by Peter Darman
I nodded.
‘What is the message you carry from your high King?’
‘I have no idea,’ I answered, truthfully.
After our meal we were shown to the guest bedrooms, Akka ordering slaves to prepare baths to refresh our tired bodies. No guards were placed on our rooms and we were free to come and go as we pleased. I found this more disconcerting that if we had been treated like prisoners, as it pointed to the Sarmatians feeling very comfortable in their new surroundings. Despite Akka’s words, I began to fear that eastern Media had already been added to the land coveted by the Sarmatians.
Klietas was of the same opinion, and while I was grooming Horns in the stables and checking his shoes for any loose nails, asked a question that I too had pondered.
‘Where is King Akmon, majesty? He would not have stood idly by while his kingdom was invaded.’
I examined the steel shoe and the foot it was attached to. Foot problems were one of the most common causes of lameness in horses, remedied by keeping a mount’s feet in good condition.
‘I too have been wondering that, Klietas. I can only surmise that King Akmon has been waiting to see how events unfold before making his move.’
‘I do not understand, highness.’
I finished examining Horns’ feet.
‘Well, I am sure King Akmon received word of the defeat of King Ali at Lake Urmia, which would have made him cautious to commit his army against the Sarmatians. In addition, his northern lands might have been raided by the Aorsi, or even his brother’s troops.’
I slapped him on the arm. ‘But at least Anush and the rest of your people are safe in Irbil, which has strong defences.’
‘Praise Gula,’ he said.
‘Praise Gula, indeed.’
The next day, refreshed after having spent a night in a comfortable bed, we rode on in the company of Akka and a score of his soldiers. I was relieved to see no pillars of smoke on the horizon indicating burning villages, and the settlements we did pass by were undamaged, albeit deserted, their inhabitants having fled from the Sarmatians, or enslaved. And the orchards and vineyards around them were as yet undamaged, as were the fields. But the land was strangely quiet, being devoid of people in villages and traffic on the roads. As we rode on, the feeling of dread hanging over me increased.
After two hours of travel, the sun once again shining down from a cloudless sky, we began to encounter patrols of horsemen. The feeling of dread was magnified when I saw them, each one accoutred in either leather or horn scale armour. The latter was manufactured by splitting horse hooves into small plates, which were shaped and bored with holes for laces and then sewn to a hide backing. Curiously, the armour of the patrol that intercepted us was painted blue, as was the identical armour worn by the soldiers’ horses. As Akka and the commander chatted to each other, the men of the patrol maintained two straight files and their spears did not waver. Their initial appearance indicated well-trained soldiers, far from the disorganised rabble we had defeated at the pontoon bridge.
The feeling of dread increased when our new escort led us into a great plain where the Roxolani tribe had made what I hoped was its temporary home. As far as the eye could see were wagons: heavy, four-wheeled vehicles pulled by oxen, pairs of the beasts grazing near each wagon. On top of each wagon was a felt tent and around each vehicle were grazing goats, which produced milk and cheese, and meat when they became old or lame.
Eventually, we reached a wagon that looked much like the others, having a simple felt tent covering and four solid wooden wheels. The only thing that marked it out as different from the rest were guards ringing it, though there were still goats tethered to its sides.
There were no stable hands to take our horses and so I left Klietas holding the reins of Horns and his own horse and walked with Akka to the rear of the wagon. I took with me a tubular leather case containing Phraates’ letter to Tasius, the commander of the horsemen with blue armour instructing us to remain at the bottom of the wooden steps leading to the rear of the wagon until summoned. He reappeared moments later.
‘I must take your sword and dagger, lord.’
I unbuckled my belt and handed him my weapons.
‘I must ask you to reveal what is in the case, lord,’ said Akka.
I unfastened the top and extracted the rolled papyrus letter with a wax seal bearing the bull of Babylon.
‘No snakes, or hidden daggers,’ I smiled.
He took the letter from me.
‘Come with me, lord.’
I followed him up the wooden steps into the back of the wagon-cum-tent, which was remarkably snug inside. The boards were covered with carpets and there were couches on both sides. The interior was subdued in lighting but cool and far from musty. The ‘tent’ comprised a wooden frame over which was laid an off-white felt cover.
‘Welcome, King Pacorus. I am Tasius.’
My eyes were averted from admiring the simple yet sturdy construction of the tent to an individual who stood to greet me. He was smaller than me and trim, his face narrow with a sharp nose. Two things stood out about him: his armour, which comprised sheets of iron on his arms and around his torso; and what appeared to be bone fragments in his long, reddish hair. Like the interior of his tent, his beard was neat and tidy.
Tasius sat on one of the couches lining the side of the tent and extended an arm to indicate I should sit on the other opposite. I did so and Akka passed the chief of the Roxolani the letter. He broke the seal and read the words. At least he was literate, which was a good start. Akka stood by the entrance, beckoning forward women carrying trays holding silver cups and a wine jug. Their confident demeanour and clothing of long leggings, soft leather shoes and kaftan-type tunics indicated they were not slaves. They served us wine and departed, Tasius barely noticing them as he perused Phraates’ letter. When he had finished, he took a sip of wine and looked at me.
‘Why would your high king send a great warlord to deliver his letter? Has he run out of slaves?’
‘He has many slaves, and many soldiers.’
‘He proposes I go to Ctesiphon where we can enter into negotiations, though he is vague as to what will be discussed there.’
He tossed the letter to the floor.
‘Your high king must believe I am a witless barbarian, King Pacorus. Why else would he invite me to walk into a trap?’
My heart sank but I tried to put on a brave face.
‘Lord Tasius, I sincerely believe King of Kings Phraates desires to reach an accommodation with you.’
‘He wants us gone, King Pacorus, and perhaps a part of him would be willing to give me a great deal of gold to usher us on our way.’
He smiled to reveal perfect white teeth. ‘But no king gives up either his gold or parts of his kingdom freely. I therefore ask myself; why would he sit down with me, who desires both?’
‘I am not privy to the decisions of High King Phraates.’
He took another sip of wine.
‘You may think me ignorant when it comes to Parthia, King Pacorus, but I have not led my people south without first collecting intelligence regarding what they may face.
‘The land we currently occupy is green and well-watered. But to march south would be to enter a land of desert where the animals we depend on would perish.’
He sipped at his wine again.
‘And then there is the matter of the River Tigris.’
‘The Tigris?’
He smiled at me. ‘You are a wily old fox, King Pacorus. A while ago, a reconnaissance in force was worsted trying to capture a floating bridge across the Tigris.’
I gave an indifferent shrug.
‘A few survivors made it back to us,’ said Tasius, ‘and what they reported was most interesting. They spoke of deadly female archers defending the bridge, all wearing armour and helmets.’
My heart began to sink.
‘I know from Lord Akka and Prince Spadines that your own wife has a bodyguard of female warriors called Amazon
s. That indicates that you and your queen were most eager that the bridge should not fall.’
I took a large gulp of wine. Tasius looked thoughtful.
‘Let us suppose I take my people south to meet your high king. They will suffer in the heat and desert. Meanwhile, an army marches across the wooden bridge and attacks us in the rear, while another army, perhaps led by Phraates himself, assaults us frontally.’
He nodded. ‘It is what I would do. Phraates must come to me, King Pacorus. He must prostrate himself before me and then we will talk.’
‘And if he refuses to do so?’ I probed.
‘Then we stay here and enjoy the hospitality of Media.’
It was Tasius who was the wily fox, and as we continued to chat about nothing in particular, I realised that he was indeed not a foe to be underestimated. Despite his somewhat fierce appearance, he possessed a calmness borne of supreme, unchallenged authority. But even the most calculating mind can be taken by surprise, and so it was when one of his warlords interrupted us to bring news a Parthian army was approaching from the south. I too was taken by surprise, which Tasius noticed.
‘It would appear your high king has changed his mind since he sent you on a fool’s errand, King Pacorus.’
Chapter 14
I had no idea why Phraates had sent troops to engage the Sarmatians. Perhaps he thought I was dead. Perhaps he wanted me dead. More likely, his cunning mind hoped to use my visit to Tasius as a deception to mask his plan to attack the Sarmatians and win all the glory for himself.
Tasius remained calm when he was informed that a Parthian army was closing from the south. But he had the letter from Phraates burnt in front of me and placed me and Klietas under armed guard. He could have had us both killed on the spot for breaching the rules of diplomacy, though I doubted the Sarmatians put much store in them, if they even knew what they were. But he did not and though we were placed in a covered wagon, which was guarded by sentries, my instincts told me we were not in any danger. This depressed me even more, for it pointed to Tasius being supremely confident he could defeat the force sent against him.
The next morning the plain was alive with activity, and after a breakfast of milk and cured meat, Tasius himself came to visit us, along with a host of his warriors. He was dressed in his metal armour and wore a metal helmet with huge cheek guards and a nasal guard, resulting in most of his face being covered.
‘King Pacorus, I hope you slept well.’
‘As well as can be expected.’
‘I would like you to ride with me today. As a student and practitioner of war, I think you will find it most enlightening. You may bring your slave along, as well.’
Horns and Klietas’ horse were brought to us and we gained our saddles. Our weapons had also been returned to us, along with my armour and helmet. I checked the case fixed to my saddle to see if my bow was in its place. It was. Tasius noted my relief.
‘We are not thieves, King Pacorus. The bow is special to you?’
‘It was made in a land far from here many years ago. It is an old companion and a reminder of happier times. He is not my slave, by the way.’
‘Mm?’
I jerked a thumb behind at Klietas.
‘He is a free man who volunteered to accompany me.’
There were around two hundred horsemen in two files behind us, each one wearing similar armour to their lord and carrying lances and swords. I surmised they were his bodyguard. His standard comprised a metal head resembling a dragon mounted on a wooden pole, behind the head a red fabric body that writhed when the wind blew through its jaws. I patted Horns on the neck, noting his coat shone after someone had groomed him. I assumed he had also been fed and watered.
After I had fallen in beside him, Tasius nudged his horse forward and Klietas and the soldiers of the chief’s bodyguard followed. Around us, thousands of horsemen and women were heading south. At first, I thought they were just a disorganised mass, akin to the Aorsi and their ill-disciplined warriors. But my prejudice had blinded me to the obvious, and a closer examination of the columns of horsemen riding parallel to our own two lines revealed bodies of troops moving in a disciplined manner, forming files and not breaking formation. I also noticed there was no shouting, no bravado or sounding of horns or trumpets, just an ominous rumbling as thousands of horses pounded the verdant earth of Media.
‘I have heard of your animosity towards slavery, King Pacorus,’ said Tasius, who gave the appearance he was on a leisurely pleasure ride.
‘If you had been a slave, you would understand,’ I said, glancing left and right in an effort to take in everything that was occurring around me.
‘If you have any questions, please feel free to pose them,’ he said.
I came straight to the point. ‘How do the Roxolani fight?’
‘With discipline,’ he replied. ‘You may think nomads are uncouth barbarians. But the open steppe has allowed us to perfect our tactics, as you will soon discover.’
‘Discipline and organisation,’ I said.
‘That is correct, King Pacorus, allied to aggression and never allowing an enemy to rest. Just as we do not allow a prey to escape on a hunt, so we press our attacks until the enemy has been destroyed.’
I thought of my own highly trained soldiers.
‘What if the enemy attacks you?’ I said.
‘Then we have a worthy prey.’
It soon became apparent why Tasius was reluctant to take his warriors south to the desert around Ctesiphon. His troops were marshalled by means of signal flags, which in the dust thrown up when thousands of horses were pounding the dirt and sand of the desert would be hidden by dust clouds. In the grassland of Media, however, there were no such problems.
It was no accident the Roxolani had selected this part of Media for their base. The abundance of water, grazing and a landscape of gently undulating terrain made it ideal for manoeuvring large numbers of horsemen. And the Sarmatians had many riders.
When officers reported to Tasius that their scouts had reported the Parthians were nearing the Sarmatian host, he gave orders for his units to deploy into battle formation. It felt surreal to be among an army that was about to engage a force of Parthians, but I believed that whoever led my kinsmen would triumph over the Sarmatians. I glanced behind me to see horsemen flanking left and right to form ranks of horsemen, which advanced past us to create a battle line. The separate formations, which I estimated to number around five hundred each and which were widely spaced, kept moving forward.
In each formation the first two lines of Sarmatians were armoured horsemen – both rider and horse wearing rows of horn scales and the soldiers wearing leather helmets. Each rider carried a lance and a short dagger, which I was informed was called a culter. I doubted their horn-scale armour would offer much protection against the arrow storm that would engulf them when the Parthians attacked. The arrow storm that would also engulf me and Klietas!
But there was no arrow storm.
Parthian tactics were simple enough: use horse archers to annoy and harass an enemy, prior to wearing him down with blizzards of missiles, surrounding him and shooting his demoralised formations to pieces. Then the cataphracts would be unleashed to seal victory. Mobility, missiles and shock action combined to destroy an enemy. It had worked on many occasions, most notably at Carrhae when Rome’s legions had been humbled. But here, on a grassy plain in Media, it was different.
The Roxolani formations deployed in five lines – two of armoured lancers and three of light horsemen behind. It was the latter who started the battle by galloping through the stationary lancers to assault the Parthian centre, comprised of cataphracts and mounted spearmen from Persis and Susiana.
Light horsemen wearing no armour against steel-clad riders equipped with a kontus, sword, axe and mace. It would be no contest. And was no contest, because the Sarmatians speedily withdrew when the Parthian centre advanced, galloping back through the lines of their own armoured horsemen. But then the Parthians the
mselves stopped, which I found confusing. Why did they not press their attack? A kontus would easily go through horn scales. But then it became clear.
The Sarmatians kept extending their battle line on both wings, continually overlapping the flanks of Parthian horse archers opposite. By means of basic signals conveyed by flags, the Sarmatian battle line became longer and longer. In response, the horse archers from Susiana and Persis rode away from their centre to try to outflank the Sarmatians. But they were the ones being outflanked. I saw horsemen wearing yellow tunics and blue leggings – the colours of Persis – disappear to the right, while on the left the horse archers of Susiana – red tunics and tan leggings – also disappeared into the distance.
The soldiers of Otanes and Silani shot their bows and brought down Sarmatians, but not in enough numbers to even make a small dent in Tasius’ horde. And all the while the Sarmatian chief sat calmly on his horse, observing the stand of colours opposite: banners showing an eagle in its talons and the black head of a bird god on a yellow background. It was a bizarre experience, both being among enemy troops observing a Parthian army across no-man’s land and sitting stationary on Horns in the midst of a battle with no fighting going on around me, or within sight.
The cataphracts and stand of banners opposite suddenly began to diminish as the soldiers of Persis and Susiana retreated. I understood why they had done so, even though it brought a lump to my throat to see Parthians withdraw without washing their weapons in enemy blood. They were in danger of being surrounded. Perhaps they were already surrounded.
Once more, Tasius sent the three lines of light horsemen forward to harry the cataphracts, keeping his hundreds of lancers under tight control. He knew in a one-to-one fight his armoured horsemen would fare badly against Parthian cataphracts, but he also knew no commander worth his salt would allow his best troops to be surrounded. And I knew Otanes and Silani were too competent to allow that to happen.
And then the cataphracts were disappearing into the distance in rapid retreat. It was now that Tasius, sensing victory was his, unleashed his lancers. There was a flurry of flag signals followed by hundreds of riders breaking into a canter and then a gallop, the ground trembling beneath their hooves. Tasius looked at me, fire in his eyes.
