Sarmatian

by Peter Darman

  Talib and his men scouted the tracks and forests, searching the pines for any signs of the enemy. Because of the narrowness of the tracks, the army was forced to use several routes at once, the columns joining together to establish camp in the afternoon, long before the sun disappeared behind the high peaks in the west. I comforted myself with the knowledge that most of the forest floors were festooned with a dense undergrowth of brambles, ivy and other creepers. This foliage would not hinder small parties of ambushers but would seriously disrupt large formations of troops. So, we crept on unimpeded through southern Gordyene like a giant crab inching its way towards the city it would eat. Our advance was not entirely without resistance, though.

  On the evening of the fourth day, Vanadzor a mere two days’ march away, Chrestus presented himself at my tent with a man in tow. His companion wore a cloak with a hood and was dressed in scuffed boots and leggings that had seen better days. I wondered why Chrestus had brought a trader down on his luck to me, until the man removed his hood.

  ‘General Hovik,’ I said in surprise.

  ‘A general no longer, majesty,’ he replied, bowing his head to me and Gallia who entered the tent after inspecting the Amazons.

  She repeated my words. ‘General Hovik.’

  ‘He has been searched for weapons, majesty,’ said Chrestus.

  ‘I doubt the general is here to assassinate me or the queen,’ I said. ‘Please sit, general.’

  As he removed his cloak and did so, an orderly poured him wine. Chrestus stood over him menacingly, hand on the hilt of his gladius.

  ‘Take a seat also,’ I told my own general.

  Hovik, whose tunic was in no better condition than his leggings, drained the cup of wine. He ran a hand through his thinning brown hair that was heavily laced with grey.

  ‘Castus sent you?’ enquired Gallia, accepting a cup of wine.

  ‘No, majesty, I am here of my own volition. I will come straight to the point. I beg you not to attack Vanadzor, for the sake of the history of the collaboration and allegiance between Dura and Gordyene.’

  I sipped at my wine slowly, examining his weathered face and tired eyes. I had always respected Hovik greatly, both for his abilities and honesty.

  ‘I know you were dismissed from your position, general,’ I said.

  ‘A black day for Gordyene,’ added Gallia.

  ‘And believe me when I say I regret having been forced by Castus to march against him. But his actions leave me no choice. In the absence of King Ali due to injury inflicted on him by your king’s allies, High King Phraates has appointed me lord high general. I have specific instructions to take punitive action against both Gordyene and its king.’

  ‘Gordyene has a fine army, majesty. Many men will die,’ he said, glumly.

  ‘Castus should have thought of that before he married a mad woman, invited the Sarmatians into Parthia and encouraged them to conquer Media,’ I retorted.

  ‘Is there no way to avoid bloodshed?’ he pleaded.

  ‘None,’ I said harshly.

  ‘General,’ said Gallia. ‘If we were to turn this army around, Castus would interpret it as weakness, which would only embolden him to be rasher in the future, to see himself as the man who could defeat other armies without even having to fight them.’

  He finished his wine and stood.

  ‘Then if you will excuse me, I will be on my way.’

  ‘Stay with us tonight at least, general,’ I offered.

  ‘Thank you, majesty, but no.’ He pulled his cloak around him. ‘When I was a young lad I carried a spear in the army of King Balas, and I was a horseman when Surena freed Gordyene from the Romans. Now my kingdom is in danger again and I will fight beside my king.’

  ‘You will die,’ I said.

  ‘Most likely, majesty, but I will do so with a clear conscience.’

  He bowed, turned and walked from the tent into the night air.

  ‘Do you want him placed under armed guard, majesty?’ asked Chrestus.

  ‘No, see him safely on his way. A loyal soldier should always be given the chance to die for his king.’

  That night I went to bed utterly depressed.

  The next morning, I summoned Haytham to my command tent, which would soon be dismantled and loaded on to a cart as the army continued its march north towards Vanadzor. The sun still shone fiercely but the Kingdom of Gordyene was not as hot as the lowlands of Mesopotamia. The land was fertile and watered by many mountain streams. The forests were packed with animals – brown bears, wolves, lynx and wild cats – and the valleys were home to many settlements. The scouts reported those that lay in our path had been abandoned, their inhabitants having either fled to the capital, sought refuge in neighbouring valleys, or moved to higher ground to wait out the campaign. It saddened me to think Parthians were causing such disruption, which is why I decided to make a direct appeal to Castus.

  The words of Hovik had struck home, especially when he had mentioned Balas and Surena. King Balas had been a close friend of my parents and Surena had been my former squire. Indeed, his life had to a certain extent mirrored that of Klietas. Both had unexpectedly entered my life, both had saved my life, and both left Dura to make their own way in the world. I had been deeply saddened when Orodes had led an army to the gates of Vanadzor to fight a rebellious Surena. But here I was, doing exactly the same. I was determined to break the cycle.

  The prince of Gordyene, just twenty years of age, stood before me in his scale armour cuirass, black leggings and red tunic – the uniform of Gordyene. Gallia stood nearby, also in armour and buckling her sword belt.

  ‘I have decided to give your brother one last chance to save his capital from destruction,’ I told him. ‘I want you to ride to Vanadzor and persuade Castus to relinquish his crown. As I am feeling generous, I will allow him and his bride to depart Gordyene to seek a new home beyond Parthia’s borders. Perhaps the Roxolani will offer him a wagon so he can live among his friends and allies.’

  Haytham looked relieved. ‘I will be delighted to do so, majesty. You are a generous and great king.’

  ‘Make sure my generosity is not abused, Haytham. You are the only one standing between peace and bloodshed.’

  He bowed his head to me. ‘I will not fail you, majesty.’

  He rushed from the tent, eager to be the one to save his homeland from destruction. He had betrayed his brother’s plans to allow the Hatrans to save Nisibus and the north of their kingdom, and that betrayal had weighed heavily on him. I had never questioned him about why he had left his brother’s side, but in truth I was grateful for him doing so for it had prevented Spadines and his Aorsi from taking Nisibus.

  ‘You have made a grave mistake, Pacorus,’ said Gallia.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Castus is made of the same material as his father and grandfather, his blood grandfather. He will see your gesture as weakness and will use it to motivate his people to fight harder. All you have done is thrown more tinder on the fire.’

  ‘You know what we are walking into, Gallia, don’t you? A blood fest, an orgy of killing. The Romans killed Balas and Orodes killed Surena. I do not wish to be remembered as the man who killed another ruler of Gordyene, not least because he is the grandson of the man I loved, and whose son I swore to protect.’

  She walked over and gently cupped my face with her hands.

  ‘You are a good man, Pacorus, an honourable man. But not everyone shares your view of the world or possesses your morals. By his actions, Castus has revealed his true nature. He will refuse your offer.’

  ‘I had to make it,’ I said, rather pathetically.

  She kissed my cheek. ‘I know.’

  The army’s rate of advance slowed as we neared the Pambak Valley where Vanadzor was located. The valley itself is long and narrow and running through it is the river of the same name, a torrent in springtime when filled with melt water, a narrow, fast-flowing watercourse the rest of the year. The maximum width of the valley is around half a
mile, making it ideal for defence, surrounded as it is by tree-covered hills, through which run streams filled with cool, clear water. The southern and eastern regions of the valley are densely forested with beech and oak, the north and west less so but still enough of an obstacle to channel an army into the valley floor. The valley itself is some twenty miles in length, which meant we had to adopt a dense formation to avoid being strung out too much, thus inviting ambushes.

  Chrestus was in an agitated mood, looking left and right up at the hills on either side as we advanced east through the valley to approach Vanadzor from the west.

  ‘It’s too quiet,’ he complained, casting glances left and right.

  Ahead of us were companies of cataphracts, beyond them horse archers, on the flanks more horse archers and behind us the legions marching in two columns, between them camels, carts and mules carrying supplies, plus Lucius’ siege engines. The rearguard was formidable, comprising cataphracts and many companies of horse archers. Scouts hovered around the army like flies around freshly laid dung to detect any signs of the enemy. Thus far, they reported seeing nothing.

  I had informed Akmon and Pacorus of Haytham’s ride to the city with my olive branch, which his brother had approved of. Pacorus had been less committal, still harbouring a desire to see Castus punished. I reasoned with him that removing him as king and sending him into exile was more desirable than reducing Vanadzor to ashes.

  ‘My brother will see sense,’ Akmon assured us.

  ‘Sense and your brother have been strangers up to now,’ said Pacorus. ‘I see little reason for that to change.’

  ‘He has been seduced by Yesim,’ said Akmon, ‘his mind is not his own.’

  Pacorus scoffed at the notion.

  ‘Seduced? A king who allows his wife to interfere in the affairs of his kingdom is clearly mentally deficient.’

  ‘Is not Cia queen of Elymais?’ asked Gallia. ‘Does she not rule that kingdom?’

  ‘On the advice of those more qualified than herself, yes,’ answered Pacorus. ‘And she is glad to be guided by wiser heads.’

  ‘Tell me, Pacorus,’ said Gallia. ‘Do you consider women to be inferior to men?’

  ‘Not inferior, aunt, just not suitable to wield power. The world is ruled by men, after all.’

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Gallia. ‘But who rules the rulers?’

  Chrestus laughed, to the chagrin of Pacorus. The budding argument was halted by Talib galloping up. He bowed his head to me, ignoring Pacorus and Akmon, to the annoyance of the former. He momentarily glanced at Akmon.

  ‘Your presence is requested, majesty.’

  ‘Requested by who?’ I asked.

  ‘Something you should see, majesty,’ he answered evasively. ‘I would not ask if it were not urgent, majesty.’

  I looked at Gallia, who shrugged.

  ‘Very well, Talib, lead on.’

  He turned his horse and galloped away. I followed. We rode through Hatra’s cataphracts and Dura’s horse archers advancing at walking pace, joining up with three of Talib’s Agraci scouts who followed close behind as we rode east at speed. My eye caught sight of something standing upright in the ground in the middle a great patch of grass. I slowed Horns, realising immediately what it was. My heart sank and my head dropped. Talib and his men halted their horses to allow me to approach the totem alone. I halted Horns and slid off his back twenty paces from the pole, peering beyond it to see the Pambak stretching into the distance. Empty. I sighed and walked up to the pole, on the top of which was mounted the severed head of Haytham. Blood was running down the staff and on the prince’s forehead was carved the word ‘traitor’.

  I closed my eyes and despaired.

  Castus would fight. And many men would die before his fate was decided.

  Chapter 18

  I told Akmon in person that his brother was dead. His knees nearly buckled under him, but he managed to retain his footing and dignity long enough to compose himself. Drawing himself up, slightly shaking, he thanked me for informing him Haytham had been killed and told me mourning him would have to wait until the campaign was over.

  Ending the campaign was the chief topic at the council of war held the next morning, the kings and Gallia assembled in my command tent where we listened to Kewab give us a precis of the obstacles we faced. Using wooden blocks placed on the table we ate at and held meetings around, he explained what we already knew, but nevertheless what he wanted to remind us of. He pointed to one block in the middle.

  ‘Even if it was not guarded by strongholds to the east and west,’ he pointed at four blocks on each side of the central block, ‘Vanadzor itself has strong walls and a sizeable garrison. And the palace itself is a formidable citadel.’

  We all nodded, being familiar with the defences of the Pambak Valley, waiting for Kewab to reveal how we would crack those defences, defeat Gordyene’s army and bring Castus to justice.

  ‘There are eight strongholds outside the city,’ continued Kewab, ‘four to the west, four to the east, each pair spaced two miles apart along the valley. The valley itself is only half a mile in width, which is the distance between each pair of strongholds.’

  ‘Each stronghold is self-sufficient,’ said a morose Akmon, ‘with its own water supply, storeroom, stables and armouries.’

  ‘So how do we deal with them?’ I asked.

  ‘We ignore them,’ replied Kewab, much to my surprise. ‘Each stronghold has a garrison of five hundred men.’

  He looked at Akmon for confirmation. The King of Media nodded.

  ‘Castus’ best troops are his Immortals. If he ties up four thousands of them garrisoning his strongholds, he has already fatally weakened his field army.’

  Pacorus stared at the table.

  ‘We too will have to weaken our army to ensure the garrisons of the strongholds to the west of the city do not sally out to strike us in the flanks or rear.’

  Kewab nodded. ‘We need not worry about those strongholds to the east of the city, majesty, and can easily assign dragons of horse archers to guard against what you fear.’

  Pacorus looked up at him. ‘I fear nothing, satrap.’

  I rolled my eyes but Kewab merely smiled.

  ‘I meant no offence, majesty.’

  ‘Carry on, Kewab,’ I said, shaking my head at Pacorus.

  Kewab pointed at the block representing Vanadzor.

  ‘We strike at the capital, we breach its walls using Dura’s siege engines and force King Castus to give himself up. However, I believe he will lead the under-strength Immortals against us before we reach Vanadzor, which will play into our hands and perhaps make the capture of the city unnecessary.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ Gallia asked him.

  ‘Because, majesty, due to the success of Gordyene’s army last year against Rome’s allies in Cappadocia, Castus now believes that army is invincible. He has allowed us to enter his kingdom unopposed, Hatra’s diversion doing its job, but now he has us in a valley where we cannot use our superiority in horsemen to outmanoeuvre him.’

  ‘It would be preferable to meet Castus in the field,’ I said, ‘rather than battering our way into Vanadzor, with all the attendant horrors that will ensue. Whatever our views of Castus, Gordyene is still a Parthian kingdom and one that occupies a strategically important position. If it is fatally weakened, both Armenia and Rome will seek to exploit the situation, of that I have no doubt.’

  We fell into silence, staring at wooden blocks on the table, each of us considering how it had come to this. The appearance of Chrestus diverted us from our thoughts, the general pacing crisply up to me and bowing his head.

  ‘Scouts report the army of Gordyene is approaching, majesty, foot and horse.’

  ‘How may foot and horse?’ I asked.

  ‘All the Immortals, flanked by a few thousand horsemen,’ he replied.

  Kewab was surprised. ‘All the Immortals, are you sure?’

  Chrestus nodded. ‘Can’t be certain, but Talib has campaigned
with the soldiers we are about to fight and he knows them and his job.’

  ‘It would appear you have underestimated King Castus, satrap,’ Pacorus said to Kewab. ‘He appears to believe he can brush us aside like a horse swats away flies with its tail.’

  The King of Hatra stood. ‘He will soon be disabused of that notion.’

  The Durans and Exiles were eager to get to grips with the Immortals, both to decide once and for all who were Parthia’s best foot soldiers, and to avenge the humiliations heaped on their king, and by extension themselves. They marched out of camp with a steely determination on their faces and resolution in their step. Around them, horse archers rode out to form a screen to mask the deployment of the legions, behind which the cataphracts formed up in their companies. In the centre of the rapidly forming battle line was a stand of banners, a coterie of kings, and one queen.

  The Durans and Exiles adopted a formation of five cohorts in the first line and five behind, in what the Romans called duplex acies, with the second line cohorts offset to the left of those in front of them. In this way they covered the half-mile span between the two strongholds, though leaving enough space between the stone citadels and their flanks so any arrows shot from the battlements would fall short. Talib and his men, plus Hatra’s own scouts, were crisscrossing the ground to provide as much intelligence about the enemy as possible. They reported the battlements of each stronghold were filled with soldiers, whetted spear points glinting in the angry blue sky.

  ‘The Immortals will soon fill the gap between the two strongholds to seal the valley, majesty,’ he told me.

  Pacorus was impatient. ‘We should send the cataphracts forward before they do so.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ I told him. ‘The Immortals will merely form shield walls, against which the horses of the cataphracts will be reluctant to charge at. And even if they do, they will head into a blizzard of javelins just before impact which will destroy their momentum.’

  ‘It is worth the risk,’ said Pacorus, angrily.