by Peter Darman
A water buffalo had stopped right in front of me, flicking its tail to swat away the flies that were plaguing it, when suddenly one of the herdsmen raced forward and stabbed Kaspar in the thigh with a knife. The whole column was then assaulted by herdsmen from every direction. The latter, having got close to the horsemen under pretence of controlling their beasts, leapt at Kaspar’s men and slashed and stabbed at them with knives. They vaulted onto the backs of the water buffaloes and then threw themselves at the horsemen, aiming the points of their blades at eyes and throats or plunging their weapons deep into unprotected chests. Soon the air was filled with ear-piercing screams as the assailants went expertly to work. Kaspar’s men were cut down with ease, those who had been dozing or daydreaming being the first to die. A few managed to resist, but the proximity of their attackers meant they could not use their bows and had instead to rely on their swords, and they wore no armour to protect them from the deadly blades of the herdsmen. Neither did the latter, but Kaspar’s men were stationary in their saddles and became literally sitting targets. Most of the Mesenians did not even manage to pull their swords from their scabbards before they were felled. And when they hit the ground their foes were upon them, stabbing in a frenzied bloodlust, turning their victim into dead flesh.
I slapped a huge, stinking beast on its rump, causing it to grunt and amble forward. The wounded Kaspar lay on the ground but I was still tied to Remus’ saddle. I shouted his name and he turned his head; I was desperate for him not to bolt forward and drag me under the hooves of the water buffaloes. I reached him and patted his neck, but his eyes were wild and I could see that the events swirling around us had unsettled him greatly. With my hands tied behind my back I was helpless.
A figure appeared in front of me, a youth no more than eighteen years of age or younger. He was slightly shorter than me but with broader shoulders and thicker arms. He had a square, clean-shaven face with a thin nose. His shoulder-length hair was black and his eyes dark brown, and now they regarded me cautiously. He held a long knife in his right hand that was smeared with blood. He wore a simple light brown shirt and frayed leggings that ended just below his knees. He wore nothing on his weatherworn feet.
The killing had mostly stopped now, judging by the absence of screams and shouting. The boy continued to watch me as several of his companions appeared by his side. They were dressed in similar threadbare clothes and armed with a variety of knives or short swords. Together they looked lean, proficient and pitiless, like a pack of hungry wolves. I had the feeling that my fate was about to be decided. One spoke to the youth whose eyes were still upon me.
‘Surena, a few escaped. They might be back with reinforcements.’ So his name was Surena and I guessed that he was their leader. He turned to the youth who had spoken.
‘Gather up anything of use and get the animals over the river and into the marshes. We leave immediately. Go.’
The youth nodded and disappeared, leaving Surena and four others facing me. Then he spoke to me.
‘What’s your story?’
‘Release me and I will gladly tell it.’
‘Why should I release you?’
‘Because the men you have just killed were also my enemies.’
Kaspar suddenly groaned and Surena looked at him.
I nodded at Kaspar. ‘That man stole my horse, weapons and armour and was taking me to a place of execution. He is my enemy, just as he is yours. Does that not make us allies at least, if not friends?’
Surena looked at Kaspar and then me and then laughed to reveal a mouthful of white teeth.
‘I will give you the benefit of the doubt, stranger.’ He walked over and cut the ropes binding my wrists and neck with his knife.
However old these young men were, they went about the business of stripping the dead and dying of anything that could be of use to them — weapons, food, clothing and horses — with skill and speed. Most of the horses were stripped of their saddles, which were dumped on the ground, and then gathered up into groups. One horse in each group was left saddled and this animal was ridden by one of the herdsmen, who gathered the reins of the others and led them away. By now the water buffaloes were being directed back over the river and into the marshes, the lumbering beasts grunting in disapproval at having to exert yet more energy.
I walked over to the now dead Kaspar and relieved him of my helmet, cuirass, boots, sword and dagger. Surena looked at me in surprise as I put them on.
‘They are mine,’ I said. ‘He stole them from me. That was a well-planned ambush. My congratulations.’
Surena grinned boyishly. ‘We had been watching them all morning, but then a great host of other horsemen arrived, and those men were well armed. I was going to cancel the attack, but then the men whose horses wore armour rode north and the odds were better than even once more.’
I finished pulling on my boots and then put on my cuirass and buckled my sword belt. I felt like a Parthian once again, though many of the goose feathers in my helmet’s crest were dirty and damaged. I then checked over Remus for wounds. He had none.
‘A fine horse,’ said Surena.
‘He’s mine too.’ I looked at him. ‘You are one of the marsh people?’
‘Yes,’ he pointed at the expanse of wetlands over the river. ‘That is my homeland.’
‘Well, Surena, my name is Pacorus and my homeland lies far to the north. I must get back there quickly as it under attack from the Romans.’
‘Who are the Romans?’
I smiled to myself. Would that all of us had never heard the name of that race. ‘A warlike people who kill and enslave others. I have to get back to my family to protect them.’
Most of the horses and water buffaloes were now wading across the slow-flowing Tigris, which was wide and shallow at this spot. Behind them Kaspar’s dead men lay on the ground where they had fallen, flies already buzzing around them. The subordinate of Surena ran up.
‘We have collected all that we can carry.’
Surena nodded. ‘Good. Keep a watch for any enemy horsemen.’
‘What happened to the soldiers who were better equipped than the others, the ones who wore bronze armour?’ I said.
The subordinate eyed me aggressively.
‘He is not an enemy,’ said Surena.
The subordinate, a wiry youth with a long face and brown hair, twisted his mouth in annoyance. ‘They beat us off and got away.’
‘Then I suggest you make your way home speedily,’ I said. ‘Most likely they will return with reinforcements.’
‘They will catch you again if you ride north,’ Surena said to me. ‘We have seen many soldiers marching north these past few days. You should come with us.’
‘Into the marshes?’ The idea did not appeal to me.
He shrugged. ‘It is nothing to me, but how far will you get on a tired horse and in your state?’
He had a point. My back, stomach and chest ached from the kicks I had received, to say nothing of the punishment that had been inflicted on my face, and Remus hardly looked fresh.
‘Very well, Surena, I accept your offer.’
The water buffaloes were herded into the marshes and after a while were abandoned, much to my surprise. I was informed by Surena that they would make their own way to dry land before darkness fell, and until that time would content themselves with wallowing in the water and eating plants. He also told me that they actually preferred the herbs and grasses found on dry land, but that it was dangerous for a herdsman to take his beasts any distance from the wetlands.
‘The soldiers of Chosroes like nothing better than to use us and our animals as targets for their arrows.’
‘Are you not the subjects of King Chosroes?’
He and those immediately around us stopped and turned to look at me, appalled at the suggestion. ‘We are not under the yoke of any king. We are a free people who have lived in these parts for hundreds of years.’
Surena and his comrades were experts at finding a way through
the marshes, keeping to where it was shallowest and avoiding the deep waters. Even so, by the time we reached his village, a collection of large huts built on small spits of dry land, my boots and leggings were soaked. It was late afternoon and very hot and I was plagued by mosquitoes that swarmed around us. But as soon as we emerged from the water to once again set foot on dry land the mosquitoes seemed to disappear.
Surena pointed to small fires burning outside the huts. ‘An old marsh-dweller’s trick. We mix reeds with buffalo dung and when it dries we throw it on the fire. The acrid smoke keeps the flies away.’
And so it did, and as I sat in the sun with my boots drying beside me I found the scene fascinating. Surena and his comrades were storing the captured weapons in his hut, a large structure constructed from bundles of tall, seasoned reeds that formed the walls and were bent inwards at the top to fashion an arched roof. Surena brought over his grandmother to meet me, a small woman with wiry arms who had an iron grip when she greeted me. Her skin was like old leather. She looked at my swollen eyebrow and scuttled away, returning with a handful of fresh buffalo dung that she slapped on the wound and told me to use my hand to keep it in place. I was so shocked that I meekly submitted to her order. It had come to this, a king of the Parthian Empire sitting on a small piece of dry land in the middle of a marsh pressing cow dung into his head.
The swelling around my eye disappeared after two days and I began to regain my strength. The marshes were rich in wildlife, being home to the ibis, Goliath heron and the smooth-coated otter that feasted on the abundance of fish filling the waters. The grandparents of Surena fed me on the fish they caught each day. Surena himself speared a huge barbel that must have weighed around two hundred pounds. He cooked it in the evening. As the sun descended in the sky many people arrived in boats fashioned from long reeds. They gathered around his large fire that crackled and hissed, and then came the water buffaloes. Surena told me that every night they left their wallowing in the mud and water to spend the night on dry land among the marsh people. I found it very strange the first night I spent with these people, being spied on by the great horned beasts just a few feet behind those of us who gathered round the fire that burned day and night. But the beasts were peaceful and eventually I altogether forgot that they were there. This night was no different as I feasted on roasted barbell, tomatoes, watermelon and rice. I sat next to Surena’s grandfather, whose name was Fadil, meaning ‘generous’, and who was just as wiry as his wife, his hands and arms weathered by many years living in these parts, his face tanned and leathery. There was not an ounce of fat on him and his clear grey eyes were very keen. He missed nothing, not least my sword, helmet and cuirass that were lying on reed mats in his hut.
‘You carry a fine sword and wear expensive armour.’
‘The sword and armour were gifts from friends, sir,’ I replied.
‘And your horse is a magnificent beast. Was he too a gift?’
‘No, sir, him I acquired when we stormed a city a few years ago.’
He refilled my cup of water from an earthen jug. Around us fifty or more men, women and children sat on the ground eating their evening meal. ‘Surena says that you were a prisoner of the soldiers of Chosroes.’
‘That is correct.’
He nodded. ‘Why were you their prisoner?’
‘I was under the impression that their master was going to help me, but he betrayed me instead and has joined the ranks of my enemies.’
His eyes fixed me, unblinking. ‘Their master being Chosroes, can I assume that he was once a friend of yours?’
I was aware that these people were the enemies of Chosroes and that I would do well to disassociate myself from the King of Mesene, but I saw no merit in lying. And I was also aware that the other conversations were dying down and that everyone was looking in my direction, not least Surena.
‘There was a time when I counted Chosroes as an ally, yes.’
Surena and several of his friends jumped up amid howls of protest.
‘You have deceived us,’ he shouted. ‘You told me that Chosroes was your enemy.’
I suddenly felt very alone and outnumbered. I stood and held up my hands to him. ‘I told you the truth, Surena, Chosroes is my enemy.’
His subordinate, the youth who had expressed misgivings about me after the ambush, was enraged. ‘We should kill him now. I knew he was not to be trusted.’
There were growls of agreement from the other young men present. The grandfather looked at Surena amid the commotion. ‘You are spoiling my meal.’
These simple words were enough to cool Surena’s wrath, who looked sheepishly at his grandfather, who in turn looked at each of those who had been calling for me to be punished, daring them to challenge him. None did. And where there had been loud voices and shouting, there was now silence. Fadil looked at me.
‘Be seated, Pacorus, please. Continue with your meal.’
‘I do not wish to offend you or your people, sir.’
He smiled. ‘You do not offend anyone. Your manners are impeccable, unlike those of some of my family and their friends.’
I sat back down beside him, though I had now lost my appetite.
The old man pointed at Surena for him to be seated as well. ‘Tell me, grandson, when you first met Pacorus, did you think he was a common bandit who was being taken away to be executed?’
Surena shrugged and looked uninterested. His grandfather continued.
‘Did you not see the quality of his sword, his armour or his helmet? At the very least you must have known that his horse is an exceptional creature.’
‘I’ve seen horses before.’
‘Sometimes, Surena, your wits are as dull as those of a water buffalo. Even a short conversation with Pacorus reveals that he has received an education. I warrant that he is of noble blood, is that not correct, Pacorus?’
‘You are correct, sir.’
He really was quite perceptive and I knew it would be useless to try to deceive him.
‘I am the King of Dura Europos, a city that lies to the north of these parts, on the banks of the Euphrates.’
There were a few growls and also some gasps.
‘I knew that you were different,’ said Fadil. ‘Well, the mystery is now solved.’
‘You must leave,’ snapped Surena. ‘We do not have kings here. They are not welcome.’ There were murmurs of agreement around him.
His grandfather put down his platter of food and stood up. ‘I did not realise that ill manners had become a common custom among our people. Since when did the Ma’adan, the ancient people of the marshes, turn away those who need our help? Since when did we show disrespect to our guests, and turn on those whose only crime is to be different from us?’
‘I will leave in the morning,’ I said. ‘I have no wish to out-stay my welcome.’
‘You are our guest, Pacorus,’ said Fadil with firmness, ‘and can stay as long as you wish.’
Surena looked annoyed and the others cast down their eyes to avert the old man’s stare. As in our own culture, the old were accorded great respect among these people.
The rest of the evening passed without further discomfort. Fadil and his wife asked me many questions about my background. I told them how I had been raised in Hatra, captured by the Romans, fought by the side of Spartacus in Italy and returned home with Gallia. I also related the events of the recent civil war and the Roman invasion of Parthia. As I told my tale I was aware that others quietly moved closer to hear what I was saying, even Surena and his wild young followers. And at the end of my talking I had the impression that the hostility towards me had lessened somewhat. Certainly Fadil and his wife were delighted by my tale, and as I yawned and longed for my bed they were still full of vim.
‘You see, Surena,’ remarked his grandfather as he tossed more dried buffalo dung on the fire, ‘Pacorus was once a slave and fought in an army of slaves. Have you been a slave? I think not. And you take exception to him because he is now a king. Surely the l
esson to be learnt here is to judge people on their own merits and not condemn them because of their race or position in life. You condemn Pacorus only because he is a king like Chosroes, but does not the King of Mesene make the same sweeping assumptions about the Ma’adan? Are you not guilty of the same prejudice?’
Surena, clearly out-thought by his grandfather, still maintained an air of defiance. But at length he spoke. ‘I did not mean to insult you, Pacorus. I apologise.’
‘I accept your apology,’ I said.
‘Tell me,’ he replied, ‘this Spartacus of whom you have spoken. What was he like? Why did men follow him?’
‘What was he like? He was like you, full of fire and rage against injustice. But he had a vision of a world free of slavery where all would be equal. He was also the greatest general who has lived in recent times.’
My answer seemed to please him and yet I did not say the words to flatter him. I sensed that he had a sharp mind and an appetite to learn, though his youthful temper was not far from the surface.
‘I think,’ mused his grandfather, ‘that you could learn much from Pacorus.’
My wounds healed quickly, and two days later I made ready to leave the village. The horses that had been captured in the ambush had already been taken away, to the west I was informed, where they would be traded to the Agraci in exchange for weapons. The marsh people were expert in the use of the spear, which they used to catch fish from their reed boats, and I had seen at first hand how they could kill at close quarters with swords and knives, but they had little proficiency when it came to using the bow. This put them at a disadvantage when it came to fighting the soldiers of Chosroes.
