by Peter Darman
‘I have heard that you have opened a new route to Egypt, one which can save me much time,’ he said.
‘That is true.’
He nodded his head. ‘I have also heard that this route goes through territory that belongs to bandits.’
‘I have reached an agreement with the people to whom you allude. You will have safe passage through their territory. You will be able to use their watering holes, and they will offer you protection, subject to the usual customs duties, of course.’
‘Of course. I have travelled through your father’s kingdom for many years, and because you are his son I have decided to hazard this journey. Many eyes are upon me, King Pacorus.’
He was right in that, for if he reached his destination safely then many caravans would follow his. I knew what he was intimating at. His eyes did not blink as he looked at me. I blinked first.
‘Of course this one passage, this passage through Dura, shall be free of all charges, Li Sung,’ I said.
He smiled and bowed his head. ‘You are a most gracious king. I shall tell the emperor of your generosity.’
I allowed Li Sung to quarter his beasts and their valuable cargo inside the legion’s camp that night, and in the morning he moved out two hours after dawn. The previous afternoon I had sent a message to Haytham alerting him of Li Sung’s caravan, but I was still nervous as I watched the line of camels fade into the distance.
‘They will be quite all right,’ Gallia reassured me. ‘There is no reason why Haytham won’t keep his word.’
‘I know, but still.’
I had toyed with the idea sending an armed escort to protect the caravan, but that would be interpreted by Haytham as a sign that I did not trust him. It all came down to trust. Gallia laid a hand on my arm.
‘Have faith, Pacorus. Haytham will keep his word.’
And so he did, for after three days Byrd returned with news that Malik had met the caravan with a hundred warriors and was escorting it to Palmyra. Li Sung had paid the agreed tolls and nothing appeared untoward. Upon hearing this news the stress left me like the waters of a burst dam, and I hugged Byrd in gratitude, leaving him somewhat mortified.
‘I would like to go back and accompany caravan to Egypt, lord.’
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I would like to know that it has reached its destination safely.’
Gallia watched him go the next day.
‘He has his eye on a woman,’ she said.
‘Byrd? I doubt it. He’s a solitary individual.’
‘That’s the image he portrays to the world, but underneath he craves love like all of us. Why else would he want to get back to the land of the Agraci?’
‘To reassure me that all is well with the caravan. He knows how important it is to me.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Did not you see the look in his eyes when he was talking about going back?’
I had no time for such trivialities. ‘I doubt Byrd even notices women, and anyway what sort of woman would want his life?’
Life went on at Dura. Weapons production in the city continued apace, though we established the leather tanning centre a few miles to the south of the city walls, as the stink in the Citadel would have been unbearable. Leather was something we all took for granted, though I for one was ignorant of how it was actually produced. So one day I rode to the tanneries to see for myself how animal skins were turned into leather. The foul odour of dung and urine greeted my nostrils about half a mile away. The overseer, a huge fat man who panted the whole time, showed me round his empire of filth.
The animal skins were first soaked in water to soften them, and then scoured to remove any flesh and fat. Afterwards they were soaked in urine and then scraped with a knife to remove any hair. The material was then bated in huge vats of animal dung mixed with water, the workers using their bare feet to knead the material. After this is was ready to be made into sandals, boots, vests, armour and waterskins. I watched the process until I was about to retch, then hastily thanked the overseer for his valuable efforts and fled the scene.
Far more enjoyable was observing the increasing number of mail shirts and weapons being manufactured. With production in full swing it was possible to fully equip one cohort a week, not only with mail shirts but also helmets, leather vests, swords and shields. The helmets had a reversed brim at the rear, cheek flaps and a forehead cross-brace as added protection against downward sword strikes made by a rider from the saddle. I had to confess that Godarz and Domitus had thought of every eventuality.
Domitus rotated each of his centuries through guard duty at the Citadel, and at the end of their week of standing at the gates and patrolling the walls the men were issued with their new weapons and armour. Then the century, resplendent in its shiny helmets, shields and mail shirts, would march back to camp. It was a clever ploy, for every man actually looked forward to guard duty at the Citadel. In this way the legion began to shape into a formidable-looking body. And every day the men were drilled relentlessly. ‘Train hard, fight easy’ was our motto. Learn drills until they become second nature, so when the fighting starts battles become nothing more than bloody drills.
Gallia and I allowed ourselves no indulgences; we didn’t even have crowns.
‘What use is a crown if your quiver is empty,’ she told me, and she was right.
And then, nearly two months after he had left Dura, Li Sung and his camels appeared out of the western horizon. Nergal himself brought me the news and I rode out of the city to meet the wily old fox. Once his men had watered and fed his beasts I invited him to the palace to eat with us. He sat next to me as a guest of honour as he told us all about his journey.
‘Palmyra is very green,’ he said, picking at the roast lamb that was laid before him, ‘a lush green island that stands like an emerald in the desert.’
‘And you encountered no trouble?’ I said.
He looked at me with narrowed eyes. ‘I know that the Parthians and Agraci have been foes, but you and Haytham are wise, I think. He accepted me as an honoured guest.’
‘And what will you tell your guild of merchants, Li Sung?’
He nodded and smiled, for this was the crux of the matter. He took a sip of his wine. ‘That we have a new route to Egypt.’
I personally led the escort that rode beside Li Sung and his camels across the pontoon bridge and into Hatran territory.
‘I hope to see you again, my friend,’ I told him.
‘I think that will be likely. The Egyptians have a great desire for our products. They pay handsomely for them.’
I did not doubt it. The rolled silk that he had carried in waxed leather tubes on his camels’ backs were literally worth a king’s ransom. And now his camels carried gold on their backs, gold for him and for his emperor. The last piece of the mosaic was now in place, and over the succeeding weeks an increasing number of caravans crossed the bridge at Dura on their way west. Prince Malik visited us often, occasionally bringing Rasha with him. As Gallia had promised, she had her own room in the palace, next to ours, with its own balcony overlooking the river. Malik was greatly interested in the legion and he would spend hours talking with Domitus in his headquarters in the Citadel, the ex-centurion, crop-haired and muscular, sitting opposite the long-haired desert warrior swathed in black robes. To my surprise, Malik could speak Latin, a consequence of his father having had him tutored in Alexandria as a child, and the two formed an unlikely friendship. Malik was always full of questions. He had an enquiring mind, and I thought would make a good king when his time came.
After a particularly hard training session, during which my horsemen had been learning to work with a cohort of legionaries, we had all retired to the legion’s camp to rest the horses and ourselves. I wanted my cavalry to be able to fight closely with the foot, which meant learning to ride between cohorts, reforming behind and between lines of centuries as well as protecting the legion’s flanks. The legionaries were at first nervous about having dozens of horsemen thundering around them, k
icking up clouds of dust and obscuring their view. But confidence grew with practice. Train hard, fight easy.
‘On the open plain your foot soldiers would be swept away by my horseman and camel riders,’ said Malik as he removed the saddle from his sweat-lathered grey horse.
Domitus, his face streaked with lines of dirt and sweat, took off his mailed shirt adorned with silver discs and then unstrapped his metal greaves that protected his shins. He pulled an arrow from my quiver and snapped it in two.
‘A lone man on the plain is helpless, I agree,’ he said to Malik.
Then he grabbed a bundle of arrows from my quiver and handed them to Malik.
‘Now break those.’ He could not.
Domitus took them from him and replaced them in my quiver. ‘You see, strength in numbers. Five thousand men standing shoulder-to-shoulder and in all-round defence cannot be broken by horses or camels. The beasts will not run into a solid wall of shields.’
‘The Parthians can stand off and shoot you to pieces,’ said Malik.
Domitus handed me a ladle of water from a bucket; I emptied it, refilled it and passed it to Malik.
Domitus wiped his face with a cloth. ‘Not if we lock shields in front of us and over our heads. They will run out of arrows before our discipline breaks.’
‘There are some who have broken a Roman legion,’ said Nergal.
Domitus rested a hand on my shoulder and looked straight at Malik. ‘Only a handful, and Pacorus here is one of them. But even he needed a bit of luck.’
‘And a few thousand Thracians and Germans,’ I added.
‘I do not understand.’ Malik was confused.
‘At a place called Mutina in northern Italy,’ I told him, ‘my horse fought all day under a hot sun against a mighty host of the enemy. Though we shot and cut down many, at the end there were still Romans standing in their ranks, undefeated.’
‘I used up all my arrows that day,’ said Nergal, splashing water on his face.
‘We won because the horse and foot worked together, Roman and Parthian tactics working in harmony, so to speak,’ added Domitus.
‘Like you are doing now,’ said Malik.
I nodded. ‘Like we are doing now.’
‘You were the commander of the army at this place called Mutina, lord?’
I shook my head. ‘No Malik, I fought under a great general named Spartacus.’
As the weeks passed, the number of the caravans travelling through Dura increased markedly. In addition the city’s market thrived, so much so that a new one had to be established to the north of the city, just off the road that the caravans used to travel east and west. The harvest was good, with the local farmers producing an abundance of onions, radishes, beans, lettuce, wheat, barley, millet and sesame seeds. There was also a healthy trade in wool and leather. The tolls from the markets flowed into the treasury, as did the taxes paid by the lords of the kingdom whose sons now served in my army. No Agraci raids meant a peaceful frontier, and a peaceful frontier meant crops could be harvested and cattle, sheep, goats and pigs raised and slaughtered for meat and skins. The canals and irrigation ditches of the whole kingdom were owned by the king, whose responsibility it was to build and maintain them, and so whenever one needed repairing or a new one dug, I sent a century of legionaries to do the work. And if it was a large project I sent a cohort. In return the men were kept in the peak of physical condition and more money poured into the treasury, for everyone who drew water from the king’s irrigation system had to pay for the privilege of doing so. The sums were small, but thousands of farmers paid these water duties so the cumulative amount was large.
Rsan was a very happy man, and I realised that he was in fact a conscientious and able administrator who above all was honest. Under him was a small cadre of tax collectors who rode up and down the kingdom on mules, ensuring his system was working smoothly. And the jewels in the crown of the kingdom’s finances were the trade caravans that crossed the pontoon bridge over the Euphrates each day.
With royal finances so healthy I could now raise my cataphracts. I now had two hundred cavalrymen — Gallia’s Amazons were a law unto themselves so I did not count them — requiring armour for both horse and man.
Domitus and his legionaries wore mail armour, but thick rawhide coats that reached down to their knees protected my cataphracts. Split below the waist at front and back to allow the wearer to sit in the saddle, the rawhide was covered from top to bottom with overlapping iron scales. Each scale had to be riveted onto the rawhide, a process that took a week’s work in total. In addition to the scale armour, each rider’s arms and legs were encased in overlapping rings of steel that gave protection against sword and axe blows but allowed full freedom of movement. Helmets were also made of steel, with steel cheekguards, long leather neck flaps and facemasks. A ring for holding plumes topped each helmet. My father’s cataphracts wore open-faced helmets with a long nasal guard, but I wanted my men to ride into battle with their faces covered, so they would look like steel-clad killers sent from the underworld.
Each rider’s horse was also covered in a coat of scale armour to protect his sides and neck, with additional armour on its head.
Once the men and their horses were fully armoured, they spent much time learning to charge holding the kontus — a heavy, thick lance nearly fifteen feet long that was tipped with a long steel point and had a steel butt spike.
Rsan complained that the cataphracts were an expensive drain on the treasury. He was right, for as well as the weapons and armour, each rider required two squires to accompany him on campaign to help him dress in his armour and get on and off his horse, as well as to mend and maintain the armour. In return the squires would learn to become the next generation of Dura’s cataphracts.
Rsan shook his head. ‘The expense is considerable, majesty.’
He was sitting in his office behind his desk, scrolls neatly stacked on his work surface and tally sheets filling the pigeon holes along one wall. I was opposite him, having spent the afternoon in the city at a company of embroiderers, explaining to the owner the design I wanted for the pennants that would be fixed to each kontus, just below the blade. This was to be a red griffin on a white background, exactly the same design on the standard hanging in the throne room.
Rsan was reading the parchment I had handed him, shaking his head as he did so. ‘Pennants, majesty, are extremely expensive. Are they entirely necessary?’
‘Of course, Rsan. I cannot ride into battle without the enemy knowing whom they are fighting. Besides, has not the harvest been most excellent this year?’
‘Indeed, majesty, but the expenditure of your legion, your cataphracts and her majesty’s horse are proving significant.’
‘Her majesty’s horse?’
We were sitting on our bedroom balcony enjoying the late afternoon sun. ‘If you can have your toys, Pacorus, then I can have mine.’
Her hair, framed by the light, had the appearance of molten gold.
‘I have decided to increase the number of Amazons, as several women have come forward who want to serve me.’
I was sceptical. ‘What women?’
She shot me a disapproving glance. ‘You attend to your business and I shall attend to mine. Besides,’ her tone changed to one of the seductress, ‘you want me to be safe, don’t you, to have a bodyguard.’
‘You are protected, there’s five thousand legionaries out there to keep you safe, and threats from whom?’
She waved her hand in the air. ‘It’s been decided now. I ordered Rsan to furnish me with three score of bows and quivers, an equal number of mail shirts and helmets. In addition, I require white cloaks for us all.’
‘Is that all?’
When the cataphracts and Gallia’s increased number of Amazons had been fully armed and armoured, I decided that it would be a good time to visit my parents at Hatra. I asked Godarz to accompany us since I knew he was keen to see his old friend Vistaspa again. I also asked Malik to come.
/> ‘Me, majesty?’
We were eating our evening meal on the terrace overlooking the river. I found the banqueting hall too large for when Gallia and I took our meals together, as did she. The palace terrace was much more comfortable and intimate.
‘Yes, Malik, you. And I wish you would call me Pacorus. We are, after all, friends, are we not?’
‘I fear that the Agraci are not welcome in your father’s kingdom.’
I wrapped some roasted lamb in a pancake and dipped it into a yoghurt sauce. ‘My father welcomes all my friends Malik, have no fear of that.’
‘Who will you leave in charge of the city?’ asked Gallia.
‘Domitus, I think. Command sits easy on his broad shoulders.’
Malik raised his eyebrows. ‘How strange that you would leave a Roman in charge of your city.’
I bit off a chunk of the pancake. ‘Of course, why not?’
‘Malik, Domitus was a slave, like Pacorus and me,’ said Gallia. ‘He fought beside us in Italy and we both trust him with our lives.’
‘Some say,’ I continued, ‘that the Parthians and Agraci are mortal enemies. And yet here we are, sitting together and enjoying each other’s company.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘You are not like other Parthians, majesty, er Pacorus. In fact, you two are unlike any others I have met.’
Gallia looked at him. ‘In what way?’
He shrugged. ‘I know not, only that you have brought peace when there was war, and trust where there was distrust before. Perhaps what they say about you is right.’
‘And what do they say?’ I asked him.
‘That you are beloved of the gods.’
The Citadel was almost bursting on the morning when we left for Hatra. Two hundred mounted cataphracts were in the courtyard, their faces hidden behind steel masks so that only their eyes could be seen, but only up close. From a distance only two black holes stared out. Gallia’s Amazons, now numbering fifty, were formed up in a block on their left, dressed in brown boots, baggy tan leggings, mail shirts and helmets with closed cheekguards. Praxima sat at their head. Behind the cataphracts were four hundred squires, each holding the reins of a camel loaded with food, tools, spare quivers, a tent and the weapons of his master.
