Parthian Vengeance

Chapter 3

Standing looking at the large hide map of the Parthian Empire hanging on the wall in the headquarters building I shook my head. Couriers had arrived from Hatra, Media and Atropaiene informing me that parties attacking from Gordyene, Cappadocia and Armenia were raiding them. My father wrote that once again horsemen were attacking his northern towns and cities, including Nisibus whose governor was my childhood friend Vata. I was not unduly concerned about these reports as Hatra’s army was more than capable of dealing with mere raiding parties. The same was true of Media and Atropaiene, ruled by Farhad and Aschek respectively. Still, if these raids presaged a general war with Rome, since Armenia was its client state and the Romans occupied Gordyene, then once again the empire would be under threat. I had comforted myself with the knowledge that to the east of these two realms were the kingdoms of Hyrcania and Margiana, both of which had alliances with Aschek and Farhad and both of which could raise sizeable armies. But then news reached us that the northern borders had erupted into violence and both Hyrcania and Margiana were also under assault. King Khosrou, the fierce ruler of Margiana, had written to me stating that the tribes that inhabited the great steppes to the north of his kingdom had attacked his frontier outposts and were marching against his capital, Merv. The entire northern border of the empire was in flames.

‘What are the chances of the Romans, Armenians and the tribes of the steppes working in cooperation, do you think?’ asked Domitus, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.

I shook my head again. ‘Almost nil.’

He jumped out of his chair. ‘Exactly.’

‘I thought Khosrou had peace with the northern tribes,’ said Orodes.

‘That is what he told me at Esfahan,’ I replied, ‘though that was a while ago. Perhaps relationships between the two have deteriorated since then.’

Domitus drew his dagger and used it to point at the map, moving the point from Hatra to the east towards the Caspian Sea and beyond.

‘It cannot be a coincidence that all the kingdoms under assault are friends of Dura. I detect the hand of Mithridates in all this.’

I was confused. ‘He sent assassins to kill me. If he wanted to harm Dura then he and Narses would lead their army against us. I suspect the Romans are behind this rather than Mithridates.’

‘After all these years and after so much blood, you still act like a dotard, son of Hatra.’

Dobbai walked into the room accompanied by Gallia, who threw a despatch on the table. I picked it up.

‘What is this?’

‘An appeal from Gotarzes. His kingdom is assaulted by Narses.’

King Gotarzes was the ruler of Elymais, a land across the Tigris that lay to the east of Nergal’s realm of Mesene. A valuable ally and trusted friend, Gotarzes had the great misfortune to rule a kingdom that had Narses’ own kingdom of Persis to the south and Susiana, the domain of Mithridates, to the north. He had fought by my side against both of them and now Narses was attacking him.

‘You can forget about the Romans, then,’ said Domitus. ‘This is the handiwork of Mithridates.’

‘The Roman speaks the truth,’ said Dobbai. ‘I did warn you not to underestimate Mithridates.’

‘We have to help Gotarzes,’ said Gallia.

I looked at the map once more. That was easier said than done. It was over five hundred miles from Dura to the city of Elymais, the capital of Gotarzes’ kingdom — it would take nearly four weeks to get there unimpeded, more if we encountered any resistance along the way.

‘Gotarzes is beyond help,’ remarked Dobbai. ‘If he had any sense, which he doesn’t, he would abandon his city and flee.’

‘He would never do that,’ insisted Orodes, ‘he is a man of honour.’

Dobbai sat in one of the chairs around the table. ‘Soon to be a dead man of honour.’

‘The army is assembled, is it not?’ asked Gallia.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Well, then, we can march to assist Gotarzes.’

I looked at her, then at Domitus and Orodes. They were thinking the same as me — we would be marching into a trap.

‘No,’ I said, ‘we will stick to the original plan. We will strike for Ctesiphon first and then march into Susiana. Hopefully Gotarzes can hold out until we can organise his relief.’

‘That is the best course of action,’ said Domitus.

‘It is sound strategy,’ remarked Orodes.

Gallia was going to object but was stilled by Dobbai. ‘What they say is correct, child. Gotarzes is the bait that Mithridates dangles in front of your husband’s eyes. To take it would spell the end of the King of Dura and his army.’

Orodes folded his arms and looked very grave while Domitus went back to studying the map. Dobbai watched him like a hawk. At length he spoke.

‘How does Mithridates benefit from inciting outsiders to attack his empire?’

Dobbai cackled. ‘A good question, Roman, and one that has a simple answer.’

‘Which is?’ I asked irritably. Sometimes she sorely tested my patience.

She sighed. ‘All of you,’ she pointed at me, Orodes and Domitus with a bony finger, ‘labour under the delusion that everyone thinks and acts the same as you. They do not. Mithridates and Narses desire above all to rid the world of the King of Dura.’

‘Then why don’t they march against me?’ I asked.

Dobbai looked at me in exasperation. ‘I sometimes think that Coalemus himself has rented your body.’

‘Who is Coalemus’ queries Domitus.

‘The god of idiots,’ replied Orodes, none too pleased at Dobbai’s insolence. Gallia laughed aloud.

‘You have, son of Hatra,’ said Dobbai very slowly so I would understand what she was saying, ‘beaten both Mithridates and Narses in battle, so they obviously see little merit in tangling with you again, at least not until they are certain of victory.’

‘If Dura’s allies are occupied dealing with threats to their own lands,’ mused Orodes, ‘then they cannot aid you, Pacorus.’

Dobbai’s eyes narrowed. ‘Leaving Mithridates and Narses free to concentrate their hatred on you, son of Hatra.’ She really did revel in other people’s misfortune and general misery.

‘Then let them come,’ I said grandly, ‘and then I can destroy them.’

‘They will not come to Dura,’ said Dobbai. ‘They are not idiots. They have seen what happens to armies that try to storm this city. As I told you before, as long as the griffin sits above the Palmyrene Gate no army shall take this city.’

‘Then we shall go to them,’ I announced.

Dobbai rose and held out her hand for Gallia to take. ‘And that is precisely what they want. You must take care, son of Hatra; indeed all of you must take care not to underestimate Mithridates above all. Come child, let us leave them to their games of strategy.’

The proceeding days saw a flurry of letters between Dura and Hatra, Babylon and Mesene. I thanked Shamash that the empire had a reliable courier system that ensured that the kingdoms were in constant touch with each other. The postal system comprised hundreds of mounted couriers who rode from city to city via rest stations located every thirty miles. At these stations the couriers swapped their horses for fresh mounts that took them to the next station and so on. But even so it took several days for news to reach us of what was happening in other parts of the empire. Dura was around twelve hundred miles from the eastern edge of the empire. I sometimes forgot how large Parthia was.

I wrote to King Vardan of Babylon, friend to my father and me, asking if he could take his army east to aid Gotarzes while I marched Dura’s army against Ctesiphon. In addition, I asked Nergal if he could reinforce Vardan and also strike at Susa, the capital city of Susiana. Uruk was only a hundred and fifty miles from Susa. Nergal could be there in around a week. I decided not to inform my father that I was striking at Ctesiphon and therefore marching across the south of his kingdom. He would learn of this after I had killed Mithridates. His anger would be a small price to pay for victory and peace in the empire. I also did not inform Vardan that I would be marching into the north of his kingdom. I would offer my apologies to him at the same time that I announced that Mithridates had been removed from power.

My father informed me that the raids Hatra was experiencing were inconvenient but not serious. However, they did require substantial numbers of troops to be sent north to patrol the border and deter any further incursions. Media and Atropaiene reported much the same.

‘They are achieving their aim,’ remarked Domitus as he sifted through parchments on his table.

The camp was heaving with men, mules and activity. Surrounded by a mud-brick wall, it was capacious enough to accommodate the Duran Legion and the Exiles plus all their wagons, animals and equipment, but it was a squeeze. Domitus had endured many sleepless nights overseeing the mustering of his men, but now the two legions were fully assembled and ready to march.

‘We do not need Hatra’s help,’ I said.

‘Mm, well,’ he rose from his desk and grabbed his vine cane lying on the table, placing a weight on the parchments so they would not be disturbed. ‘Let us hope you are right. Walk with me.’

Spring would soon be here and the temperature was already rising. It was pleasant enough inside the large tent but outside the atmosphere was becoming oppressive. The smell of sweat, leather and animal dung greeted me as I stepped into the open air.

‘The horsemen are assembled?’ asked Domitus.

I nodded. ‘Twelve hundred cataphracts crammed inside the city and three thousand horse archers camped five miles south of it.’

‘Ten thousand foot, four thousand horse,’ he mused. ‘You think that’s enough to defeat Mithridates and Narses?’

I slapped him on the arm. ‘As a Roman you above all should know that it is quality not quantity that makes the difference on the battlefield. What is troubling you?’

‘Time to pay our respects.’ He turned and walked to one of the two smaller tents that were located either side of the command tent. I followed. Guards stood at attention around the tent and more guards stood watch inside, for these shelters held sacred items — the legionary standards. The standard of the Duran Legion was a griffin cast from pure gold that was fixed to a silver plate atop a pole. When the legion marched the griffin would go with it. It was held upright in a rack next to the Staff of Victory, an old kontus shaft onto which had been attached silver discs depicting each of the army’s victories. Domitus walked over to the griffin and stroked it gently. I did the same.

He turned to me. ‘We could take the lords and some of their riders. There would still be enough men left in the kingdom to guard the northern border.’

‘I can’t risk it, Domitus. This army can beat anything Narses and Mithridates can throw at it. You know that. But I cannot fight them worrying about the possibility of the Romans launching an invasion from Syria.’

He bowed his head to the griffin and then ambled from the tent. I followed as he walked briskly to the other tent that held the standard of the Exiles, a silver lion also sitting on a silver plate. Again we touched the standard that was likewise ringed by guards.

‘The Romans have tried to conquer Dura once,’ I said. ‘Forty thousand horse archers will hopefully make them think twice before they try to do so again.’

‘Pity we don’t still have the Margianans,’ he sniffed.

He was alluding to the horsemen sent to Gallia as a gift by King Khosrou before we had faced the Roman Pompey. Originally numbering a thousand men led by an uncouth but brave warrior named Kuban, battle casualties had reduced their number to eight hundred. Essentially horse archers, they wore leather armour and also carried long spears in addition to bows and swords. But following the capture of Uruk I had sent them back to their homeland.

The legions were already on the march before the new dawn came. Ten thousand pairs of hobnailed sandals tramping east across the two pontoon bridges that spanned the Euphrates, their crunching sound resonating through the stillness of the early morning hours. I did not disturb our sleeping children as I dressed and made my way to the stables where cataphracts and squires were busy loading equipment on the backs of spitting and grunting camels. Remus had finished his breakfast by the time I entered his stall and placed the white saddlecloth on his back. Like all the saddlecloths of the army it had a red griffin stitched in each corner.

I threw my saddle onto his back and then fitted him with his bridle. His coat and hooves had already been cleaned and checked but I examined each one of his iron horseshoes anyway. Fresh on. He flicked his tail with impatience. He had been on too many campaigns not to know what was going on and was eager to be on our journey.

I stroked his neck. ‘Easy, boy. You must save your energy. You should know all this by now.’

He turned his head and snorted. His blue eyes looked into my brown ones. The chief stable hand appeared, a tall, thin man with deep-set eyes.

‘He is most impatient, majesty. Began kicking his door last night.’

I grabbed his reins and led him from the stall. ‘Did he indeed. He picked up some bad habits during his time in Italy, I fear. Living in the open all that time made him think he was a wild horse.’

The man smiled. ‘I fear it is so, majesty. He is wilful, but a fine horse nonetheless.’

We walked outside into the cold morning air and I vaulted into the saddle.

‘He is indeed, and for that we must forgive him his idiosyncratic nature.’

The stable hand bowed his head. ‘Shamash protect you, majesty.’

I nudged Remus ahead. ‘You too.’

I walked him from the stables into the courtyard and halted in front of the palace where Gallia was standing at the top of the palace steps. I dismounted as one of the Amazons stepped forward to hold Remus while I said goodbye to my wife. Even though she was not coming with me she was dressed in her war gear of leather boots, leggings and mail shirt. The rest of the Amazons mustered behind her were similarly attired.

I walked up the steps and embraced her. There were no tears in her eyes, no emotion, just determination.

‘Make sure you kill that toad Mithridates,’ she hissed. ‘Remember Godarz.’

I kissed her on the lips. ‘I will endeavour to do what I should have done a long time ago.’

Unusually Dobbai was present. Now in her dotage she seldom rose until well after dawn but today was different. She grabbed my arm as I turned and made to descend the steps.

‘Have a care, son of Hatra. Do not underestimate Mithridates or Narses.’

This was getting tiresome.

‘I am always careful,’ I replied.

She released my arm, turned and waved her hand in the air. ‘I have warned you. I can do no more. Be gone and play the game of kings.’

I raised my eyes and walked down the steps and then vaulted into my saddle once more. I raised my hand at Gallia who nodded and then I wheeled Remus away and trotted from the Citadel. Behind me a company of cataphracts, a hundred riders, followed and after them came two hundred squires leading two hundred fully loaded camels. The commander of the company was a man named Surena, a native of the Ma’adan people who fell in beside me as we rode down the city’s main street and headed for the Palmyrene Gate. The dour figure of Vagharsh, a Parthian and Companion, rode immediately behind us carrying my flag — a red griffin on a white background, the whole banner edged with gold. This morning it was safely wrapped in its wax-coated sleeve for the air was damp.

In the early hours I liked to keep my own counsel. Unfortunately Surena did not and this morning he was unusually talkative. No doubt the prospect of slaughter filled him with great anticipation.

‘How long will it take before we encounter the enemy, lord?’

‘We will know when we see them,’ I replied.

‘Hopefully less than a week, then I can be back in Dura in a fortnight. I have promised to take Viper to Palmyra.’

Viper was one of Gallia’s Amazons, a woman who was lethal with a bow but who looked like a teenage girl. Surena was the exact opposite with his long black hair, square face, thin nose, broad shoulders and muscular arms. They had been married for over three years now.

‘You expect the forthcoming campaign to be a straightforward affair, Surena?’

He looked at me. ‘Of course, lord. All your campaigns end in victory.’

I laughed. Like most young men he only dreamed of glory and thought of victory. It never occurred to him that he might end up as a mangled corpse on the battlefield. But then we all comforted ourselves with the thought that we would be on the winning side and see our families again, Shamash willing.

‘If we take much plunder I was thinking of purchasing a house for Viper and me,’ continued Surena.

‘We do not go to plunder,’ I said sternly.

‘No, lord, of course not. But if any happens to fall into our laps, all the better.’

In battle Surena was calm, brave and resourceful, though apt to take risks. In barracks he was a good officer to his men. Like many officers in Dura’s army he was enrolled in the Sons of the Citadel scheme, an idea I had after I had first assumed power in the kingdom. The best tutors from Egypt, Parthia, China and even Rome had been hired to instruct the future leaders of the army. After spending the morning on the training field the best and the brightest in the army attended classes to learn about logistics, engineering, leadership, weapon making, the philosophy of war and languages. In this way they would know the ins and outs of what were called the military arts.

‘There are some nice properties near the Citadel,’ mused Surena, ‘a bit of loot would go towards securing one.’

The reports from his tutors had stated that Surena was an excellent student — intelligent, inquisitive and eager to learn. He could also be extremely irritating.

I turned in the saddle. ‘What do you think of Surena’s grand plan, Vagharsh?’

Vagharsh shot a glance at Surena. ‘I think he talks too much.’

We passed under the Palmyrene Gate and I drew my sword and raised it to salute the stone griffin sitting above the arch over the large twin gates. Surena did the same and so did all the men of his company. An insolent Greek sculptor named Demetrius who had also cast the Duran Legion’s golden griffin had carved it. Dobbai had told me that the city would never fall as long as the griffin guarded the city. I believed her words and so did every man in the army and every citizen who lived in the city. As we exited the city and wheeled right to link up with the road across the river I looked behind me and bowed my head to the griffin.

Outside the city the air was even colder and the river was shrouded in a thick mist. Though this was not atypical for the time of year I prayed that it was not an ill omen for the coming campaign. Legionaries marching six abreast were filing over both bridges when we arrived at the river where Domitus was standing talking to some of his officers. He raised his cane to me, dismissed them and walked over.

‘Glad you could join us, hope we didn’t disturb your sleep.’

‘Very amusing, Domitus. Where are Byrd and Malik?’

He grinned. ‘You know them two. They left while Somnus was stilling entertaining me.’

‘Is that a whore?’ suggested a grinning Surena.

Domitus pointed his cane at him. ‘Watch your mouth, puppy.’

I turned to Surena. ‘Somnus is the Roman god of sleep, for your information. Now kindly be quiet.’

‘Anyway,’ continued Domitus, ‘Byrd and Malik are across the river with their scouts just to make sure we don’t have any nasty surprises.’

I doubted that. Directly opposite the bridges was Hatran territory, patrolled and garrisoned by detachments of my father’s army.

Domitus continued. ‘Orodes and the rest of the horsemen are waiting until my boys are over, then they will cross. It will be a while yet, though.’

I looked at Surena. ‘You and I will ride over to the other side and see if we can catch up with Byrd and Malik. Bring a score of your men along. Vagharsh, you stay here with the rest and join Orodes when he crosses over.’

Vagharsh nodded. Surena ordered the first twenty men behind us to follow him as we walked our horses to the first bridge. The officers halted the legionaries marching onto the bridge to give us passage to the other side. And so, wrapped in our white cloaks for the chill and mist showed no signs of abating, we cantered over the bridge and into my father’s kingdom and headed south, riding parallel to the great column of marching soldiers.

Two hours after I had left the Citadel the mist finally began to clear from the river. Orodes had brought over the cavalry and now parties of horse archers were sent into the east to cover our left flank and ahead to act as a vanguard. I was not overly concerned about being surprised, as we were still in Hatran territory and south of that lay the Kingdom of Babylon. Still, with Dobbai’s warning ringing in my ears I was taking no chances. Soon the rays of sun had burnt off the last vestiges of the mist to reveal a cloudless sky. It would be a glorious spring day, ideal for marching, not too hot and with a slight northerly breeze. I had to confess that it felt good to be marching with the army again. At last I would settle things with Mithridates and Narses.

By noon most of the horsemen were walking to preserve their animals’ strength. The only horsemen still riding were on patrol. Malik and Byrd rode back to the army, their clothes covered in dust and their horses breathing heavily from a long ride. They both dismounted and joined our small group of myself, Orodes and Domitus. Domitus always walked despite being general of the army and despite my efforts to persuade him otherwise.

‘No enemy anywhere,’ reported Byrd, ‘land empty.’

‘I’m sure my stepbrother has his spies watching us,’ said Orodes.

‘If they are, then they are very well hidden,’ said Malik.

The land along the riverbank was highly cultivated and populated, but further inland the fields and irrigation ditches gave way to flat, barren desert until one encountered the cultivated land on the western bank of the River Tigris. There were few inhabitants of the land between the rivers apart from nomads.

‘Mithridates will soon learn that we have left Dura,’ I said. ‘The disadvantage of being a city on the Silk Road is that the traffic is an efficient carrier of gossip as well as goods. It doesn’t matter. After all, we want to goad him into action.’

Nevertheless Orodes shielded the army with a thick screen of patrols as we marched south along the Euphrates. As usual each night the army sheltered in a camp surrounded by an earth rampart surmounted by a wall of stakes, constructed after the Roman fashion. Each day the stakes were taken down and loaded onto mules for transportation to the next night’s camp site. It was a time-consuming process to erect and then disassemble these camps, but it ensured that the army and its wagons and animals were safe from any night attack. Not that there was much risk of that — Parthians as a rule did not fight at night.

‘I would not put it past my stepbrother to launch a night attack,’ remarked Orodes as we relaxed in the command tent after another day’s march.

‘No army near,’ said Byrd.

‘I doubt he will even fight,’ added Malik, his black robes matching the tattoos on his face.

‘What was he like, as a child, I mean?’ I asked.

‘Pacorus wants to know if he had horns on his head and a forked tail,’ said Domitus, cramming a biscuit into his mouth.

The biscuits that we took with us on campaign were called Parthian bread, though they were actually rock-hard wafers that reportedly lasted for years. Domitus said that they were excellent for patching shields.

Orodes leaned back in his chair. ‘Cruel, I would say.’

‘Nothing else?’ I asked.

‘Oh, he was spoilt and indulged by his mother, my stepmother, and by father. But then, there is nothing exceptional about that. But he was possessed of an evil nature. He made trouble just for the sake of it and inflicted injury on those who were helpless and could not fight back, slaves mostly. That is why he dislikes you, Pacorus.’

‘Because Pacorus was a slave?’ offered Domitus.

Orodes nodded. ‘Yes. He could not accept that one reduced so low could rise up and become great. Made worse by you having taken the crown of Dura from him.’

‘I did not take the crown from him,’ I said bitterly. ‘I found it lying in the gutter, such was the state he left my kingdom in.’

Domitus continued to munch on his biscuits. ‘Most poetic. Hopefully we can track down the bastard, kill him and get things back to normal.’ He looked at Orodes. ‘No offence meant.’

‘And none taken, my friend,’ replied Orodes, ‘the world will be a better place without Mithridates in it.’

Everyone agreed with him, though if we did end the reign of Mithridates then without a doubt Narses would seize the high crown for himself. But not if he too was dead. One battle at a time.

It took the army ten days to reach the spot that brought us parallel to where the Tigris and Ctesiphon lay fifty miles to the east, and still there was no sign of the enemy. Perhaps Mithridates had abandoned Ctesiphon and fled east to Narses’ capital at Persepolis. I hoped not — it was five hundred miles from Ctesiphon to the capital of Persis. On the other hand, if he had then Narses would have to abandon the siege of Elymais and Gotarzes would be relieved. All these thoughts went through my mind as the army stocked up on its water supplies for the march east across the desert. Fourteen thousand soldiers, two thousand squires and their two thousand camels, over two thousand mules, the drivers of the wagons, a thousand camels carrying spare arrows and their riders and over six thousand horses consumed a lot of water each day. At least it was spring and not summer for the heat of these areas in the hottest months was fierce. Fortunately the camels and mules were hardy creatures. Indeed the mules were capable of tolerating extremes of heat and cold and surviving on sparse rations of food and water and only a few hours’ sleep each night.

After a day of rest we set off east across the desert. Byrd, Malik and their scouts rode far ahead of the army and patrols of horse archers covered our flanks and formed a vanguard. I walked with Orodes and Domitus at the head of the army, the cataphracts leading their horses behind them, the squires tending to their horses and camels.

It was another glorious spring day with just a slight northerly breeze and a small number of puffy white clouds dotting the blue sky. Once again there was no sign of the enemy anywhere and I began to think that we would take the city of Seleucia, which lay on the west bank of the Tigris, unopposed. Directly opposite Seleucia, across the river, was the palace of Ctesiphon. It was a large palace complex filled with treasure but it was of no use to us. All I was interested in was confronting Mithridates. We covered fifteen miles the first day and another fifteen the next and once again we marched across empty desert. The army camped for the night behind its earthen rampart and wooden palisade, the men wrapping themselves in their cloaks as the temperature plummeted after the sun disappeared from the western sky.

Two hours after night had fallen Byrd and Malik rode into camp at the head of their scouts. They thundered up the main avenue that led directly to my command tent. As usual I was in attendance with Orodes and Domitus when the pair burst in, their faces unshaven and their clothes dirty.

‘Mithridates’ army approaches,’ said Byrd.

‘At last,’ grunted Domitus, ‘I was beginning to think that we would have to tramp for hundreds of miles to get our hands around his neck.’

‘How far away is he?’ I asked.

Malik walked over to a water jug on the table, filled a cup and handed it to Byrd. ‘Twenty miles, perhaps less.’

Byrd gulped down some water. ‘Many horse, no foot. There are more of them than we have.’

I smiled. ‘There’s always more of them than us, Byrd.’

Malik filled another cup and drained it. ‘We saw the banner of Mithridates but there was no sign of Narses.’

‘He must still be besieging Elymais,’ said Orodes.

This was better than I expected. My enemies had made the fatal mistake of dividing their forces, allowing me to defeat each in turn. I began to feel very confident.

I walked past Malik and Byrd, clasping their arms in turn. ‘I am in your debt, my friends. You bring good tidings. We should be able to see our opponents. Come.’

We all filed outside and stared into the east. Sure enough, the horizon was illuminated by a red glow — the campfires of Mithridates’ army. At last we would finally settle the differences between us. I slapped Orodes on the arm.

‘Well, my friend, by this time tomorrow your stepbrother will be dead and the empire will need another king of kings.’

‘Narses will take his crown,’ replied Orodes mournfully.

‘After we have dealt with Mithridates we will march east, link up with Gotarzes and go after Narses. He will never wear the high crown.’

‘And then?’ asked Domitus.

‘And then, what?’ I replied.

‘It is no small thing we do, Pacorus,’ said Orodes.

I scratched my head. Orodes was a loyal and brave friend, one whom I held dear, but on occasion he could be insufferably correct. Even after all the treachery of Mithridates and Narses he still clung to his strict interpretation of protocol. I knew that he was appalled by the notion that we had as our objective the deaths of Mithridates and Narses. Perhaps a part of him still believed that bloodshed could be averted and we could all settle matters to everyone’s mutual benefit. I knew this to be fantasy and deep down so did he, but he liked to think the best of everybody, including his vile stepbrother.

I laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I did not cross the Euphrates lightly, my friend, but the dagger thrust that killed Godarz began a course of events that can only have one end — my death or that of Mithridates.’

Orodes’ black mood did not lessen my sense of satisfaction that we were about to fight Mithridates. I had disliked him ever since our first meeting at the city of Esfahan years ago, a loathing that had been instantly reciprocated. And now I had him. He may be king of kings but Mithridates was also a liar and a coward, and tomorrow all would be settled.

I rarely slept much before a battle and this night was no different. Domitus, Byrd and Malik wiled away the rest of the evening talking of past battles, Domitus as ever sharpening his gladius with a stone. Orodes retired to get some sleep and wrestle with his morality. He was probably the most upright individual in the empire. I excused myself and walked among neatly arranged rows of tents that each accommodated eight sleeping legionaries or a similar number of horsemen. Sentries stood guard and centurions stalked around with their trusty vine canes. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of leather, cooking fires, horses, mules, camels and animal dung. I stood for a moment and closed my eyes and was transported back more than ten years to when I was in Italy with Spartacus. After all this time I still missed him. I reached inside my shirt to touch the lock of Gallia’s hair hanging on a chain round my neck. Together for all eternity.

I continued my tour of the camp, exchanging pleasantries with Companions and talking to other soldiers who were veterans of more recent campaigns. The horsemen were quartered with their animals in the northwest corner of the camp. Many of the Parthians in their ranks thought it most odd that they and their horses should be confined so. The camps of Parthian armies comprised an assortment of different-sized tents arranged in a random fashion. As it was the Parthian custom not to fight at night the notion of surrounding a camp with defences appeared a waste of time and effort. That may be, but no adversary of Dura would ever catch its army unawares by launching a night assault.

When I arrived at the quarters of the armoured horsemen their squires were still busy checking scale armour and helmets. If they were lucky they would get four or five hours sleep before they had to rise to get their masters ready for battle. I also found Surena with a group of his subordinates clustered round a brazier. They stopped their conversation when they saw me and bowed their heads.

‘As you were,’ I said. ‘Surena, walk with me.’

We ambled among other groups of men gathered round fires, indulging in the idle chatter and boasting that most men partake of on the eve of battle. Tomorrow each one would fight secure in the knowledge that they trusted one another and that the man on either side of him in the battle line could be relied on not to desert him. It was no accident of speech that men were organised into companies, for at the end of the day men did not fight for causes, politics or gods; they fought for each other, their companions. And they preferred to fight and die among their friends.

‘I want you to take care tomorrow, Surena. No recklessness on the battlefield, remember your training.’

He beamed at me. ‘Of course, lord.’

His strong frame filled his white shirt and his well-groomed shoulder-length black hair gave him the appearance of a noble Parthian officer, but his eyes flashed with mischief. Despite all the training and education there was still a part of him that was that wild boy of the marshes I had first met years ago.

‘I don’t want you getting yourself killed and wasting all that expensive education I have lavished on you.’

He nodded solemnly. ‘No, lord.’

We walked on in silence for a few moments, men rising to their feet as we passed them and bowing their heads, a few clasping Surena’s forearm. He was a popular figure in the army, not least for saving my life in battle. He had also married an Amazon, one of the few men who had. That earned him much respect, though I never did tell him how close he had come to being hanged on the orders of Gallia for his pursuit of Viper.

‘I was sorry about Godarz, lord, we all were. He was a good man.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, he was.’

He cast me a sideways glance. ‘The queen must miss him terribly.’

Gallia thought Surena cocky and arrogant, though grudgingly accepted that he was brave. Viper must have told him how much Godarz’s death had affected the queen.

‘She does, as do I.’

‘I know what it is like to lose parents. The passing of time heals the wounds but the scars remain.’

He was speaking with a maturity that I did not know he possessed. He was talking of his own parents who had been murdered by the soldiers of Chosroes when he was a boy.

His visage hardened and he grasped the hilt of his sword, a spatha like my own. ‘Mithridates deserves to die for what he has done.’

‘Just make sure you don’t die as well.’

As usual I slept for barely three hours that night and before the dawn announced the new day I was up and preparing for battle. I always slept with my dagger under my pillow. A most ridiculous habit considering I was in the middle of an armed camp and at Dura my bed was in a guarded palace surrounded by thick walls. It infuriated Gallia that our marriage bed had to accommodate a weapon, but as I reminded her she always secreted her own dagger under our bed. Like most of my military equipment, my dagger came from Italy and had once belonged to a Roman centurion I had killed on the night that Spartacus had rescued me. My scale armour hung on a frame at the foot of the bed. It was bulky and heavy but the metal scales and thick rawhide underneath became as light as a feather when the frenzy of combat gripped me. All Dura’s cataphracts wore full-face helmets that covered all of their heads and necks, but I always wore my Roman helmet on the battlefield. It sat on the stool beside the scale armour.

I rose and knelt by the side of the bed, closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would give me the courage to fight well this day. I held the lock of Gallia’s hair in my hand. In that moment I felt a sense of supreme serenity. I opened my eyes and stood up. It was time to fight.

Though each cataphract had two squires to attend him I never bothered with servants, being content to enlist the assistance of anyone to hand. I had been raised a prince in the great palace at Hatra but during my time in Italy with Spartacus I had had no slaves or servants to attend to my every whim. I had become used to preparing my horse and equipment myself and the habit had stayed with me. First I put on my silk vest that felt cool next to my skin, then my leggings and boots. Finally I pulled on my long-sleeved white shirt and stepped out of the sleeping compartment and into the main section of the command tent. Domitus was already sitting at the table munching on some biscuits and salted meat. Did he ever sleep on campaign? The early morning was cool so his cloak was wrapped around him. Outside I could hear the blare of trumpets and officers hurling orders at their men.

Sentries brought us hot porridge from the field kitchens and after acknowledging each other we sat in silence as we devoured the thick, appetising stodge. There was nothing to say. Domitus was not one for idle chatter and on the morning of battle I always liked to mull over the coming clash in my mind.

Some ten minutes later Orodes, Byrd and Malik joined us. Byrd and Malik had already ridden out to reconnoitre the enemy’s positions. I indicated for them all to join us at the table as more hot food was brought from the kitchens. The oil lamps hanging from the tent poles still burned to illuminate the tent’s interior but outside the first rays of the sun were now lancing the eastern sky.

Domitus finished his food and pushed his metal plate aside. ‘Well, what is your plan for today?’

I smiled at him. ‘To beat the enemy, Domitus, as always!’

‘It’s too early to be a smart arse, just answer the question.’

I turned to Malik. ‘You see, lord prince, how my subordinates disrespect me.’

‘Alas, Pacorus,’ replied Malik, winking at Domitus and shoving porridge into his mouth with his fingers, ‘there is no respect left in the world, I fear.’

He and Domitus were good friends and would lay down their lives for each other, while Byrd had become like a brother to Malik. Indeed, all of us gathered at the table were brothers, having shared hardships and shed blood over the years.

‘Guard!’ I shouted.

One of the legionaries standing sentry outside the tent appeared and saluted.

‘Go and find Marcus Sutonius and Surena and bring them here.’

He saluted and left. I turned to Domitus.

‘The problem with you, Domitus, is that you have no sense of humour in the early morning.’

‘And the problem with you,’ he shot back, ‘is that you talk too much. You should be more like Byrd, who says very little but what he does say is worth listening to. Isn’t that right, Byrd?’

As ever Byrd cut a dishevelled figure in his scruffy robes, with long straggly hair and unshaven face. But his eyes were alert and his mind quick.

‘Plenty of time to finish breakfast and beat enemy,’ he sniffed. ‘They in no hurry to leave their camp.’

Malik finished licking his fingers. ‘It’s true, we rode right up to the perimeter of their camp and saw very little activity.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘It appears that they anticipate an easy victory.’

‘And they will have one unless Pacorus shares his battle plan with us,’ said Domitus.

The tent flaps opened and Marcus and Surena entered. I invited them both to sit at the table as I rose and waited for them to be seated. The Roman Marcus Sutonius was the commander of my siege engines. He, the hundred men under him and their machines had been captured and enlisted into my service when a Roman army had invaded Dura. At first they served with reluctance but then enthusiastically when they discovered that life at Dura was pleasant enough and infinitely better than serving in the Roman army.

I ordered more food to be brought from the kitchens, which Surena and Marcus accepted greedily. Sitting side by side they presented very different appearances. Surena was tall and powerfully built with broad shoulders and muscular arms, while Marcus, nearly twice his age, was shorter and carried some fat mainly around the stomach on his wiry frame. His short hair was thinning on top.

‘Very well,’ I said, ‘this is the plan. I intend to finish Mithridates and his army once and for all. Therefore our tactics today will be hammer and anvil.’

Orodes raised an eyebrow but said nothing while Domitus was nodding his head in agreement. Marcus was confused, as he did not understand what it meant. Domitus enlightened him.

‘What the king means Marcus, is that my two legions will act as an anvil and the army’s horsemen will be the hammer. In between the two will be the enemy, battered into fragments by a series of hammer blows.’

I continued. ‘The foot will deploy behind a screen of horse archers who will advance and goad the enemy into launching an attack. Once they do the horse archers will fall back through the ranks of the legionaries.’

‘What about your cataphracts, lord?’ asked Surena.

‘Pacorus was coming to them,’ said Orodes.

‘They are the hammer,’ replied Domitus.

‘Hammer?’ Marcus was still confused.

‘The cataphracts will be divided into two bodies,’ I said, ‘one deployed on the right and the other on the left. Each body will be positioned directly behind the two legions, so that when the enemy horsemen chasing our horse archers run into the locked shields of the Durans and Exiles, the heavy horsemen will advance forward to envelop the flanks and rear of the enemy.’

Marcus nodded in admiration. ‘A most ambitious plan, sir. And the enemy will be willing participants in their own slaughter?’

‘He has a point,’ said Domitus.

‘All we have to do is draw them in,’ I replied, ‘and when I dangle the bait in front of their noses they will fall into our laps easy enough.’

Orodes frowned. ‘Bait?’

I smiled at him. ‘Me, of course.’

Orodes looked most alarmed. ‘You?’

‘Of course. Domitus is always saying that everyone in the empire knows me on my white horse with a white crest in my helmet. Well then, it will be easy enough to lure the army of Mithridates into our trap if his soldiers see me riding in front of them. I will command the horse archers.’

Domitus had drawn his dagger and began toying with it. ‘The plan has merits.’

‘Prince Orodes will command the heavy horsemen deployed on the right, together with his own bodyguard.’

Orodes nodded solemnly. He would have seven hundred and fifty men under his command on the right, which left five hundred cataphracts on the left wing. I pointed at Surena.

‘And you, Surena, will command the cavalry on the left wing.’

Surena stopped eating his porridge, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and beamed at me.

‘Yes, lord, it will be an honour.’

Orodes looked at Domitus in alarm while Byrd and Malik seemed disinterested. It was Domitus who put into words Orodes’ concern.

‘That is a big responsibility for a junior officer.’

Surena shot my general a disdainful glance. Domitus respected Surena for his bravery and loyalty but thought him headstrong and reckless, and far too young to lead half a dragon of cataphracts. But I saw great promise in Surena.

‘It is true that Surena is young for such responsibility, but his shoulders are broad and I believe that he will rise to the task.’

Surena stood up and bowed his head to me. ‘I will not let you down, majesty.’

‘Just make sure you don’t. Now go and prepare your men.’

He beamed at me once more, bowed his head and then turned smartly and tripped over a chair leg to sprawl onto the floor. Blushing, he quickly jumped to his feet and raced from the tent. Domitus raised his eyes to the heavens.

‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ he said to me.

‘Have faith, Domitus. You know he is a brave young man and a good officer.’

Domitus turned his dagger in his hand and examined the edges of the blade. ‘I don’t doubt that, but don’t blame me if he tries to win the battle by himself and charges straight at Mithridates, leading half your heavy horse to their destruction.’

‘What of me, sir?’ enquired Marcus.

I walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You, my friend, will stay and protect the camp. I will place all the squires under your command, just in case some of the opposition attempts to storm the camp while we are occupied on the battlefield.’

It was doubtful that the enemy would detach a part of their army to attack the camp, though as it was led by Mithridates I would not put any underhand stratagem past him.

‘I would join you with the archers, Pacorus,’ said Malik.

‘I would be glad of your company, my friend,’ I replied.

Byrd was free to do as he wanted. He could not use a bow and carried no weapons aside from a long knife tucked into his belt. In all the years that I had known him I had never seen him fight, though I was mightily glad that he was part of this army for his abilities as a scout. Daylight was spreading across the desert as we made our way outside to take command of our men. The sky was blue and cloudless and the air windless, though still surprisingly cool.

I walked with Orodes to his tent where he would don his scale armour. Already columns of legionaries were marching out of the camp to head east to face the enemy, and around us squires were assisting their masters into their scale armour and encasing their horses in their armour protection. I would not be wearing my scale armour today, my Roman cuirass and helmet sufficing to lead the horse archers. We embraced each other and I left him to organise his men.

I strode to the stable area to collect Remus. When I arrived he appeared unconcerned by the frenetic level of activity surrounding him — he was always more calm living outdoors as opposed to being cooped up in the palace stables. He was now a veteran of many battles and campaigns and had seen it all before. He could still be feisty and stubborn but in battle he was brave and steady, a perfect Parthian mount despite his Roman heritage. He stood still as I threw the saddlecloth on his back and then strapped on his saddle and bridle. Around me some horses, sensing the nervousness of their riders, became skittish and had to be calmed, but Remus merely flicked his tail and waited for me to finish. I slid my bow into its hide case and fastened it to one of the rear horns of the saddle. I placed my helmet on my head, the large cheekguards protecting each side of my face. A farrier handed me my quiver whose strap I threw over my right shoulder so the arrows hung on my left side. Then I rode from the stables to where the senior officers of the horse archers were waiting on their horses.

‘Well, gentlemen, today we will be the bait that hopefully entices the enemy into our trap. Prince Orodes has explained what your mission is?’

They all nodded their heads.

‘Good, then may Shamash protect you all, and good luck.’

They bowed their heads and then wheeled their horses around to ride in a single file down the side of the camp’s central avenue, which was now filled with legionaries marching six abreast to their battle positions. Marcus stood watching them go.

‘I feel useless,’ he muttered, clearly unhappy at being left behind to guard the camp. He had a gladius in a scabbard strapped to his belt and a helmet on his head.

‘You are far from useless,’ I replied. ‘Just make sure the camp is secure. You and your engines will be needed when we reach Ctesiphon.’

He was far from convinced. ‘If you kill Mithridates today then there will be no need to breach Ctesiphon’s defences.’

I had not thought of that and it brought a smile to my lips.

‘If we kill Mithridates today, then afterwards we will march on Persepolis. Then you can batter the walls of Narses’ capital, I promise.’ I raised my hand at him and he bowed his head in return, then I cantered from the camp to join the horse archers.

We were around twenty miles from the Tigris, too far away to be battling on cultivated land. The stretch of ground we would fight on today was hard, flat, featureless and arid — ideal cavalry country. Normally in such terrain it was customary for the horsemen to be placed on each wing with the foot in the middle but today would be different. In front of the foot would be the screen of horse archers, while behind the foot, on the extreme edges of their right and left flanks respectively, would be the cataphracts. There would no reserve. If everything unfolded according to plan there would be no need for one. If all went according to plan!

It took two hours for the legions to assemble in their battle positions, all the time the horse archers in front of them keeping a watchful eye for the enemy, and beyond them rode Byrd, Malik and the scouts. Domitus placed the Duran Legion on the right, the place of honour, and the Exiles on the left. Many Parthians derided Dura and its ‘foreign’ army made up of former slaves, exiles from foreign lands and what they saw as the scrapings of humanity. But Domitus had forged his two legions into fearsome weapons and they were as yet undefeated in battle. Many kings in the empire could raise larger armies than Dura’s it was true, but they were comprised mostly of civilians, farmers in the main, who spent their lives growing crops and tending animals. All my men were full-time soldiers who spent every day on the training fields perfecting their skills. The Romans had taught me that discipline, endless training and the right equipment were the keys to victory, and I liked to think that Dura’s army had all three in abundance. Above all, drill and discipline were worth far more than thousands of ill-trained levies. That was the reason I did not bring along the lords and their retinues. Fearless they might be but they were also a law unto themselves and uncontrollable once the fighting began.

Normally each legion was drawn up in three lines for battle but today Domitus had arranged them in two lines, five cohorts in the first line and five in the second. This was to extend the frontage of the army and also hide the presence of the cataphracts from the enemy, when the enemy appeared that is. Each cohort was made up of six centuries deployed side by side, each one composed of eight ranks, each rank made up of ten men. Each century had its own commander — a centurion — who stood in the front rank while his two second-in-commands were located at the rear. There was very little space between each century in the cohort but there was a gap equating to the frontage of a cohort between the cohorts in the first line. The cohorts of the second line were arranged in such a way that each one could march forward and fill the gaps in the first line, after which the legion would have a frontage of ten cohorts in a single line.

On the left flank the Exiles were arrayed so that the cohort on the extreme left of the second line extended to the left of the furthest left-flank cohort in the first line. This was done to allow it to deploy left to form a flank defence against any sudden enemy attack. With the Duran Legion it was the reverse, with the second line extending right to offer flank protection against an enemy assaulting that wing. It had taken years to perfect the drills that the legions would perform today, but I had every confidence that they would carry them out effortlessly, even in the white heat of combat.

The legionaries presented a magnificent sight as the sun began its ascent in the eastern sky and glinted off helmets and javelin points. Each legionary was dressed and equipped exactly the same as his comrades — helmet with cheekguards, neck guard, forehead cross-brace to deflect sword blows from men in the saddle, white tunic, leather vest over the tunic and mail shirt over the vest. On his feet he wore hobnailed sandals. His weapons were a gladius in a scabbard on his right hip, dagger on his left hip and javelin. Though the curved, oval shield is a defensive piece of equipment, comprising strips of planed wood laminated in three layers, faced with leather painted white and sporting red griffin wings and edged with brass, in battle it could also be used offensively. Held by the horizontal metal grip spanning the hole in the middle of the shield, over which is a round, bulging metal boss, a legionary could barge the shield into opponents and use the boss to unbalance or topple them. The clothing and equipment of the legions were sturdy and functional, though I did allow one indulgence in that every man had a white plume fastened to the top of his helmet. Domitus scoffed at such displays but it added to the impressive sight that the legions made on parade and in battle. It also made the legionaries feel that they were not the poor relations of the cataphracts.

Once in position the legionaries grounded their shields, took off their helmets and laid their javelins on the ground to conserve their strength. It might be hours before they would be fighting. If they fought at all for the enemy was conspicuous by their absence!

Mounted on Remus I was behind the Duran Legion with Vagharsh behind me as more horse archers cantered past us to take up position in front of the legion. I saw Byrd and Malik riding in the opposite direction, both of them careering to a halt in front of me.

‘Enemy come,’ said Byrd. ‘They five miles to east.’

‘How many?’

Byrd looked round at the foot drawn up, the horse archers riding into position and the cataphracts making their way to their battle stations.

‘Twice as many as you, maybe more.’

‘All horsemen, Pacorus,’ added Malik, ‘we did not see any foot.’

‘And did you see Mithridates?’ I asked.

‘Did not see him,’ replied Byrd.

Domitus had strolled over to us. He nodded at Byrd and Malik.

‘I assume that Mithridates is approaching.’

‘His army is,’ I said, ‘but whether he is with it remains to be seen.’

‘How long before our guests arrive?’ asked Domitus.

‘Half an hour,’ said Byrd.

Orodes rode up dressed in his scale armour and helmet, behind him his bodyguard of two hundred and fifty men from Susiana and behind them five hundred Durans. Orodes’ banner of an eagle holding a snake in its talons was carried behind him.

‘I was beginning to think that you were going to miss the battle,’ Domitus said to him. ‘Then all that fancy armour and ironmongery would be wasted.’

‘Very droll, Domitus.’ Orodes never had much of a sense of humour on the eve of battle. In his eyes slaughter was far too serious for levity.

I pointed to the two legions drawn up in front of us. ‘When you see the horse archers coming through their ranks, Orodes, that will be your signal to advance and attack.’

‘And you had better be quick,’ smiled Domitus, ‘because my lads will have likely killed most of them by the time your horse boys arrive.’

Orodes frowned. ‘I am fully briefed as to the battle plan.’ He looked at me. ‘I am concerned about Surena, Pacorus. Are you quite sure he is up to the task you have given him? If he fails you lose half your cataphracts.’

‘He will not fail, my friend,’ I reassured him.

‘Well, then,’ said Domitus, ‘we had better get ready. The gods protect you all.’

He shook hands with all of us and then walked back to where a knot of his senior officers was waiting for him a couple of hundred yards away. I offered my hand to Orodes.

‘Shamash be with you.’

He took my hand. ‘You also, my friend.’

‘I will go and impress upon Surena the importance of obeying orders, Orodes, to assuage your concern.’

Accompanied by Byrd and Malik I rode over to the left flank to where Surena and the rest of my heavy cavalry were waiting on their horses. Surena was surrounded by his five company commanders and like him their helmets were shoved back on top of their heads to save their brains being roasted. He was gesticulating to them with his arms. He stopped when we approached.

‘Hail, lord,’ he said.

‘Greetings, Surena. Is everything in order?’

‘Yes, lord,’ he beamed, no doubt excited by the imminent promise of glory.

I turned in the saddle and pointed at the legions. ‘When you see the horse archers withdrawing through their ranks, that is your signal to advance past the foot and swing right to take the enemy in the rear.’

‘Right up their arses,’ said Surena, producing grins from his officers, all of them in their twenties like him.

‘Just keep your heads and keep your men under tight control,’ I said sternly.

Actually I was being unfair, since most of them had fought for me against Mithridates and Narses before, as well as against the Romans. They were officers because they were good leaders and their men respected them. I indicated for them to go back to their companies. They bowed their heads and did so. I turned to Malik and Byrd.

‘If you would give us a moment, please.’

They nodded and rode back to Orodes, leaving only Vagharsh, Surena and myself.

‘Now remember, Surena, victory depends on you and Orodes fulfilling your roles.’

His smile disappeared. ‘I will not let you down, lord.’

‘I know that. I will see you after the battle. Stay safe.’

He saluted and then looked ahead as horn blasts came from the horse archers deployed in front of the foot. The army of Mithridates was here at last.

I rode forward to the first-line cohorts of the Exiles. Trumpet blasts alerted the men to the enemy’s presence and thousands of men hoisted up their shields and javelins and dressed their lines as centurions and officers barked orders and ensured that their formations were ready. In the distance the men of the Duran Legion did the same.

Train hard, fight easy. That is what my old tutor and former head of Hatra’s army, Bozan, had taught me. Train hard so that in battle every drill becomes instinctive, performed without thinking. Train hard so that drills are bloodless battles and battles are bloody drills, nothing more. Train hard so that the hordes of enemy soldiers charging you, yelling blood-curdling screams, do not cause you to turn tail and run for your life; rather, you wait until they are within fifty paces before hurling your javelin into their densely packed ranks. Then you go to work with your sword as the enemy steps over the dead and dying javelin-pierced front ranks to get at you. Train hard so that it becomes easy, almost pleasurable to stab your short sword into enemy bellies and thighs, to thrust the sword point over the top rim of your shield into an enemy’s face. To stab and stab without thinking, knowing that your blade will find the right targets as if by magic. But it is not magic; it is hours, days, months and years spent on the training fields to perfect your skills, to hone them to such a degree that your weapons become a part of you, living, breathing instruments that obey your will instantly and without question.

I turned to Vagharsh.

‘Time to show them what they are fighting for,’ and dug my knees into Remus.

He reared up on his hind legs and then raced forward. Vagharsh followed at a gallop as my griffin banner fluttered beside him. We rode from left to right along the front of the Exiles and then the Duran Legion, legionaries banging their javelins against their shield rims and shouting ‘Dura, Dura’ as we passed them by. Pure theatre but they loved it. We passed Domitus standing ahead of the Duran Legion, a solitary figure with a white crest on his helmet. He drew his gladius and clutched it to his chest as I thundered by. And behind him ten thousand men steeled themselves to earn another silver disc for the Staff of Victory.

I rode to where the horse archers were drawn up in two ranks five hundred paces in front of the legions and galloped to the centre of the line. I halted and walked Remus forward a few paces. There, filling the horizon, was the army of Mithridates — thousands of men on horses moving forward. There was no foot as Byrd said, only cavalry. I squinted and tried to make out what types of horsemen we faced. I could see spears and shields and the sun glinting off scale armour. They appeared to be a mixture of cataphracts and mounted spearmen. Their frontage was unbroken, suggesting they were deployed in one great mass.

I turned and called forward the senior officer of the horse archers as the enemy blew horns and kettle drummers banged their instruments. Among the front ranks of the enemy I could now make out dragon windsocks and great banners displaying the symbol of Susiana — the eagle clutching a snake — the same standard that Orodes, the true heir to the throne of that kingdom, carried.

‘On my signal we will advance,’ I said to the commander. ‘Your men are prepared?’

‘Every man knows the plan, majesty,’ he replied.

I nodded and he returned to his men.

‘Time for you to retire, Vagharsh.’

The banner he carried had been a present from Dobbai before I had even taken up residence at Dura. When I was not on campaign it hung behind the dais in the throne room in the Citadel. To many in the kingdom it was a sacred object imbued with magical powers. As such I was also careful to ensure its safety on the battlefield, and the life of the one who carried it. Vagharsh rode through the horse archers and back to the Duran Legion as I pulled my bow from its case and held it aloft. To my left and right three thousand men replied in kind, raising their bows in the air.

The din from the enemy ranks increased as they got nearer. They were perhaps a quarter of a mile away now.

Moving at a steady pace I saw that the centre of their line was composed of cataphracts, the men bringing down their great lances to hold them with both hands by the sides of their horses. They were obviously going to charge us. It made sense. We were, after all, only lightly armed horse archers. I dug my knees into Remus’ sides and he broke into a canter, then a gallop. The men behind me followed. The distance between us and the enemy narrowed as I nocked an arrow, drew back the bowstring and released it, then whipped another arrow from my quiver. I nocked it in the bowstring and released it. The enemy were around six or seven hundred paces from me now as I pulled a third arrow, shot it and then yanked on Remus’ reins to turn him left and then left again. The enemy had broken into a gallop and I could hear their war cries as I yelled at Remus to move faster as I tried to outpace them. The other horse archers had also about-faced and were riding full pelt towards the legions as though demons were snapping at their heels. Remus, wild-eyed and straining every sinew in his powerful frame to outrun the enemy, thundered across the ground and headed towards one of the gaps between the cohorts. I prayed to Shamash that because the cataphracts and spearmen were heavily armed we would be able to widen the gap between them and us. But it would be tight.

I could see the cohorts now, a wall of white shields and shining helmets standing like great slabs of rock on the desert floor. I hurtled through one of the gaps with hundreds of others following me, then passed through the second line of cohorts. I should have run straight into a cohort that stood directly behind the gap between two cohorts in the first line. But the second-line cohorts had parted, the two halves of each one moving left and right to stand directly behind a cohort in the first line. This allowed the horsemen to pass through both lines unimpeded. That was the easy bit.

As soon as all the horse archers had passed safely though their lines, the legionaries of the second line had to race forward to fill the gaps in the first line. This was the hard part, for if they failed not only would the enemy be able to pour through the gaps where the second-line cohorts were supposed to be, they would also hit the men of that second line who were attempting to move forward. The result would be chaos and slaughter.

But they did not fail. As soon as the last horse archers had passed them by the men of the second-line cohorts rushed forward to fill the gaps in the first line and present a continuous front to the enemy. And as they reached their positions, like their comrades who had been in the first line the first five ranks hurled their javelins at the horde of enemy riders bearing down on them. Around three thousand javelins arched into the air as Mithridates’ horsemen hit the front ranks of the legionaries. A sickening grinding noise reverberated across the battlefield as thousands of horsemen tried to turn their mounts aside to avoid hitting a solid wall of leather, wood and steel.

A horse, even when gripped by terror in battle, will not run at a solid object. He will either try to run through any gaps in front of him or turn aside to avoid hitting said object; others will attempt to stop dead, especially when a torrent of javelins is about to engulf them. Cataphracts and spearmen became a tangled mass of horse and human flesh as animals pulled up and catapulted their riders over their heads, while others somersaulted over and over, crushing their riders under them as they did so. Those behind smashed into the ones in front as others were hit and pierced by javelins.

The javelin rain had saved the front ranks of the legionaries from becoming entangled in the grisly drama as the first line of horsemen had careered into the missiles, which had killed their momentum. But it takes nerves of steel to stand in a tightly packed formation of men while thousands of horses’ hooves are shaking the earth and coming closer at alarming speed. To not only stand but also still perform their drills — to throw their javelins and then draw their swords for close-quarter combat. They had practised for this day for years, sweating under a Mesopotamian sun and practising over and over again until they responded to orders and trumpet blasts without thinking. Train hard, fight easy.

The great charge of the enemy had been halted but the day was still young. I halted Remus and turned him around, horse archers kicking up dust as they too reformed behind me. To the left and right of us horns blasted as the army’s two cataphract wings advanced to envelop the flanks of the enemy and attack them from behind.

I suddenly felt helpless. Orodes, Surena and their heavy horsemen would decide the battle. In front of me the front ranks of my legionaries were stabbing at the bellies of horsemen while the rear ranks hurled more volleys of javelins. A charging cataphract is a devastating and fearsome weapon; a stationary one is vulnerable. Those still mounted would have cast aside their great lances to use their close-quarter weapons — sword, axe or mace. But in the tightly packed mêlée it was almost impossible to manoeuvre their horses, and all the while javelins were striking them and their horses were being maimed by gladius blades thrust under their horses’ scale armour. But there were still of lot of horsemen hacking and slashing at the foot solders in front of them.

Vagharsh rode up to me and nodded.

‘Domitus’ men are taking a hard pounding.’

‘The horse archers cannot aid them yet. We must have a reserve just in case he is forced back.’

I bit my lip nervously. I hated sitting here idle and helpless. I would much rather be hacking away by the side of Surena or Orodes. It was one of the disadvantages of being the commander of an army. I was sorely tempted to advance the horse archers so that they were immediately behind the cohorts. From there they could shoot over the heads of the legionaries into the seething mass of the enemy. But if Orodes and Surena had been successful then our arrows would be striking our own men as well. My feeling of helplessness magnified.

Then a chant echoed across the battlefield and a sense of elation swept through me. Above the cries of dying men, the squeals of lacerated horses and the clatter of steel against steel I could discern thousands of voices shouting ‘Dura, Dura’. The hour of victory had come. The cohorts had withstood the great charge of men and horseflesh that had hit them like a thunderbolt, and now they were advancing, cutting though the enemy like a giant and remorseless saw. Then I spotted a man running towards me, a broad figure in a mail shirt adorned with metal discs, greaves around his shins and a white transverse crest atop his helmet. Domitus.

I rode over to meet him, his face streaked with dirt and sweat and his brown eyes alight with glee as his men chanted more loudly as they went about their grim work.

‘They’re breaking,’ he panted. ‘I can see your men in their rear. All that money you spent on plumes and pennants has proved useful in spotting friend from foe. Those that aren’t dead or dying have lost the stomach for it and are retreating.’

I bent down and offered my hand. ‘The victory is yours, my friend. I salute you.’

He shook my hand and spat on the ground. ‘The boys are finding it difficult crawling over piles of dead horse and bodies. There’s plenty that will get away unless you can deal with them.’

I nodded. ‘Consider it done. Don’t get careless, life can still be snatched away in the moment of victory.’

He raised his hand, turned and then trotted back to where his cohorts, slowly but purposely, were grinding their way forward. I rode back to where the officers of the horse archers waited on their mounts.

I pointed at the right flank of the cohorts. ‘They’re breaking. It is time to finish them. One dragon will come with me on the right, one dragon will advance on the left, and one dragon will stay here as a reserve.’

They nodded and rode back to organise their commands. Moments later horns blasted and I led a great column of horsemen to sweep round the right flank of the army. There was a mighty cheer as men spotted the griffin banner billowing behind me as we broke into a canter and then a gallop to pursue the fleeing enemy. I saw the banner of Orodes, or at least I thought it was his banner as Mithridates had taken the same banner to be his own. Where was he?

On we rode, a thousand riders deploying into line as we spread out across the desert floor. Ahead were riders fleeing for their lives, men in scale armour and others in leather cuirasses and helmets only — the remnants of the spearmen. I shouted at Remus to move faster and his powerful frame responded, his legs kicking up the earth as he closed on a man without spear, shield or spear who was clutching the neck of his horse. I pulled my bow from its case, drew an arrow from the quiver and nocked it in the bowstring. He turned round to glance at his pursuer as I released the string and the arrow shot through the air and hit him in the back. He yelped and then fell from his saddle. In front of me I spotted a large man in scale armour sporting a black horsehair crest in his helmet. His horse was lame. I raced past him, turned in the saddle and shot an arrow that pierced his eye socket. On we went, shooting at enemy horsemen and killing men who were on foot whose mounts had been killed in the mêlée. The companies fanned out to fell as many fleeing enemy horsemen as possible.

The army of Mithridates was finished; the last of his troops were being slaughtered in the final act of the battle. Already I was planning an assault on Seleucia and then Ctesiphon, whose garrisons would be scythed down like ripened crops in the fields. Mithridates would flee to Persepolis but I would follow him. My engines would batter down its defences and then I would put an end to him and Narses forever. There would be a proper king of kings on the throne and Dura would once more be a part of the empire. I raised my eyes to the heavens, stretched out my arms and gave a mighty cheer of triumph. Shamash had granted me a great victory and I vowed to build a grand temple in his honour in my city to rival the one that stood in Hatra.

I heard frantic horn blasts to my left and right and look around. My horsemen were slowing, some had stopped and were pointing ahead. I pulled on Remus’ reins and also slowed him. I looked ahead and a chill went through my soul. It cannot be; it must be a mirage, a trick of the desert heat. The entire horizon was filled with black shapes: riders on horses and foot soldiers armed with spears carrying large shields. I slowed Remus to a halt.

There were thousands of them as far as the eye could see. In the centre of their vast line the sun glinted off scale armour — more cataphracts. The entire mass was moving at a steady pace, no more than a walk so the foot could keep up with the horsemen. It was as if a great black wave was rolling across the desert floor towards me. I sat, transfixed and appalled by the sight I beheld. And then the gods revealed their cruel nature, for in the centre of the approaching line, barely fluttering in the slight northerly wind that had now picked up, I saw a great yellow banner. And upon that banner was the symbol I come to loathe — the black head of Simurgel, the bird-god of Persis.

The army of Narses had come.