called dragon skin armour — a leather vest covered with overlapping silver plates protecting their chests and backs. They were wearing open-faced steel helmets, carried large, round wooden shields covered with purple-painted hide, and were armed with swords and lances. Their tunics and leggings were also purple and purple pennants flew from their lances. Next came his horse archers, who wore no armour and who carried swords in addition to their quivers and bows. They numbered around three thousand. The bulk of Vardan’s army comprised foot soldiers — slingers and archers who wore no armour and spearmen who carried oblong wicker shields and who wore long purple tunics that covered their arms and extended down to their knees, with purple trousers and turbans. The number of foot soldiers must have totalled an additional six thousand. I rode ahead with my father to greet our ally.

‘Hail, Vardan,’ said my father, shaking the hand of the king.

‘Hail Varaz and Pacorus.’ Vardan wore a simple open-faced steel helmet and dragon-skin armour on his body. He also wore thick steel shoulder plates adorned with sitting bulls and at his hip he wore a sword that had a pommel in the shape of a bull’s head.

‘It is good to see you, my friend,’ said my father.

‘You too, Varaz.’

‘How is Axsen, sire?’ I asked.

He smiled at me. ‘She sends her love to you and Gallia. Is she with you?’

‘No, sire. She has had to return to Dura.’

‘She’s pregnant,’ said my father, ‘though she only discovered this after she had fought in battle. It seems I am going to be a grandfather.’

Vardan beamed with delight. ‘Excellent news, we will all celebrate in my tent tonight.’

That night the campfires of Vardan’s army carpeted the horizon as his men pitched their gaudily coloured tents along the banks of the Euphrates. No neatly arranged lines of tents enclosed in a palisaded camp for the army of Babylon; rather, a disorganised assembly of tents, horses and camels. The only order that existed among the multitude was the king’s tent and the tents of his bodyguard circled around it, the horses of the royal bodyguard being quartered in a stable block immediately behind the royal enclosure, the stalls formed by poles and canvas wind breaks. The air was filled with wood smoke and the aroma of roasting meat as I rode with Nergal to the king’s tent, our horses being taken from us by purple-clad grooms. The tent itself was a massive structure, actually a pavilion hung with brightly coloured tapestries. Inside, fifty thick wooden columns held the roof in place, oil lamps hanging from each one. Carpets were spread over the floor and couches were arranged in a circle in the centre, while soldiers of the king’s bodyguard stood around the circular wall. Incense burned on tables and a host of purple-attired servants ferried silver platters heaped with meats, bread, fruit and pastries to guests. Others poured wine into silver and gold cups. It was a far cry from the austere regime of Domitus and his legion or my palace at Dura.

My father and Vistaspa were already relaxing on couches near Vardan and his senior commanders when we entered. Vardan beckoned us both over with his hand. He was reclining on a large couch stuffed with cushions. Nergal and I sat opposite him.

‘King Vardan tells me that Chosroes is also on the march and will be joining us shortly,’ said my father.

I accepted a cup of wine from a beautiful servant girl with flawless olive skin, one breast exposed and a gold chain running from her pierced ear to her nose. She smiled to reveal a set of perfect white teeth.

‘Excellent,’ I said, sipping the wine, which was exquisite. Vardan certainly knew how to travel in style on campaign, I gave him that.

‘Pacorus wishes to fight Narses and his army,’ remarked my father.

Vardan shook his head. ‘I doubt it will come to that. Some sort of negotiated peace seems more likely.’

‘That’s what I told him.’

I drained my cup and held it out to be refilled. ‘There will be no peace until Narses is dead.’

Vardan frowned. ‘Killing kings only creates bad blood, Pacorus. Did you know, for example, that Porus had two sons who will seek vengeance for his death?’

I smiled, but Vardan did not know that the sons of Porus had died fighting beside their father.

‘And the matter of the killing of King Balas also has to be addressed,’ added my father.

‘Ah, yes. A tragedy. The Romans have too much arrogance,’ mused Vardan. He looked at me. ‘Where is your Roman?’

‘Attending to his duties, sire.’

‘Well, let’s hope that he is not the vanguard of a Roman invasion into the empire.’

Chosroes arrived two days later at the head of his army, a ragged band of horse archers dressed in dirty tunics sitting on skinny mounts and foot archers and spearmen attired in a variety of filthy tunics with leather caps on their heads. Though the king’s bodyguard of a thousand mounted spearmen had wooden shields and leather armour, the rest of the army was sadly deficient in armoured horsemen. He did bring five hundred archers mounted on camels as well, men whose faces were wrapped in turbans and who wore long flowing robes. In addition to the fighting men, Chosroes brought a horde of camp followers — harlots, beggars, traders and thieves who trailed in his army’s wake. I estimated the numbers of his fighting men to be ten thousand, no more, and their quality left much to be desired.

I was standing beside Domitus at the entrance to our camp as the army of Chosroes filed past to set up their tents two miles north of us. I saw the disdain on Domitus’ face.

‘They are our allies, Domitus.’

‘I would rather they were our enemies,’ he sniffed. ‘If we fight a battle in the coming days, try to ensure that they are as far away from my legion as possible.’

‘You think they will run?’

‘I know they will run. And when they do the poor bastards standing beside them will discover that they suddenly have no flank protection.’

I knew he was right, but that evening Vardan and my father welcomed Chosroes to the army and toasted his loyalty. Dressed in a red flowing gown adorned with gold strips, his eyes were cold and calculating but he was cordial enough if a little curt. He seemed far from enthusiastic at having to muster his army for this campaign, but he too had voted for Phraates and so had a vested interest in seeing him retain his throne. I also learned that Porus had raided his lands.

‘I heard about your victory over Porus,’ he said, picking at some roasted goat on a silver plate that he held with his long, bony hand. ‘A most welcome development.’

‘Thank you, sire.’ Technically I was his equal, but I was always aware that the rest of the kings were middle-aged men or older and that I was a mere boy compared to their years and experience, so I was more than happy to defer to them, rebels aside.

‘Yes, yes,’ said Chosroes, ‘most welcome.’

Vistaspa, on the next couch to mine, leaned over. ‘What he means is that he is glad he did not have to fight them himself.’

‘You mean he is a coward?’ I was shocked as I watched my father walk over to Chosroes and embrace him, then put an arm round his shoulder in a brotherly fashion and lead him away, the two of them deep in conversation.

‘No, no, nothing like that’ replied Vistaspa, ‘but Mesene is poor. You must have deduced that from the condition of his troops. His kingdom does not benefit from the Silk Road and his people eke out an existence from the land. In the south, where the Euphrates and Tigris flow into the Persian Gulf, there are great marshes populated by a rebellious people, which adds a further drain on his resources.’

‘Domitus has a low opinion of his troops.’

Vistaspa nodded. ‘He’s right in his opinion. But at least Chosroes is here, and for that reason alone we must be grateful.’

‘Domitus also believes that if we have to give battle the soldiers of Chosroes will be the first to run.’

Vistaspa laughed out loud, causing Vardan and my father to look at him quizzically. ‘I like your Roman; he’s a man after my own heart. And he’s right again. Hopefully it will not come to that.’

My father’s words had obviously cheered Chosroes up, for he sat back on his couch and raised his cup to Vistaspa and me, smiling as he did so. We raised ours in return.

‘Perhaps we could convince him to fight for the enemy,’ remarked Vistaspa, smiling at the King of Mesene.

But Chosroes did not desert and so his army formed the rear of a vast column that made its way towards the Tigris and Ctesiphon. Our progress would have been seen miles away, for the thousands of animals and men kicked up a vast cloud of dirt that got in our eyes and covered our clothes, so that after a day we resembled the men of Chosroes’ army. We had scouts riding ahead, including Byrd and Malik, but they reported only an empty land and no sign of the enemy. Indeed, when we finally reached the Tigris at Ctesiphon, the city itself on the western bank of the river, directly opposite the large palace complex on the other side of the river, Byrd reported that Narses and his army had hurriedly departed eastwards, towards Susa. Curiously he had left the bridge across the river intact, and there was little evidence of damage to the city itself or the brick wall of the palace compound.

‘Of course not,’ remarked my father, ‘he hoped to make this his home. Why then would he destroy it?’

And so, without raising a sword against him, we had forced Narses to retreat.