Parthian Vengeance

Chapter 7

The next day we broke camp and headed south along the Euphrates, though not actually along the eastern bank of the river itself. We were less than a hundred miles north of Babylon. Inland from the river for a distance of around two miles was a continuous belt of land dotted with villages and fields. This was Mesopotamia, which in Greek means ‘land between the rivers’, the fertile area that had for thousands of years produced food, building materials and clothing in abundance for its people. In the spring the Euphrates, which began its long journey in the great Taurus Mountains in the north, was swelled with melt waters that threatened to engulf the towns and villages along its length with flooding. But the ancients had learned long ago to tame the great river with dams, dykes and irrigation canals. When the level of the river rose the dams and dykes prevented the land from being flooded, while the canals channelled the water inland where it could be stored and used to irrigate crops and water livestock.

Each Babylonian village was home to between a hundred and two hundred people and was surrounded by fields and orchards that produced barley, dates, wheat, lentils, peas, olives, grapes, pomegranates and vegetables. There were also fields of flax, which once harvested, cleaned and combed was woven into linen to make clothing. It was also used to make fishermen’s nets. The villagers also kept goats, sheep and cows in pens next to their homes to produce milk, cheese, meat and leather.

This stretch of the river was densely populated and farmed, and the last thing the villagers needed was an army marching across their fields. Therefore we marched in three great columns inland from where the fields and farms ended and the desert began. Vardan and his Babylonians formed the right-hand column as we rode south, the villagers stopping their work and cheering him and his senior officers as they passed by their homes. No doubt many who rode in the ranks of his horse archers were recruited from these same villages, and would return to their farming once the campaign was over — those who still lived. My father rode with Vardan as it was the custom for the kings to travel in each other’s company when on campaign. In his place Vistaspa commanded Hatra’s army that made up the central column.

Dura’s army and Nergal’s horsemen formed the left-hand column of our combined forces and I rode at its head. I was still annoyed with my father and so preferred to avoid his company.

‘You are being childish,’ Gallia rebuked me as walked beside our horses across the parched ground. Like yesterday the sky was heaped with sullen grey clouds that threatened to burst but withheld their rain, creating a humid and uncomfortable atmosphere, rather like that which had existed in Vardan’s pavilion the day before.

‘I prefer the company of my friends to that of kings,’ I replied.

Orodes held the reins of his horse as he walked beside me, while on my other side the long, gangly legs of Nergal paced the ground. Behind us Gallia and Praxima led their mounts.

We had ridden hard during the morning, covering around fifteen miles, and then the whole army had dismounted so as not to tax the horses unduly. We would soon halt for an hour or so before resuming our ride south. The day after tomorrow we would be at Babylon, unless Mithridates chose to march north to meet us.

‘This continual bickering between you and your father is tiresome Pacorus,’ continued Gallia.

‘A father and son should not quarrel so,’ said Orodes sternly.

‘Orodes is right,’ added Nergal.

‘I have no wish to argue with my father,’ I said.

‘As long as he agrees with you,’ interrupted Gallia.

‘As long as he sees Mithridates for what he is,’ I corrected her. ‘I don’t want to see my father’s head split open by an assassin’s sword like mine nearly was.’

‘Surely he would not attempt to murder your father?’ said Praxima.

‘Why not?’ I replied. ‘He has already killed his own father and now Gotarzes.’

I glanced at Orodes who stared ahead with unblinking eyes.

‘I am sorry, my friend,’ I said.

He managed a weak smile. ‘You are right in what you say, Pacorus, but my stepbrother is clever as well as malicious. I have no doubt that he has sent many messages to your father professing his friendship and allegiance. For your father it is no small thing to take arms against the king of kings.’

‘And in truth it is no small matter for Mesene,’ said Nergal.

‘I know that, Nergal, and I appreciate your presence here. You are a loyal friend.’

‘And we are glad to be by your side, Pacorus,’ added Praxima.

Brave and fearless Praxima. She was as good as any man on the battlefield but beyond the bravado I knew that she and her husband were in great peril. Like Babylon Mesene occupied land between the Tigris and Euphrates, and directly opposite Nergal’s kingdom, across the Tigris, lay the Kingdom of Susiana, Mithridates’ domain. Its capital Susa was only a hundred and fifty miles from Uruk. At least while Gotarzes still lived the Kingdom of Elymais acted as a counterweight to Susiana, but now Mesene potentially faced the full might of Mithridates’ wrath. That is why he must be dealt with quickly. If Mithridates and Narses were allowed to turn their full strength against Mesene, Nergal’s kingdom would crumble.

‘How many troops can you raise, Nergal?’ I asked.

‘Five thousand horse archers I have brought with me,’ he replied. ‘These are my professional troops, men who are paid by me to be full-time soldiers. Uruk has a garrison of a further thousand men, trained and equipped after the Greek fashion, each man with bronze helmet, leather cuirass, bronze-faced shield, spear and sword. In times of emergency I can muster a further ten thousand horse archers at most.’

‘It is a credit to you that you can raise such a force,’ remarked Orodes.

And so it was, for Mesene was a poor kingdom and the campaign that Chosroes had waged against me had cost him his army, his city and ultimately his life. A fair number of the kingdom’s lords and their men had also died before the walls of Dura and later in the defence of Uruk.

‘How many Ma’adan have you recruited?’ I asked.

‘A third of my horse archers are men from the marshes,’ Nergal replied. ‘They are good warriors, used to living off their wits and unafraid of hardships. Much like Surena.’

‘Ah, yes,’ I said. ‘Surena. You heard that Gallia sent him and a thousand of my horse archers, men you used to command Nergal, into the heart of enemy territory. I had great hopes for Surena and now he lies dead in the desert.’

Nergal was shocked. ‘Surena is dead?’

‘Of course he isn’t,’ snapped Gallia. ‘Pacorus whines like an old mule. Surena is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He fought the soldiers of Chosroes for many years with only a long knife and a ragged band of feral youths for company.’

‘I did not know you took such an interest in him,’ I said.

‘I don’t,’ she replied irritably, ‘but Viper is forever talking about him and as I am very fond of her I listen to her words.’

I tried a clever riposte. ‘And soon you will have to tell her that she is a widow.’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Pacorus. Do you think I would willingly send him and a thousand of Dura’s soldiers to their deaths? Do you think I am so stupid, that I know nothing of war even though I have fought by your side these past ten years?’

‘Of course not, I merely meant…’

Her voice rose in anger. ‘I have saved your life on more than one occasion, when your short-sightedness nearly got you and the men you led killed. And now you mock me in front of our friends.’

‘Gallia, I would never…’

Her tone got sharper. ‘Shut up! I grow weary of your voice.’

We walked on in silence for another few minutes, the only sound being the jangling of the horses’ bits and the tramp of our boots on the ground. At length Gallia spoke once more, her voice calmer and more measured.

‘As I have told you, Pacorus, before we left Dura Dobbai told me to send Surena across the Tigris. She said that if I did do so he would reap a rich harvest.’

I mumbled an acknowledgement of her words but said no more. I was still annoyed that she had sent a third of my horse archers to God knows where. That said, the visions and advice of Dobbai were not to be dismissed lightly so I let the matter rest. I still believed Surena to be dead, though.

That night the armies of the kings camped inland from the Euphrates. The logistics of watering over forty thousand horses and ten thousand camels were huge, and so bad-tempered quartermasters scurried around like demented wildcats as they allocated companies to the dozens of small reservoirs that dotted the landscape. Fed by canals that extended inland from the Euphrates, these reservoirs in turn fed a myriad of irrigation channels that delivered water to the fields. In this way crops were irrigated, the bellies of the villagers were filled when they were harvested and the surpluses were sent to Babylon as taxes. The canals, dams and irrigation ditches were so crucial to the life of the kingdom that each village was charged with the responsibility for the upkeep of the irrigation system surrounding it. Each village’s headman was paid by the treasury in Babylon to ensure that the system functioned smoothly, on pain of death. This appeared harsh, but the lives of the villagers depended on the fields being irrigated. If the crops failed, they starved.

The weather had not broken and so the early evening was still humid as the squires put up our tents. The horses were quartered in stables made from wooden poles and linen sheets and the camels were confined to corrals. I had sent Byrd and his scouts south the day before. He returned two hours before sundown with his black-clad companions. His horse and those of his men stood sweating with their heads bowed as he slid off his mount in front of my tent. Gallia was standing beside me.

‘You men take your horses to the stables to be watered and fed,’ I ordered, ‘then get some food inside you.’

I pointed at a waiting squire who walked over and took the reins of Byrd’s horse from him. I grabbed Byrd’s elbow.

‘Come inside and take the weight off your feet.’

Inside he slumped into a chair and stretched out his legs. Orodes handed him a cup of water then sat beside him. Gallia and I likewise seated ourselves.

Byrd drained his cup and unwrapped the turban from his head. His swarthy features matched the black shadows under his eyes.

‘Babylon still under siege,’ he said at last.

‘You rode all the way to the city?’ asked Orodes. No wonder his horse and those of his scouts looked done-in.

Byrd shook his head. ‘No need. Many enemy tents pitched all round city. No smoke or fire coming from Babylon, so it holds out.’

‘We had better get word to Vardan,’ said Orodes, ‘to let him know that his daughter is safe, at least for the present.’

He stood up and shook Byrd’s hand, much to the amusement of my chief scout.

‘I will ride to Vardan’s camp myself.’ Orodes bowed his head to Gallia, then me and left.

Gallia smiled. ‘You would think that after all these years Orodes would be less formal in our company.’

‘Manners and protocol are important to him,’ I said. ‘Perhaps more so now he no longer has a kingdom to go back to.’

‘If ever there was a man who would make a just and great king, it is Orodes,’ she mused.

‘He will be a king one day,’ I said. ‘That I promise.’

‘We see many people fleeing north on road,’ said Byrd. ‘Men, women, children, some driving goats and cattle before them. They flee from enemy. Tell of much killing.’ He glanced at Gallia. ‘And raping.’

‘And if ever there was a king that deserved to be deposed,’ said Gallia dryly, ‘it is Mithridates.’

I stood and slapped Byrd on the shoulder.

‘Well done, my friend. Get some food inside you.’

Later, after we had groomed our horses, Gallia and I led Remus and Epona out of camp to one of the reservoirs allocated to Dura’s army by the Babylonian commissariat. We walked them out of camp and across the arid ground that led to the large high-banked, stone-lined irrigator that was full to the brim with water. Sluiceways extended out from the reservoir across the fields, but men were leading their horses up the banks to allow the animals to drink directly from the reservoir itself. On the western side of the reservoir was a wide canal that brought water directly from the Euphrates, some two miles distant. As we neared the reservoir, the Amazons leading their horses behind us, I caught sight of a figure standing on the top of the bank gesticulating with his arms. As we neared the eastern side of the reservoir I heard his voice.

‘You’re at the wrong waterhole, you sons of whores. Second company of cataphracts is allocated to the reservoir in the next village. So bugger off and take your horses with you. What’s the point of having a system if you ignore it.’

He was a large man with a round face and long dark hair, his leggings and shirt dirty and torn. He could have been mistaken for a local beggar but he happened to be one of my best quartermasters.

‘Strabo,’ I called out. ‘That’s no way to address the best horsemen in the empire.’

He squinted in my direction with his piggy eyes and then they bulged wide.

He turned to the men who were causing him much anxiety.

‘Here’s the king and queen, so you’d better clear off quick otherwise they’ll have your balls on the end of a spear.’

Gallia frowned and I laughed as the men of the second company bowed their heads to me and my queen, led their horses down the bank and then rode to where they should have been watering their horses.

Gallia and I led our horses up the bank and let them drink from the cool water, the Amazons doing the same. Next to Strabo was a tall, wiry man in his fifties with thinning hair and sinewy arms. He wore a simple linen tunic, frayed knee-length leggings and sandals on his feet. He bowed deeply to me.

Strabo wiped his nose on his sleeve and belched. ‘This is Teres, majesty. Headman of the village whose little lake this is.’

‘Welcome, highness,’ said Teres, who was staring in amazement at Gallia’s long blonde hair. Parthian women have olive complexions and dark hair; he had probably never seen a light-skinned, blue-eyed woman in his life. And he stood transfixed as the mail-clad women warriors beyond us stood and watched as their horses drank the water.

‘Well, Strabo,’ I said, ‘is everything going according to plan?’

He shrugged. ‘Mostly, although your cataphracts think they are God’s gift and do as they like. They need their arses tanning if you ask me.’

‘I didn’t, but I’m sure you have everything in hand.’

Strabo grinned at Gallia. ‘I trust the queen is well.’

Gallia observed him as an eagle would a field mouse, curling up her lip at him. Strabo jabbed a finger into Teres’ ribs.

‘My queen is from a land far away from here, from a place called Gaul. Never heard of that, have you?’

Teres, still transfixed by Gallia’s looks, shook his head.

‘Well,’ continued Strabo, his eyes walking all over my wife’s body, ‘it’s a place that breeds fierce women warriors.’

He nodded at the Amazons standing beside their horses taking water from the reservoir.

‘Pretty to look at, aren’t they? And about as friendly as a nest of cobras. They’ll slice off your balls as soon as look at you.’

But Teres was not looking at the Amazons but Remus, nodding his head slightly while Strabo continued to admire the contours of my wife’s body.

‘You know it is death to touch the queen’s person, Strabo,’ I remarked casually.

Strabo flushed and clasped his hands in front of him, a look of innocence on his face.

‘I didn’t, wouldn’t, touch her majesty, majesty. Of course not.’

‘Even impure thoughts could be construed as a form of molestation,’ I said sternly.

Strabo became nonplussed. ‘I, er, well. I must be getting along, majesty, many things to do before I turn in.’

He bowed awkwardly and then turned on his heels, scurrying down the bank and leaping into his saddle.

‘I don’t know why I tolerate you, Strabo,’ I called after him.

‘Because I keep your horses shod, fed, saddled and ready for your wars, majesty,’ he replied, then whooped for joy, dug his knees into his horse and galloped off.

‘You should have him flogged for his insolence,’ sneered Gallia, who had noted Strabo’s lecherousness.

‘He’s my best quartermaster,’ I replied. ‘If I flog him he’ll only be more bad tempered and offensive, and probably less efficient. Besides, having been flogged myself once, I will not visit the same punishment upon someone unless they truly deserve it.’

‘His eyes were all over me,’ said Gallia.

I dropped Remus’ reins and went to her side.

‘Can’t blame him for that,’ I whispered in her ear.

She dug a finger in my ribs.

‘You are impossible.’

Teres had picked up my horse’s reins as Remus drank from the water, the headman stroking his neck. Remus didn’t flinch as a stranger petted him.

‘He likes you,’ I said to Teres, who blushed and bowed to me.

‘Forgive me, highness, I meant no offence.’

I laid my hand on his arm. ‘Of course not. Be at ease. We are grateful for your help.’

‘You have enough water to grow your crops?’ asked Gallia.

‘Yes, highborn,’ replied Teres, ‘Tishtrya has been kind to us.’

‘Tishtrya?’

Teres then explained that he and his villagers worshipped Tishtrya, the god of rain who had created the world’s lakes and rivers and who now gave water to the earth so that his followers could grow the crops that fed them. As well as providing rains that feed the rivers and lakes, Tishtrya also patrolled the heavens and kept evil away from his followers.

‘When danger threatens,’ he continued, admiring Remus, ‘he takes the form of a great white stallion to defeat it.’

Gallia was most interested in his words. ‘A white stallion?’

‘Yes, highness. The legend has been handed down to us through many generations of our people. Before there were any cities on the earth, when Tishtrya was spreading rains over the land, the dread demon of drought, Apaosha, suddenly appeared to suck the land dry and kill thousands of men and animals. So Tishtrya took the form of a mighty white stallion that reflected the purity of his purpose and the strength of his will. Apaosha, reflecting his dark nature, transformed himself into a terrible black stallion and the two did battle in the middle of a vast plain. After three days and three nights of battle neither could overcome the other and men began to lose faith in Tishtrya and stopped praying for him and offering their libations. And so Tishtrya grew weaker and weaker until it appeared that he would be defeated. But then Ahura Mazda, the supreme god, the creator of heaven and earth, offered his own prayers in support of Tishtrya, who was strengthened and thus able to overcome Apaosha, who was finally banished from the earth.’

I thought of Narses mounted on his black stallion and took Teres’ words as a good omen.

Gallia smiled at him. ‘That is a beautiful story. I pray that Tishtrya continues to smile on you and your people.’

The next day, as we continued our march south to Babylon, the clouds at last burst and the land was drenched by a great thunderstorm. Any depressions quickly filled with water and the ground was transformed into a sea of mud that slowed our advance as horses and camels struggled to find their footing in the deluge. Flaps on quivers and bow cases were fastened shut to keep bows and arrows dry, and scale armour carried on the camels was wrapped in waxed covers to keep the rain off it. Mail armour can rust after a good dousing with water and so the Amazons also stashed their mail shirts on the camel train. Gallia rode on Epona with her arms outstretched, laughing as she held her face up to the heavens and drank from the raindrops. Her drenched shirt clung to her lithe body, highlighting the contours of her breasts and arms, her silk vest maintaining her modesty. She was deliriously happy.

‘You see, Pacorus, how Tishtrya smiles on us. Are you not joyous that he gives us his blessing’

I looked at Orodes sitting in his saddle beside me, his hair matted to his skull, his clothes sodden, and felt water coursing off my nose, ears and running down my back.

‘Delighted, my sweet.’

Vagharsh sitting behind us, holding my banner in its waxed sleeve, laughed aloud.

Eventually the rain ceased and the temperature dropped rapidly with the onset of the evening. We warmed ourselves round great fires that appeared as numerous as the stars in the night sky. Darkness fell and the armies camped on a stretch of land that extended for over ten miles. We were now less than half a day’s march from Babylon. Tomorrow we would be locked in battle with the enemy.

After we had changed our clothes and eaten I sent Byrd and his scouts south to reconnoitre the enemy’s position, instructing him to retreat immediately if he encountered enemy patrols. I did not want him or any of his men falling into the merciless hands of Narses or Mithridates. I watched them ride out of camp. At the same time a rider came from the camp of Vardan requesting my presence at the king’s pavilion. I took Orodes and Gallia along with me, the Amazons acting as our escort.

We arrived at the pavilion and were shown into the throne room where, once again, Mardonius stood before a table with his pointing stick, the Babylonian high command standing to one side. Also at the table were my father, Gafarn, Vistaspa, Vardan, Nergal and Praxima.

We bowed our heads to Vardan and I acknowledged my father but said no words to him. Servants brought us warm wine to drink and we once more gathered for another lecture. The new map spread out before us showed the city of Babylon and the surrounding area. I had never visited the city and was in truth fascinated by its layout and history. I knew that there had been a settlement on its site three thousand years ago, and that seventeen hundred years ago one of its kings, Hammurabi, had established the first codes of laws in human history. Thereafter Babylon had increased in size and influence, King Nebuchadnezzar building great inner and out walls around the city to make it an impregnable fortress. That was over five hundred years ago, though, and since then Babylon’s power and influence had been in decline. It had been captured by the great Alexander, the warrior king of Macedon, two hundred and seventy years ago, and thirty years afterwards the city’s outer walls had been demolished, the bricks being transported north to construct the city of Seleucia, which stood opposite the palace complex of Ctesiphon.

Vardan’s words brought me back to the present.

‘Tomorrow we will advance to the walls of Babylon and relieve my city. The latest intelligence that I have received indicates that the enemy have not left their siege positions.’

I felt a tingle go down my spine. This meant that we would get the chance to fight the enemy. Good. I smiled to myself and then felt my father’s eyes upon me across the table. He said nothing and made no gesture, but he knew what was going through my mind.

Vardan continued. ‘This being so, our joint forces will march directly south to enter the city via the Ishtar Gate.’

Mardonius used his pointer to indicate the aforementioned entrance that stood on the city’s northern wall.

‘The city’s strongest bastion,’ continued Vardan, ‘the Northern Fortress, stands adjacent to the Ishtar Gate, and the archers on its high walls will be able to provide cover to our soldiers as they enter the city.’

Looking at the map I could see that the Euphrates ran right through Babylon, effectively cutting it in half, though the largest part — the old city I assumed — stood on the eastern bank of the river. The map also showed that the river was used to fill the great moat that surrounded all four sides of the city. It was undoubtedly still a formidable fortress. In addition to the Ishtar Gate there were nine other entrances into the city.

‘It is most important that we get our soldiers inside the city,’ said Vardan. ‘The enemy has already tried to infiltrate Babylon north and south via the Euphrates, using rafts carrying troops, and they were beaten off with some difficulty.’

Vardan’s plan made no sense. What was the point of trying to get horsemen into a city under siege when they could be used to destroy the besiegers outside the walls?

‘Your pardon, lord king,’ I said.

Vardan looked up at me. ‘Yes, Pacorus?’

‘Surely, lord, it would be better to destroy the enemy in battle and afterwards take our forces into your city.’

Vardan nodded knowingly at me. ‘I have discussed this with your father and we are in agreement that the enemy will retreat before our forces arrive at Babylon.’

So, they had agreed on the plan for tomorrow without consulting Nergal or me. I saw the look of triumph on my father’s face.

‘Can you be certain that the enemy will retreat, lord king?’ I said to Vardan.

‘They will fall back,’ said my father. ‘They tried to take Babylon in Vardan’s absence. Now he has returned at the head of over forty thousand men they won’t let themselves be trapped between us and the city’s garrison.’

My father made a good point but I resented not being consulted on matters of strategy.

‘As it is Dura who fields the largest portion of the army, over half by my reckoning, it would have been good manners, father, to have sought my advice on the plan for tomorrow.’

My father folded his arms across his chest.

‘You have already dragged Vardan and myself into your private war with Mithridates and Narses, which has led to Babylon being besieged. It is fortunate for you that the city has thick walls and strong defences, otherwise the blood of its inhabitants would be on your conscience. As I have told you once before, I do not wish to plunge the empire into another civil war.’

‘Neither do I, Pacorus,’ said Vardan. ‘Further war will be the ruin of the empire and of us all, I fear.’

I held out my palms to Vardan. ‘I am in your service and debt, lord king.’

To my father I said nothing. Nergal appeared to be squirming with embarrassment while Gafarn merely looked at me with sympathetic eyes and shook his head.

‘Good, well, let us continue.’ Vardan nodded at Mardonius who pointed his stick at the Ishtar Gate. ‘Tomorrow we will advance to the city with the army of Hatra on the right flank, the place of honour.’

Vardan nodded at my father, who smiled back.

‘My own Babylonians,’ continued Vardan, ‘will occupy the centre of the line, with the Durans and Mesenians deployed on the left wing.’

This arrangement made sense in that it placed fifteen hundred cataphracts on the right under my father and a thousand of my own armoured horsemen on the left wing, though the army would be rather lopsided with my lords and their twenty thousand horse archers grouped on the left flank.

‘My lords and their men could be used to strengthen our centre,’ I suggested. ‘In that way we can extend our frontage and thus have a better chance of enveloping the enemy.’

‘Poor farmers on ragged mounts,’ sneered Vistaspa, to which my father laughed.

Vistaspa was a great warrior, a man who had helped to forge Hatra’s army into a fearsome weapon, but his blind loyalty to my father and his callous nature made him a difficult man to like, though one could certainly admire him for his achievements. But at this moment I despised him. What was the bulk of Vardan’s army but horse archers who were also farmers and townsfolk?

‘At least my farmers have fought in battle, Lord Vistaspa. Remind me, when was the last time Hatra’s army crossed swords with the enemy, I forget?’

Vistaspa’s nostrils flared at the insult but it was my father who spoke.

‘A kingdom’s army is a resource to be used wisely, to preserve its safety and prosperity, not as a tool for a reckless king.’

Mardonius glanced anxiously at his fellow officers.

‘Father,’ I said slowly, ‘when I think of all the blood that has been shed these last few years, I cannot help but think that if you had listened to the words of your friends and had become king of kings then we would not be standing at this table arguing thus.’

My father let his hands fall by his sides.

‘So it is my fault that Mithridates is king of kings, that Narses is his lord high general and that Babylon is under siege, is it? Would you admit that perhaps some of the blame for the empire’s current problems can be attributable to the King of Dura?’

‘I have only responded to threats, never made them.’

He rested his hands on the side of the table and leaned towards me.

‘Do you deny that you wrote a letter to Mithridates following your capture of Uruk, stating that you would never rest until he was gone from the world.’

‘It is common knowledge that I did so,’ I replied.

‘And did you expect that the high king would forget such an insult?’

‘I do not care what Mithridates thinks.’

He gripped the edge of the table. ‘Of course not, and in so doing you condemn your allies to a state of perpetual war.’

‘What would you have me do, father, beg Mithridates for forgiveness?’

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘You might find that he is more accommodating than you think.’

I thought of the sneering visage of Mithridates, the blood-soaked body of Godarz lying on the floor of his residence and the way he had insulted me at Esfahan during the Council of Kings.

‘There can be no accommodation with Mithridates,’ I replied.

My father then tried a different strategy. He looked at Nergal.

‘What does the King of Mesene think on this matter? Your kingdom lies next to Susiana and your presence at this table may condemn you to face an invasion from the east.’

My father had articulated my own fears, for whereas the kingdoms of Babylon and Hatra lay between Dura and Susiana, Nergal’s lands were adjacent to Mithridates’ kingdom.

‘It is as you say, lord king,’ replied Nergal. ‘Mesene would not be able to defeat the wrath of Susiana and Persis. But I have fought beside your son for ten years and everything I now have,’ he put his arm round Praxima. ‘Everything we have, is all down to him. But more than that, lord, he is our friend and we will not desert his side.’

‘You must understand, father,’ said Gafarn, ‘that those of us who fought beside Spartacus in Italy have an unbreakable bond. We stand and fall together.’

‘It is the falling that I worry about,’ remarked my father grimly. ‘But regarding the plan for tomorrow, it stands. Our main priority is to relieve Babylon, nothing more.’

I was tempted to raise the issue of the enemy burning Babylonian villages and killing and raping their inhabitants, but this would have provoked more argument to little effect. Thus the meeting petered out and we said our farewells to Gafarn, Vardan and Mardonius. I ignored Vistaspa and bade an icy good night to my father, though Gallia embraced both him and Gafarn warmly.

It was late when I assembled the lords and the senior officers of my cavalry in my tent. They all stood before me as I explained to them the dispositions they would adopt tomorrow. I told them that we had Mithridates and Narses where we wanted them and that the coming battle would be a chance to settle things once and for all.

‘We go to kill Mithridates and Narses,’ I told them, ‘to avenge Godarz and Gotarzes and rid the empire of the false high king. Only when we have a new king of kings sitting at Ctesiphon will we have peace and justice in the empire instead of tyranny and lawlessness.’

They cheered and slapped each other on the back and left in high spirits. When they had all filed out into the night Orodes came to my side.

‘That was not what was agreed earlier in Vardan’s pavilion,’ he said.

I smiled at him. ‘I am aware of that, my friend. But you know as well as I do that your stepbrother will not rest until I and my family are dead. He probably wishes your death as well. That being the case, I would rather the vultures were picking at his bones than mine.’

The day of battle is like any other for the army of Dura. The men rise, dress, eat breakfast and then form up in their companies or centuries. Roll calls are taken and inspections carried out. For the horsemen the morning routine also includes mucking out, watering, feeding and grooming their horses, before saddling them to ride out to battle. The squires help to dress and arm their masters but they also have their own horses to attend to, plus the two camels allotted to each cataphract, and so even my heavy cavalrymen can be found in the early morning light shovelling horse dung. I knew that in the army of Hatra the cataphracts were spared such duties, the city’s aristocrats and their sons considering such tasks beneath them. Indeed, in the city’s royal barracks even the squires were saved such tasks, an army of slaves being used for menial duties. In Dura’s army there were no slaves and I considered it good practice for every man to acquaint himself with physical labour. On campaign the legionaries dug ditches and ramparts and the horsemen shovelled dung and groomed horses. It was a most satisfactory arrangement.

I went through the usual routine on the eve of battle. I had no squire of my own now that Surena had risen in the ranks but it mattered not. Orodes was always haranguing me about the necessity of maintaining appearances in having at least two squires, especially as I was a king, but I did not see the need. On campaign there was always someone to assist me, be it Gallia, the Amazons or Orodes himself after he had been dressed in his scale armour.

Gallia usually stayed with her Amazons the night before battle and last night had been no different. I myself rarely slept for more than two hours before a fight, rising before dawn to kneel by my bed to pray to Shamash. The prayers were always the same — that He would give me courage in the coming fight, that Gallia’s life would be preserved, even if the price was the end of my own life, and that my conduct on this day would make my friends and family proud of me. As I closed my eyes and said the words I clutched the lock of my wife’s hair that I always wore on a chain round my neck. Then I put on my silk vest, white long-sleeved shirt, leggings, boots and strapped on my sword belt. The scabbard was on my left hip and on the right I slipped my dagger into its sheath. It had formerly belonged to a Roman centurion who had been my jailer and tormentor. I had killed the centurion on the night Spartacus had freed me on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. Gafarn had retrieved the dagger and had given it to me afterwards as a present. I had carried it ever since, as I had the Roman spatha that had been a gift from Spartacus himself. Even my helmet and leather cuirass were Roman. Today, though, I would be wearing the suit of scale armour that hung on a wooden frame beside my bed.

After attending to Remus’ needs I ate with Gallia and Orodes. We shared a light breakfast of fruit, dried apricots and dates, bread and cheese, washed down with water. Outside the tent the air smelt of camel and horse dung, leather and campfires. Gallia sat at the table in her mail shirt, her helmet and sword resting on the surface. Orodes was dressed in a rich blue shirt, white leggings and red leather boots, his hair immaculately groomed and his beard neatly trimmed.

‘Seems strange not having Domitus here with us,’ he said, nibbling on a piece of cheese.

‘I would rather he were here than the Babylonians,’ I mused.

‘You do not like King Vardan’s soldiers, Pacorus?’ asked Orodes.

‘I like them well enough, I just don’t like the idea of them on my flank. If today’s fight is a hard one they might give way.’

‘Not with your father’s army on their other flank they won’t,’ said Gallia.

I smiled at her. ‘Let’s hope not, my sweet, let’s hope not. It all depends on what the enemy does and how many of them there are.’

Those two questions were answered half an hour later when Byrd and his scouts rode into camp and he made his report in my tent. He looked tired and his robes were covered in dust. He flopped into a chair and drank greedily from a cup filled with water offered to him by Orodes.

Byrd looked at me. ‘Mithridates not with enemy army. We saw no eagle banners.’

The banner of Susiana was well known to Byrd and his scouts for it was the same standard carried by Orodes, who was the rightful prince and heir to the throne of the kingdom.

I could not hide my disappointment. ‘This is grave news indeed. You are sure, Byrd?’

I knew the answer before he nodded his head.

‘The enemy host still very large, though,’ he added. ‘Their campfires filled the night.’

I slapped Byrd on the arm. ‘Numbers aren’t what count, Byrd. You should know that by now.’

At that moment a sentry opened the tent flap, stepped inside and saluted.

‘Messenger from your father, majesty.’

I indicated for him to let the man enter. By his appearance — cuirass made of leather on which were fastened overlapping steel and bronze scales — I knew he was a member of Hatra’s royal bodyguard. He held his burnished helmet in the crook of his right arm, a white horsehair plume fitted to its top ring, his white shirt edged with silver and his sword belt and scabbard also decorated with silver. He was obviously Hatran nobility.

He held out a wax-sealed parchment to me with his left hand.

‘I send greetings from the king, your father, majesty. These are your battle orders.’

I looked at Gallia and then Orodes. ‘My what?’

‘King Vardan has appointed King Varaz as general-in-chief for the day and these are his orders. I am also to instruct you that the march south will commence in two hours.’

I snatched the letter from his hand and broke the seal. Another courier would have been nervous in our company but this one merely stood and waited for any message I might have for my father. Hatra’s royal bodyguard was lavished with the best horses, the finest weapons that money could buy and stabling and quarters that would not shame kings and princes. Their reputation as great warriors was known throughout the empire, but looking at this fine young man standing before me I realised that arrogance and haughtiness were also part of their nature. I began to wonder how good they actually were.

I read the letter and then handed it to Orodes.

‘My father obviously intends to fight the battle his way. He forgets that I too am a king.’

‘This is merely confirmation of the dispositions that we discussed yesterday in King Vardan’s pavilion,’ said Orodes, trying to be the diplomat as usual.

‘You mean the orders that we were given.’

‘Don’t start all that again, Pacorus,’ said Gallia. ‘You are like a dog with a bone, constantly gnawing away.’

‘Perhaps we should go home, seeing as my father has obviously reduced us to bit-part players in his grand drama.’

‘We must relieve Babylon,’ said Orodes severely.

Gallia smiled at him. ‘Ignore Pacorus, Orodes, he is aggrieved that it is his father and not he who is chief general for the day.’

The courier cleared his throat.

‘Well?’ I snapped.

‘Is there any message you wish to convey to your father, majesty?’

I grinned at him mischievously. ‘There is, but he would have your head if you spoke those words to him. So no, there is no message. You may go.’

Gallia rolled her eyes as he bowed his head and left us.

More agreeable company was Spandarat who appeared shortly after, his wild hair and beard matching his unruly appearance. He winked at Gallia with his one eye and sat himself down without asking permission, then helped himself to a cup of water.

He grimaced as he tasted the liquid. ‘No wine, then?’

‘I find that wine dulls the senses,’ I said sternly. ‘It is best to have a clear head in battle.’

He roared with laughter. ‘Nonsense, a man fights better with a belly full of wine or beer inside him, ain’t that right, princess?’

He winked at Gallia again who stuck out her tongue at him. She liked Dura’s lords and they liked her. It was a sort of unholy alliance between them: the rough-and ready frontiersmen who lived hard lives and their queen who tolerated no nonsense.

‘Are you and your men ready, Spandarat?’ I enquired.

He shoved a great lump of cheese into his mouth. ‘Me and twenty thousand others itching to get to grips with the enemy.’

I nodded. ‘Excellent. You and the other lords will take up position behind my horse archers.’

A hurt look spread across his face. ‘Behind them?’

‘Don’t worry,’ I assured him. ‘You will get a chance to empty your quivers.’

My lords were fearless in battle but totally undisciplined. They were like a bee. They had a powerful sting but could only sting once. On the battlefield each lord led his retainers oblivious to what was happening around him. Once committed the lords would charge headlong at the enemy in a great disorganised mass; their commitment thus required expert timing.

With Surena still absent, no doubt long dead, the command of the horse archers presented something of a dilemma. Ideally Orodes would lead the cataphracts, leaving me free to direct the whole army.

‘I would esteem it an honour if you would command Dura’s horse archers this day, lord prince,’ I said to Orodes.

Before he could answer Gallia spoke. ‘I will lead the horse archers so that Orodes may command your cataphracts.’

I looked at her and then Orodes, who said nothing.

‘Makes sense,’ said Spandarat with a mouthful of cheese, who then stood and nodded to me. ‘I will go and inform the other lords. They will be as chuffed as a bull in a herd of young cows.’

After he had left Orodes and I put on our scale armour. The short-sleeved, thigh-length hide coats were thick and heavy, made more so by the iron scales riveted onto them. Split up to the waist to facilitate sitting in the saddle, the hide itself was thick enough to stop a glancing blow from a sword or spear. The best hide for scale armour was made from the skin of a water buffalo. This being the case, Nergal’s officials in Uruk purchased these animals from the Ma’adan. They were then slaughtered and the skins sold to the armouries in Dura, Media, Atropaiene and even Hatra.

Next came the leg and arm armour — overlapping steel rings that extended from the shoulders to the wrists and from the thigh down to the ankles. Orodes wore an open-faced helmet with cheekguards and a neck flap and I wore my Roman officer’s helmet with its goose feather plume.

We walked outside to where Orodes’ squires held his horse and Gallia held Remus’ reins. Both animals wore their own suits of scale armour that covered their bodies, necks and heads, with metal grills over their eyes. The squires assisted the Prince of Susiana and myself into our saddles and then handed us our lances, the hafts as thick as our wrists and tipped with a long spearhead at one end and savage butt spike at the other. My own kontus sported a pennant showing a red griffin on a white background, that of Orodes an eagle clutching a snake.

I rode with Gallia and Orodes at the head of the army as it made a leisurely march south towards the enemy. We were approximately ten miles from the walls of Babylon and roughly the same distance east of the Euphrates. We were riding across the hard-packed earth of the desert but Vardan and my father were travelling over the cultivated ground north of Babylon, fed by the waters of the great river, which had now been despoiled by the enemy. The mud-brick homes of the villages in the immediate vicinity of the city had been destroyed and their inhabitants no doubt dragged off into slavery. Babylonia had no fortified outposts such as existed in my own land or the Kingdom of Hatra. It would have thus been easy for enemy riders to appear as if by magic to pillage the villages.

I took no chances when it came to our own security, sending parties of horse archers ahead and into the desert on our left flank to ensure we were not attacked from those directions. After snatching a couple of hours’ sleep, Byrd and his men were again in the saddle and scouting far and wide. My fears were allayed somewhat when the army of Mesene — five thousand horse archers — flooded the eastern horizon and provided security for my left flank. Nergal had been camped further north of our position and it had taken him and his men longer to assume their battle positions. With the Babylonians on my right flank and the Hatrans beyond them, the combined armies of four kings made an impressive sight and numbered over two thousand, seven hundred cataphracts, thirty-eight thousand horse archers, a thousand Babylonian mounted spearmen and Vardan’s royal bodyguard of five hundred men. And in the wake of my own army came a thousand camels carrying spare arrows; my father had a similar camel train transporting spare ammunition. Nergal had informed me that he also had a thousand camels for the same purpose.

The day was mild and sunny with only a few white, puffy clouds dotting an otherwise clear blue sky. There was a slight westerly breeze that barely troubled the banners of Dura and Susiana carried behind us as we trotted southwest so as to close up on the Babylonians. I deployed my cataphracts on the left of the Duran line, with the horse archers to their right and the lords and their men directly behind the latter. It would have been better if all the kings’ heavy horsemen were grouped together so they could deliver the killer blow against the enemy when the time came, but my father would never have agreed to this unless he, or Vistaspa, was given command over all of them, something that I would never accept.

When Nergal’s companies had dressed their lines on our left he and Praxima rode over to be with us, his banner fluttering behind them. As Nergal had formerly been my second-in-command and had raised and trained my own horsemen I had no fears that his Mesenians would not perform well this day.

‘Do you think Narses will give battle?’ asked Gallia.

‘He has no choice,’ I answered, ‘unless he wishes to give himself up and submit to our mercy.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Orodes. ‘But he may request a parley.’

‘To what end?’ asked Nergal.

‘To attempt to sow disharmony within our ranks.’ Orodes looked at me. ‘He already knows that the kings of Babylon and Hatra do not share Dura’s desire to see him destroyed.’

‘I shall not speak to him,’ I announced. ‘I have no interest in hearing his voice.’

‘He should be killed,’ said Praxima.

‘Some sense at last,’ I replied.

Orodes was most unhappy. ‘It is custom for all parties to be present at a parley, in the hope that bloodshed can be avoided.’

‘If we avoid bloodshed this day,’ I said in irritation, ‘then that will mean that Narses and his army will have escaped, which means that he and it will be free to attack another Parthian kingdom. Have you forgotten Gotarzes so quickly, Orodes?’

Anger flashed in his eyes. ‘Of course not!’

‘You forget yourself, Pacorus,’ said Gallia in rebuke.

I held up my hand to Orodes. ‘Forgive me, my friend, I did not mean to offend you.’

His amiable disposition returned. ‘No offence taken.’

We rode on in silence, but the thought of Narses slipping through our fingers was like a knife being twisted in my guts.

My mood was further darkened when a rider came from my father with a letter reminding me that our objective was to secure entry to Babylon via the Ishtar Gate and that I was to support the attack by ensuring that the left flank of the army was secure. I sent him back to my father with the reply that I was quite capable of securing his flank.

An hour later we were half a mile from the walls of Babylon, which rose majestically from the desert floor to a height of at least seventy feet, defensive towers at regular intervals all along their circumference. Once there had been outer walls that gave the city even greater protection. They were so high and wide that it was reputed that two chariots travelling along the top of them in opposite directions could pass each other without difficulty. These walls had long since gone, the only remnant being the paved road that linked where the outer wall had once stood to the Ishtar Gate. It was called Aibur-shabu — ‘the enemy shall not pass’ — and was built by King Hammurabi when Babylon had ruled the world.

Even from this distance the walls looked imposing and impregnable. I knew that they were constructed from large mud-bricks cemented together with bitumen, and that the moat that surrounded the city was also lined with bricks. Without siege towers and engines such as Dura possessed the enemy would have no chance of breaching those walls. But with the city surrounded the chance of starving a Babylon filled with many hungry mouths into surrender was a very real possibility. At least it was! Now relief had come.

Narses had scorned the chance of flight, obviously believing that even without Mithridates he had every chance of defeating us. He would have known that my legions had limped back home, for information was easily bought and word would have spread down the Euphrates that my foot soldiers were on their way back to Dura. He would have also known that the armies of Hatra, Mesene and Babylon had joined with my horsemen to make a formidable force. That said, he would have assumed, not unreasonably, that the Babylonians were second-rate compared to his own forces and would have assumed that Nergal’s soldiers were also inferior. Mesene had always produced ragtag armies composed of ill-equipped soldiers. He would have thus also discounted them. In his mind the only formidable troops he faced were my own and those of my father. That my father had brought only six and a half thousand horsemen with him must have filled Narses with confidence, the more so as we approached the city and it became apparent that we were greatly outnumbered by his own forces.

Narses had drawn up his army in three sections. On his left flank, occupying the space between the walls and my father’s Hatrans, was a great body of horsemen armed with lances and carrying round shields. They wore helmets on their heads and armless leather cuirasses on their bodies. Interspersed with these lancers were bodies of horse archers. Riders sent from my father and Vardan reported that they could see no cataphracts among these horsemen.

In the centre of the enemy’s line was a great mass of foot that must have numbered thirty thousand men or more, and which faced the horsemen of Babylon and extended right to face my own cavalry.

Officers barked orders at their men as the troops of both sides dressed their ranks and lines before the first clash. I clasped arms with Nergal as he and Praxima rode back to their horsemen that faced the mounted spearmen of the enemy’s right wing. I reached over and kissed Gallia on the lips before she took up her position in front of Dura’s horse archers.

‘Shamash be with you, my sweet, and remember not to unleash the lords until the enemy is breaking.’

‘God be with you, Pacorus.’ She closed her helmet’s cheekguards, tied the leather straps together under her chin and then pulled her bow from its hide case attached to her saddle. She held it over her head, a gesture reciprocated by the Amazons grouped behind her, and then dug her knees into Epona and galloped away to take command of the horse archers.

I rammed the butt spike of my kontus into the earth.

‘Come, Orodes, let us take a closer look at the enemy.’

He did the same and we trotted across no man’s land to with five hundred paces or so of the enemy’s front ranks. I kept an eye over to the left to where the enemy’s horsemen were grouped but in truth did not think they would charge us. The foot opposite us was firmly routed to the spot — it seemed that Narses would fight a defensive battle.

We edged our horses closer to the front ranks of the enemy, a long line of large wicker shields, rectangular in shape and almost the height of a man. Covered in thick leather and painted yellow, with the bird-god symbol of Persis painted on each one, they were held by Narses’ royal spearmen. Looking up and down their line I estimated that there were at least five thousand of them standing in three ranks or more. Each man wore a plumed, bronze helmet and probably wore leather armour. Reflecting their Persian heritage they most likely were armed with light battleaxes and daggers, in addition to the long spear each man carried. The shield was thick enough to stop arrows, though too large and cumbersome to form a roof under which the men could take shelter in an arrow storm. The front rank held their spears towards us at an angle of forty-five degrees, the ranks behind holding their spears upright. These soldiers were not a rabble but among the best that Persis could field. That Narses had brought mostly foot soldiers before the walls of Babylon did not surprise me. Horsemen are mostly useless in sieges but their mounts consume fodder that can easily exhaust the resources of the surrounding areas. In addition, Babylon lies only fifty miles from the Tigris and the Kingdom of Susiana, close enough to get an army of foot soldiers to the city within four days.

A group of arrows suddenly arched into the sky from behind the ranks of the spearmen to land harmlessly a few paces in front of us. No other volley followed but I thanked Shamash for this lack of discipline, for the enemy had revealed to me that there were foot archers standing behind the spearmen.

‘Time to retreat,’ I said to Orodes and wheeled Remus around.

I heard a thud and he suddenly bolted forward. I managed to bring him under control as Orodes galloped up to me.

‘They have slingers as well, then,’ he said, grinning at my temporary discomfort.

We rode to where Gallia waited in front of her Amazons with a knot of officers from my horse archers around her.

‘Don’t get too close to the foot opposite,’ I told them. ‘They have archers and slingers behind the spearmen.’

‘Don’t give them any cheap victories,’ I said to Gallia. ‘Just annoy them. Shoot high so your arrows fall on the heads of the front ranks. You will be able to thin them out but that’s about all.’

‘And your cataphracts?’ she asked.

I smiled at her and pointed to where the horsemen of the enemy right wing were standing.

‘That is where the key to the battle lies, my sweet.’

I smiled at her again and then dug my knees into Remus’ flanks to take me back to my cataphracts. It appeared that the enemy had no heavy cavalry, which evened the odds greatly. In my mind I quickly formulated a plan: shatter the enemy’s right wing with my heavy horsemen to allow Nergal’s horse archers to sweep around the enemy foot to attack their exposed flank and rear. Once that had been achieved Narses’ foot soldiers would be peppered with volleys of arrows that would both demoralise and decimate them. I did not worry about what would be happening on the enemy’s left flank where Narses faced the combined horsemen of Hatra and Babylon. The enemy’s mounted spearmen would be no match for my father’s cavalry. Orodes looked at me with concern as I began to whistle to myself. We had Narses cornered like a rat. So much for the lord high general of the Parthian Empire. Victory was so close I could taste it.