by Peter Darman
‘Is this the best Parthia has got?’
Surrounded by his iron-clad bodyguard, we cantered across the greenery. On each wing, far into the distance, Sarmatians under iron control were literally running rings around Parthian horse archers. I silently prayed to Shamash they had managed to escape, though the squires, slaves, farriers and civilians accompanying the army of Otanes and Silani were not so lucky. I fought back tears when we reached their camp, a sprawling collection of brightly coloured tents, carts, camel parks, temporary stables, field workshops and pavilions. Shamash in his mercy had spared me the anguish of seeing the camp being plundered, so my eyes did not bear witness to seeing unarmed men and women being cut down by Sarmatian lancers or hear their cries as lances skewered bodies and men raped women and girls. But the sight was horrific enough.
I heard Klietas weeping behind me as we trotted through the carnage, bodies sprinkled over the ground, all bloody, many mutilated, all dead. Not all had perished, though. Cowered and beaten women, former slaves of Persis and Susiana and all naked after being raped, were being led away back to the Sarmatian camp. I took a crumb of comfort from seeing dead teenage boys in armour – squires – with weapons in their white hands. At least they had died fighting.
The final ignominy was when Tasius’ warlords began dumping captured banners before him, tossing bird-god and eagle standards on the ground in front of him. I could feel his eyes on me as they did so, the honour of Parthia being trampled on in a scene I never thought I would bear witness to. The Roxolani had destroyed an army drawn from Atropaiene, Hyrcania and Margiana, and had now scattered a force made up of soldiers from Persis and Susiana. They had forced Akmon to take refuge behind Irbil’s defences and treated his kingdom as their own.
As Tasius basked in the acclaim directed at him, I realised I had been completely forgotten in the celebrations. I sat next to the Roxolani chief, who was within striking of my sword. I could have pulled my spatha and ended his life there and then. I did not do it. Why did I not kill him? A part of me wanted to believe that if I could chop the head off the snake the rest of the body would wither. But I knew nothing about this chief. Did he have sons or a chosen successor? If so, killing him would achieve nothing, aside from making me feel better before I too was cut down. But there was another reason. To do such a base thing to one who had shown me hospitality and courtesy would be dishonourable. I therefore sat in silence and watched the Roxolani celebrate another victory over a Parthian army.
During the ride back to the Sarmatian camp, the banners having been burnt on a pyre to symbolise the futility of Parthian efforts against him, Tasius informed me of my fate.
‘You will return to King of Kings Phraates, King Pacorus, and tell him the Roxolani shall make Media its new home. King Akmon will be allowed to leave Irbil with his family, after which Irbil shall be my capital.’
Thoroughly deflated after having witnessed the triumph of his warriors earlier, I merely nodded.
‘He will also pay me a sum of gold to welcome me into his empire,’ he carried on, ‘the exact amount to be determined when I have had time to think more.’
‘And if Phraates refuses your terms?’ I asked wearily.
‘Then we will seize the Silk Road,’ he replied.
The threat chilled me to the bone. The silk transported from China through the empire to the Roman world and Egypt was the lifeblood of Parthia. The main artery ran east through Aria and Drangiana via Esfahan and on to either Hatra and then Zeugma, or south through Dura and Palmyra. Any interruption of trade would have serious consequences not only for my own kingdom, which would be unable to maintain its army at its current strength, but also for Hatra, thus threatening the two kingdoms that acted as the western shield of the empire. In short, Tasius’ declaration represented the greatest threat to Parthia since Crassus’ invasion nearly thirty years before.
That night I sat with Klietas in a covered wagon, both staring at each other while outside the Sarmatians celebrated long into the night. There was much revelry and with good reason. The Roxolani had done something no foreign army had ever achieved: defeated two Parthian armies in quick succession. I suddenly felt very old and helpless.
‘What will you do, majesty?’ Klietas asked me.
‘Return to the only things I can rely on in this world. My wife and Dura’s army.’
I fell asleep when the din outside began to finally subside, the dawn casting the interior of the tented wagon in a subdued light that fitted my mood entirely. The side of the wagon being hit with a blunt instrument woke Klietas with a start.
‘Chief Tasius wishes to speak with you, King Pacorus.’
I emerged from the wagon bleary eyed and aching, the morning warm and heavy with the scent of wood smoke. Around me men and women were moving around in a lethargic fashion after their over-indulgence the night before. How I wished the horizon was lined with Dura’s army. Without having the chance to wash or shave, I was escorted to the wagon of Tasius where I found Horns and Klietas’ horse being held by two of the chief’s bodyguard. My former squire trailed after me, gawping at the seemingly endless Sarmatian encampment. Nearby, women were milking goats and young children were running around and making mischief. A pale-faced Akka appeared, his red coat unfastened and his eyes bloodshot. He belched.
‘Apologies, majesty, too much drink last night.’
He reeked of alcohol and was unsteady on his feet.
‘Lord Tasius will see you now, majesty,’ said an officer of Tasius’ bodyguard, who at least looked fresh and alert.
Klietas waited by his horse while I talked to the Roxolani leader. The interior of his wagon did not smell of wine and he himself looked as though he had not indulged in the previous night’s debauchery.
‘You recall our conversation yesterday about my proposal, King Pacorus?’
‘You mean your demands,’ I said.
He scratched his nose. ‘Demands, proposals. It amounts to the same thing. Media is now the land of the Roxolani. To facilitate a peaceful transition of ownership, you will kindly instruct Phraates to give me forty thousand talents of gold, payable within a month.’
I could have argued with him, convinced him that Phraates would never agree to such a sum. But I knew Phraates would not pay him anything anyway, and so I meekly nodded and promised to pass on his demands, eager to be away from both him and his tribesmen.
‘I look forward to meeting with you again in the near future, King Pacorus.’
I forced a smile. ‘I will count the days.’
To be fair, he did not gloat about his recent victories or say anything to belittle me. Indeed, he made his demands sound reasonable, which was even more galling. Tasius was as far removed from the boorish, unintelligent Spadines as one could get, and that made him a dangerous foe. He was not to be underrated. But the question I asked myself when I rode away from his wagon was: could he be speedily dealt with before he and his tribesmen made Media their permanent home?
Chapter 15
I rode straight to Assur where I found a huge marching camp holding Dura’s army and the forces of the new king of Hatra. The fortified camp resembled another town that had sprung up immediately north of Assur, so large was it. A patrol of horse archers intercepted us before we reached the pontoon bridge, the young officer recognising my black leather armour and Roman helmet decorated with goose feathers. He was initially perplexed as to why his king was on the eastern side of the Tigris.
‘Have you encountered any Sarmatians?’ I asked.
‘No, majesty. We have encountered barely anyone.’
‘Any news from Irbil?’
‘No, majesty.’
Gallia did have some news about Irbil, having ordered Talib to send scouts across the Tigris and ride to Media’s capital. When I presented myself at the command tent we both shared when on campaign, and after I had washed and eaten something, she summoned my chief scout so he could report in person. She noticed my downcast expression as I sat in a chair waiting
for him to arrive.
‘They are very good.’
‘Who?’ she asked, flopping down in a wicker chair opposite.
‘The Roxolani. I was a guest of their leader for long enough to ascertain they are formidable foes.’
I told her about the defeat of Otanes and Silani. She seemed unconcerned but was appalled Phraates had endangered me.
‘He should have waited until you had returned to Ctesiphon before sending an army to intercept the Sarmatians. And anyway, is that not a decision you should be part of, seeing as you are his lord high general?’
I too was unconcerned. ‘I had forgotten how duplicitous Phraates could be. He probably thought he could win all the glory for himself. Alas for Silani and Otanes. I pray they escaped with their lives.’
Talib had always been slim but he seemed to wither with age. Now in his thirties, he looked at least ten years older. I wondered if he and Minu had yet to get over losing their child, and also whether their bodies were too battered and worn out to conceive again.
‘It is good to see you, majesty,’ he said, giving me a rare Agraci smile.
‘And you, Talib. How is Minu?’
He looked askance at the enquiry. He had always been a remote individual, a true offspring of the desert, and had never been one for small talk. He obviously found my question about his marriage intrusive.
‘Well, majesty,’ he said, curtly.
‘Sit, tell me about Irbil.’
He pulled up a chair and an orderly served him and us some wine. Two of his best scouts had ridden along the eastern bank of the Tigris before making a dash for Irbil. They found a city deluged with refugees and surrounded by a great host of Media’s soldiers. They were granted an audience with Akmon, at which the king informed them he was waiting for news of our intentions before he launched his own attack against the Roxolani, reasoning a two-pronged assault would stand more chance of success. He was right, but coordinating such an attack would be very difficult, if not impossible. One thing was certain, though, if action was not taken against the Roxolani soon, the refugees in Irbil would starve, and Tasius and his people would cement their stay in Media, which in turn might lead to more Sarmatians flocking into the empire.
‘We need to act fast,’ I told the assembled war council later in my tent, Talib relating to its members what he had told me earlier.
‘You are right about acting speedily, uncle,’ said Pacorus, now King of Hatra following a hasty coronation service in the city’s Great Temple the day before. ‘There are over forty thousand soldiers and civilians in this camp, to say nothing of the thousands of horses, mules and camels. They will strip Assur’s granaries dry if we delay.’
Supplies were being ferried from Hatra on a daily basis, but not enough to sustain Hatra’s fifteen hundred cataphracts, three thousand squires and ten thousand horse archers, to say nothing of the entourage of slaves and the civilian camel drivers of the ammunition train. Dura’s army marched with enough food and fodder for three months of campaigning, but it too could not stay at Assur indefinitely.
‘We must defeat the Roxolani alone,’ I told them.
Kewab raised an eyebrow. ‘Having already defeated two Parthian armies, majesty, what tactics do you propose to use so this army may avoid suffering the same fate?’
Gallia screwed up her face in annoyance at his impudence, but he was an accomplished general who had little time for niceties in the face of an emergency. In any case, it was a fair question.
‘We use the legions to form a hollow marching square,’ I said, ‘inside which will be our horsemen.’
I saw Chrestus doing calculations in his head.
‘Problems, Chrestus?’ I asked him.
‘It will be a square with very thin sides, majesty.’
I looked at Lucius Varsas, Dura’s quartermaster general.
‘The siege engines will stay here, as will the slaves and servants.’
I smiled at the other Pacorus. ‘And the squires will remain here, also.’
Pacorus frowned. ‘That is most irregular, uncle.’
I knew Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard liked to have a small army of slaves and squires to keep it looking immaculate and to attend to its every need. But I saw little point in dragging thousands of non-combatants along who would have to be fed and protected, and who would be of no use against the Roxolani when it came to battle.
‘These are irregular times, nephew.’
‘Perhaps we should wait until High King Phraates sends us reinforcements,’ said my nephew.
‘There will be no reinforcements,’ I stated. ‘I saw with my own eyes the defeat of King Ali and Satrap Otanes, who were foolishly committed by Phraates before I returned from negotiating with the enemy.’
‘You were lucky you weren’t executed for Phraates’ treachery,’ said Chrestus, bluntly.
‘Why would Tasius cut off my head,’ I smiled, ‘when he needed me to convey to Phraates his new demands.’
‘Which are?’ asked my nephew.
‘The Kingdom of Media,’ I said, ‘which is to be the new home of the Roxolani tribe. Plus, forty thousand talents of gold as a welcoming gesture.’
There were sharp intakes of breath. Everyone knew surrendering Media would be akin to a dagger through the heart of the empire.
‘Tonight, I will write to Phraates explaining the current state of affairs,’ I said, ‘and in the morning we will cross the Tigris to rid Parthia of this plague of Sarmatians.’
After the meeting, I asked Pacorus to stay, eager to convey my sorrow regarding the death of his parents. Klietas hovered around us, topping up our cups of wine. The great weight of his grief and the sudden burden of kingship in difficult circumstances had dimmed Pacorus’ handsome features somewhat. But he had been raised a prince in Hatra, and from my own experiences I knew that from an early age it would have been drilled into him that service to his kingdom and Parthia was his goal in life. That grief and loss were but temporary aberrations to be endured with stoicism. And so it was now.
‘They lived long and happy lives, uncle, and for that I thank Shamash. It is my duty to ensure the kingdom they left to me continues to prosper. Phraates was a fool to commit forces before you returned.’
‘As usual, it is Dura and Hatra that has to save his arse,’ sneered Gallia. ‘We should burn the pontoon bridge and let the Sarmatians seize Ctesiphon, just to teach him a lesson.’
Pacorus said nothing but merely toyed with his cup of wine.
‘Phraates is high king,’ I said. ‘Contrary to popular opinion, he is not a god. He therefore makes mistakes, as do we all.’
I looked at her, unblinking. She knew I was alluding to her assassins, but she shrugged.
‘Phraates makes more than most.’
‘I cannot believe my nephew invited these Sarmatians into the empire,’ said Pacorus, unwilling to indulge in a debate about Phraates’ suitability for being high king.
I laughed. ‘I can. Gordyene has always been apart from the empire, and its rulers have always encouraged that view. To Castus, seduced by his new wife into believing he is a modern-day Alexander the Great, it makes perfect sense to encourage more Sarmatians to join the Aorsi in being his allies.’
‘He will have to account for his actions,’ said Pacorus. ‘We must remove him and replace him with Haytham.’
I shook my head. ‘Phraates intends to make Kewab King of Gordyene.’
‘I thought he will be leaving for Egypt,’ said a surprised Pacorus.
‘So did I,’ added Gallia.
I drank some wine. ‘That was his intention, despite my lobbying Phraates to give him a position commensurate with his abilities and service to Parthia. However, the recent emergency has swayed Phraates’ mind and now he wants Kewab occupying the throne in Vanadzor. Will that present a problem for Hatra?’
‘Kewab is a man of exceptional talents,’ he replied. ‘Hatra would have no problem with him ruling Gordyene. What does he say on the matter?’
‘
He does not yet know of Phraates’ offer,’ I told him, ‘and I would appreciate you not mentioning it to him until Phraates has written down his promise.’
‘My husband does not trust the high king not to renege on his offer,’ smiled Gallia. ‘Once the emergency has passed.’
Pacorus looked thoughtful. ‘As he is ignorant of the offer of kingship, why then has not Kewab already left for Egypt?’
‘Because he is a man of integrity and honour,’ I said, ‘which even if he had few military skills, would make him worthy of high office in Parthia.’
‘What of Haytham?’ asked Pacorus.
‘The best he can hope for is exile,’ I answered. ‘Phraates is too vindictive to allow a legitimate claimant to Gordyene’s throne live in the empire. He has told me he wants Haytham dead.’
‘I would be willing to give Haytham sanctuary in Hatra if he so desires,’ stated Pacorus.
‘He would not be safe from Phraates’ assassins,’ I warned.
Pacorus shook his head. ‘What is the world coming to?’
I looked at Gallia. ‘A question I have often asked myself, nephew.’
He excused himself soon after, Gallia also leaving me to spend time with her Amazons, her mood distinctly frosty after my references to her own band of assassins. She would calm down after a couple of hours telling her Amazons how they were the guardians of the empire and the actions of a select few of them beyond the empire’s frontier had made them heroines.
I dismissed Klietas and settled down to write the letter to Phraates. The hour was late, outside there was little sound. Despite the thousands of troops camped around my command tent there was an atmosphere of calm serenity in the air. I began to write on the papyrus, the oil lamp on the table providing light. I informed Phraates of the new demands of Tasius, how I had witnessed the defeat of Silani and Otanes, and that I prayed they still lived. I begged him not to despatch any more forces against the Roxolani and declared my intention to immediately cross the Tigris and engage the Sarmatians before they could do any more damage to Parthia.
