Companions (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  ‘You let them go, Pacorus?’ asked Orodes.

  ‘If we get to the palace and kill or capture Sporaces then they will lay down their weapons readily enough, my friend.’

  ‘It would be preferable to kill him,’ remarked Yasser.

  We moved out of the square at speed, the archers deployed outside the square on all sides to shoot any enemy stragglers or enemy bowmen lying in wait. There were none. We marched through the temple quarter, through the Sanctuary of Apollo Delphinios, a marvellous open-air enclosure with an altar in the centre and surrounded on three sides by a portico. The sanctuary was empty but the enclosure was littered with discarded shields that showed the path the Sakastanis had taken. We followed the trail, passing the Temple of Nike, a colonnaded structure constructed on an artificial terrace and accessible via two rows of steps on its north and south sides.

  Beyond the Temple of Nike, on a stretch of brown dirt in front of the squat and rather austere palace, stood a phalanx of soldiers. Most were from Sakastan but in the centre was a small block of soldiers wearing bronze scale armour, bronze helmets with yellow plumes and carrying rectangular wicker shields, on which had been painted Simurgel motifs. Obviously from Persis, they were armed with thrusting spears and attired in black tunics and leggings. They presented a most professional appearance but there were few of them, perhaps a hundred at most.

  I did not have to issue any orders as Arminius, Drenis and the two other centurions barked their commands and the centuries deployed into attack formation. Each one formed into eight ranks, each one of ten legionaries. A hundred archers moved to stand behind the centuries while the Amazons split into two groups to cover our flanks. Gallia commanded one flank, Praxima the other. The latter was having the time of her life back among those she had commanded.

  I wandered to stand in front of my men, Nergal, Orodes, Malik and Yasser accompanying me. Across no-man’s land a figure also pushed his way through the enemy ranks, a man mountain with a wild beard and thick black hair. His head appeared too small perched on his over-sized shoulders, as did the sword with a curved blade that he held in his bear-like paw.

  ‘I would speak with your commander,’ he bellowed in a deep voice.

  ‘Tell your archers to kill him first,’ advised Yasser, licking his lips at the prospect of more slaughter.

  I walked forward a few paces. ‘Who dares to address the conquerors of Charax?’

  Behind me the legionaries rapped their gladius hilts on the inside of their shields.

  Narses’ human mountain took several steps forward, his huge boot-encased feet kicking up dust as he did so.

  ‘I am Sporaces, lord of Charax and loyal servant of High King Narses.’

  He too was dressed in black, indicating that like the soldiers similarly attired behind him he was also from Persis.

  I walked closer to him, my sword in its scabbard while he brandished his weapon.

  ‘High King Narses? Has he murdered Mithridates just as Mithridates murdered his own father?’

  He looked at me with callous brown eyes. ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘It is customary,’ I said casually, ‘that when two commanders meet neither unsheathe their swords, which not only could be interpreted as a threat but is also most impolite.’

  He sniffed contemptuously but did slide his sword back in its scabbard.

  I smiled at him and removed my helmet. ‘I am Pacorus, King of Dura, son of King Varaz of Hatra and sworn enemy of Mithridates and Narses.’

  ‘King Pacorus,’ he growled. ‘So, you are the king killer I have heard so much about. I had been told that you had the biggest balls in all Parthia but you are smaller and thinner than I thought you would be.’

  ‘That is because you are taller and fatter than you should be,’ I replied. ‘What do you want?’

  He stepped back a couple of paces and spread his arms.

  ‘What do I want, king killer?’ he shouted loudly so everyone could hear. ‘I wish to challenge you to single combat so we can fight man to man, as in the old days, to decide which of us will rule this miserable collection of mud huts.’

  His men cheered and raised their weapons as the Durans and archers opposite remained silent.

  Sporaces pointed at me. ‘So what is to be, Pacorus of Dura, will you show the world that you are a man or will you hide among your warriors with your sword sleeping in its scabbard?’

  He was perhaps nine inches taller than me, probably weighed twice as much and his long arms would give him a greater sword reach. But I was fast and agile and big men carrying too much bulk always tired quickly in a fight. Besides, I was Pacorus of Dura, former Lord High General of the Empire, and had never lost a battle. I did not intend to do so now.

  ‘I accept your challenge,’ I said quietly.

  He moved towards me, a gesture interpreted as a threat by Gallia and Praxima who had walked forward from their respective wings to stand less than twenty paces behind me. They pulled back their bowstrings and aimed their arrows at Sporaces.

  The big man was outraged. ‘What’s this? Has Pacorus of Dura no control over his soldiers?’

  I turned and angrily gestured for my wife and her friend to lower their bows. Sporaces grunted and removed his massive scale armour cuirass, a thick coat of hide on which had been stitched overlapping rectangles of iron. He shouted at one of his men who sprinted forward and caught the armour as Sporaces threw it to him. Narses’ pet looked at me.

  ‘I will give you five minutes to say your goodbyes to your men.’

  He walked back to his troops who began shouting and cheering once more. I ambled back to Orodes and gave him my helmet. Gallia and Praxima ran to join me.

  ‘This is a bad idea, Pacorus,’ said the prince.

  ‘We can shoot them to pieces,’ urged Gallia. ‘He knows his position is a weak one, that’s why he challenged you.’

  ‘Gallia is right, Pacorus,’ said Nergal. ‘The archers can win this battle on their own.’

  I beckoned Surena forward and handed him my leather cuirass when he arrived.

  ‘Let me fight him, lord,’ he grinned. ‘I fought bigger men than him in the arena.’

  Gallia rolled her eyes as Praxima pointed at Sporaces.

  ‘I can put an arrow through his eye from here. Just give me the command.’

  Suddenly Drenis and Arminius had joined us, both shaking their heads.

  ‘He’s even bigger than Acco,’ observed Drenis, ‘and you know how that ended.’

  ‘You are a great king and warlord, Pacorus,’ said Arminius, ‘but you’re no brawler.’

  ‘Enough!’ I commanded. ‘I would remind you that I am your king, not your slave. It is reassuring that you think so little of me that you believe I cannot defeat that big barrel of blubber. Just because he is fat bastard you think he has supernatural powers. But he will tire quickly in this heat and big men are slow and unwieldy.’

  I looked at Drenis. ‘He’s bigger than Acco, you are right. But Acco was trained for the arena and this idiot only knows how to butcher and torture unarmed civilians. The fight will be over in the blink of an eye.’

  I unbuckled my belt and handed it to Surena, all of them cowered into a sullen silence. Even Gallia was, for once, lost for words. She knew, as did the others, that we stood before our soldiers and it was unseemly for leaders to bicker in front of those they led. I pulled off my sweat drenched tunic and handed it to Surena, pulled my sword from its scabbard and cut the air with it. Orodes stepped forward and offered me his hand.

  ‘Shamash be with you, my friend.’

  Nergal and Praxima embraced me while Malik and Yasser slapped me on the back. Drenis and Arminius wished me good luck, trying to be optimistic as they did so. Gallia pulled off her helmet so I could kiss her on the lips.

  ‘Come back to me,’ she whispered.

  I looked into her blue eyes. ‘I always come back.’

  Then I went to rid the world of Sporaces.

  The two sets of soldiers focus
ed their attention on us as Sporaces cut the air with his sword. His black tunic was like a tent so vast was his frame but I comforted myself with knowing that I was quicker than him. He stopped slashing the air with his weapon and gazed down at me.

  ‘When I butcher you, king killer, I will allow your soldiers to depart Charax. I am a man of mercy. I will give you a quick, merciful death and I will allow your men their lives, so merciful am I. You agree to these terms?’

  I laughed. ‘You know that my archers can cut down your men where they stand, just as they did in the agora. And my swordsmen can slice up what is left. But I tell you this, Sporaces, when you are lying dead on this parched earth I too will show mercy and allow your miserable soldiers to crawl back to Persis.’

  The boasting and insults were all part of a dreary, pre-battle ritual that many men took delight in but I found tiresome. I gripped my spatha tightly and looked up at the burning sun in a cloudless sky, asking for Shamash’s protection in the coming duel. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of small groups of civilians, curious men and women a few hundred paces away that had ventured from their homes or temples to see what was happening. They would have seen two groups of soldiers standing motionless a hundred paces apart, with two individuals at the centre point of no-man’s land also not moving.

  ‘The time for talking is over,’ growled Sporaces who stepped forward and swung his sword at my head.

  I jumped back and then leaped to the left as he came at me with a whirl of sword strikes. Alarm coursed through me as I realised that not only was he very fast with his sword strokes but also amazingly light on his feet. I ducked, feinted left and right and tried to dance around him in an effort to avoid the scything sword strikes, but every time I thought I had out-manoeuvred him he deftly pounced to reposition himself to face me. I thrust my spatha forward but he nimbly jumped back before aiming an overhead blow at my head that I avoided with difficulty, ducking down and to the left and feeling the rush of air against my right ear as his blade missed me by a hair’s breadth.

  I slashed at his mid-rift but his blade parried mine and brushed it aside. In an instant he flicked his wrist to deliver a wicked back-slash that cut my silk vest and drew blood. There was a groan from the ranks of the Durans and archers as I retreated a few steps and the Sakastanis cheered at their leader having drawn first blood. I ignored the noise and comforted myself with the fact that Sporaces, for all his aplomb with a sword, would soon tire.

  Except that he didn’t. In order to gain an advantage I launched my own series of attacks, delivering a succession of controlled strikes aimed at inflicting a debilitating wound on Sporaces that would slow him down. But he parried each strike with his sword, either that or moved his great bulk aside or backwards so that I struck only air. The result was that I ended up panting with sweat running down my face. It ran into my eyes, stinging them, as Sporaces screamed and came at me again, trying to slice open my legs with downward strikes or cut deep into my head and shoulders with overhead blows. I caught one of the latter on the flat of my blade and held his weapon momentarily, before he punched me in the face with his left fist.

  I staggered back, pain like red-hot needles shooting through my brain as blood began to pour from my broken nose. I shook my head to regain my sight as Sporaces turned to his men and roared. The soldiers roared back at him in triumph, while from the Durans there was only stunned silence. I felt sick and weak and knew that my life would be over unless I could extricate myself from this dire predicament.

  Sporaces was more confident now, circling me like a lion hunts a wounded prey. His face and neck were smeared with sweat but his breathing was not as laboured as mine and he had no blood on his clothes. He suddenly sprang forward, his sword point aimed at my belly. I leaped back, brushed aside his blade with my spatha and flicked the latter back to cut Sporaces’ chest. But like a cat he sprang back so my blade missed and then ran forward, raised his knee and smashed it into the side of my ribcage. The blow sent me sprawling to the ground and caused me to let go of my sword. A sharp pain went through my left side and I grimaced as I attempted to haul myself up. I was momentarily blinded as the sun glinted off something bright and shone into my eyes.

  I blinked, spat dirt from my mouth and saw that Sporaces was standing over my sword. The sun glinted off something again. It was Orodes’ silver scale cuirass.

  Sporaces smiled, placed a boot under my spatha and flicked it up towards me. I reached out to catch the grip and winced as pain tortured my left side.

  ‘Strike when the silver man glitters.’

  I heard Julia’s words as clearly as though she was standing beside me. I laughed because it was laughable. My pride had led me to this point. I had thought to emulate Spartacus and been found wanting and now I faced my just punishment. The sun caught Orodes’ armour once again.

  ‘How many signs do you want, Pacorus?’

  It was his voice behind me. The man I had followed and loved like a brother. I spun round to see him but there was no one. I gripped my sword and understood. I turned to face Sporaces, who in his conviction that he had defeated me was more measured in his movements. He casually stepped forward as I ducked left and slashed at his hamstring. He avoided the blow with ease but it turned him. And I turned him again when I sprang forward and once more tried to slash at the back of his legs, the swing weak as strength drained from me. I was unsteady on my feet. He began laughing at my miserable attempts to wound him, turning once more as the sun reflected off Orodes’ cuirass and into Sporaces’ eyes. He squinted and was, for a second, blinded. But a second was all I needed as I summoned my last reserves of strength and hurled myself forward, grasping my spatha with both hands, putting all my weight behind the thrust. The point smashed a rib as the blade entered Sporaces’ chest to move down into his lung and guts.

  I moaned with pain as I fell to the ground, Sporaces standing over me. But he did not move. Like a statue he was perfectly still, most of my sword embedded in his body. I staggered to my feet as the Durans, Amazons and horse archers gave a mighty cheer and the Sakastanis fell silent.

  I collapsed at the same time that Sporaces hit the ground, catching sight of a figure attired as a Thracian gladiator standing on the dirt as I lapsed into semi-consciousness. I tried to speak as he clasped his sica to his chest in salute. The bronze helmet hid his face but I swore I recognised the frame and the stance.

  ‘Lord,’ I whispered as Orodes rushed to my side as a debilitating weakness and nausea embraced me. I looked up at him as I felt myself sinking into unconsciousness.

  ‘The enemy are to be spared their lives and sent back to Persis,’ I mumbled before all was dark.

  I awoke in a spacious, airy room that had white painted walls and ceiling. Gallia was holding my hand and seated beside the bed as feeling began to return to my body.

  She smiled, leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Like I have been trampled on by a herd of bulls.’

  My chest and belly were bandaged and a dressing had been applied to my nose, which felt very sore.

  ‘The doctors say that you will make a full recovery,’ she told me, ‘though you will be sore for a few weeks.’

  She shook her head. ‘You should have let us shoot the enemy to pieces. Ephesus should have taught you that you are not a gladiator. You are lucky to be alive. The gods must have been watching over you.’

  ‘Someone was watching over me,’ I smiled, grimacing as I disturbed my broken rib.

  We stayed a week in Charax, during which time the enemy soldiers were repatriated back to Persis, minus their weapons and armour. As I recovered in the palace I received a delegation from members of the city council, or what was left of them following the rule of Sporaces. A lean, severe man named Patreus had been elected by them to be city leader. After he had conveyed the people’s gratitude for rescuing them from the despotism of Sporaces, he informed me that Charax would no longer be ruled by kings, ei
ther home-grown or sent from abroad.

  ‘We will revert to the ancient Greek system of demokratia,’ he told me.

  We were both seated in a rather splendid reception room in the north of the palace, overlooking a well-tended garden of miniature date palms arranged in rows. I sipped at a cup of wine.

  ‘What is demokratia?’ I enquired.

  ‘An ancient system whereby the city’s citizens meet to elect their leaders.’

  I laughed, causing a sharp pain in my ribs. ‘What a strange idea.’

  ‘It is one of our most cherished ideals,’ he said, ‘the idea that free Greeks shall choose their leaders and their destiny.’

  I had no knowledge of this demokratia but I knew what it was to be free and enslaved and in all conscience I could not deny the people of Charax that which I held most dear. So my plan regarding Cleon and Hippo was in tatters and the people of the city would elect their own supreme commander, which turned out to be Patreus. I also discovered that the ancient Greek notion of freedom was very qualified, only freemen being allowed to choose their leaders; women, foreigners and slaves being forbidden to vote. After his election I visited Patreus and managed to convince him to make Cleon and Hippo citizens of the city. I had told them that they were welcome to return with me to Dura but they were both besotted with Charax, a city of free Greeks far from the Romans, and so they stayed.

  As did Athineos. Like the pirate he was he managed to sell the warship he had purchased, with my money at Gerrha, to the city authorities, assuring them that with minor repairs it could be the flagship of the Charaxian navy. With the profit he made he purchased a merchant vessel and named her The Cretan. I went to see him on the day we left. He stood on the deck of his new ship and wore a mischievous grin as he shook my hand.

  ‘The last time we said farewell to each other,’ he said, ‘you were a fugitive and I was a successful captain. Now you are a king and I am living on my wits.’

  I looked around at the splendid vessel and its pristine mainsail. ‘I’m sure you will survive, Athineos.’

  He smiled, a glint in his eye. ‘So am I.’