Parthian Dawn

by Peter Darman

  ‘What of Hatra, lord?’ asked Nergal. ‘Lucullus has Nisibus besieged. Are we not to aid your father?’

  Nergal was Hatran himself, and he had family living in the north of the kingdom, cousins and nieces most probably.

  ‘Hatra will have to wait,’ I replied. ‘One battle at a time. We beat the Romans at Dura first, then we can march north to aid Hatra.’

  Domitus, as usual, was toying with his dagger. He looked up at me. ‘And after that?’

  ‘Assuming that Media has not fallen, we will have to leave Farhad to his own devices and deal with Narses. My father can send reinforcements to Media in any case, but Narses is like a viper in the belly of the empire. This time we will kill him, even if we have to march all the way to Persepolis.’

  Domitus put away his dagger. ‘Well, looks like we will be busy for the next few months. Still, it will give my boys something to do, stop them getting broody.’

  ‘On another subject,’ I said. ‘Where is Rsan?’

  ‘He decided to stay in Dura, lord,’ replied Nergal.

  ‘Wouldn’t leave his treasury,’ added Domitus. ‘Could not bear the thought of all that gold lying there without his protection.’

  ‘I did not think he had the courage to stay in a besieged city,’ I said.

  ‘He hasn’t,’ mused Domitus, ‘but his parsimony overcame his fear of being skewered on a Roman javelin.’

  I had to admit that I had grown to like Rsan, and I vowed to myself that he would never see death at the hands of a Roman.

  ‘Friends, we march at dawn.’

  After Nergal, Byrd and Malik had departed, I sat with Domitus until late into the evening.

  ‘We heard that you are no longer lord high general.’

  ‘It seems that Mithridates applied all his energies to announcing to the world that I no longer have Phraates’ favour.’

  Domitus began sharpening his gladius with a stone, using long strokes to make the edges razor sharp.

  ‘There is no hope for Phraates,’ he said. ‘He will meet his death at the end of an assassin’s dagger.’

  I said nothing but feared his prophecy would come true. Mithridates and his mother had Phraates under their spell and so the living heart of the empire was paralysed. I thought of Balas at that moment. Roisterous, brave, big-hearted Balas. He had been right all along. We should have elected my father King of Kings and then we would have had a strong empire, not one riven by division and weakened like it now was. And Balas would still be alive. Or perhaps events would have turned out exactly the same. I prayed to Shamash that the empire would continue and thrive, but did He listen, do gods listen to insignificant mortals? I did not know. I looked at Domitus whetting his blade and smiled to myself. I did know that he and his men would not let me down, and nor would Nergal’s horsemen who were now receiving their orders.

  ‘I had hoped that we would have peace when we all left Italy,’ I said idly.

  Domitus stopped sharpening his blade and looked at me. ‘I think that if you really believed that was true you would have retired to a mountain top and lived out your days as a holy man.’

  ‘No one wants perpetual war, Domitus.’

  He shrugged. ‘Yes you do. It’s the only thing you know, and certainly the only thing I know. We are good at it, and because we are accomplished at it war will always search us out.’

  ‘You make it sound as though it is a living thing, a sort of spirit.’

  He carried on sharpening his blade. ‘We Romans have a deity called Mars who is the god of war. He was the father of Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, and he wears armour, a crested helmet and carries a shield. On the eve of battle I pray to him that he will give me the strength to be a good soldier and will grant me victory. That, or a noble death.’

  In all the years that I had known him I had never heard Domitus speak thus, but it cheered me that that he had a reflective side and was not wholly a man of iron.

  ‘You think Mars watches over you?’

  He snorted at that notion. ‘No. Caring is for women, but I believe that if he is pleased he will protect a soldier so he can watch him again in battle.’

  ‘He did not protect Spartacus,’ I said, thinking to catch him out.

  ‘Spartacus wanted to die that day and Mars granted him a good death. I hope one day that he will extend to me the same courtesy.’

  ‘Not yet, my friend,’ I told him. ‘I need you for a few more years yet.’

  I left him keening the edge of his sword and walked outside. The evening was hot and filled with the smell of leather, the smoke of cooking fires and human sweat. Men sat around in groups talking, playing dice or checking their equipment. Mail shirts were being cleaned of any dirt or, most rare in hot desert climes, rust; swords and daggers were being sharpened and helmet straps examined. Every man was trained in the use of the javelin and gladius, but in battle it was his defensive equipment that saved his life. Roman helmets were very practical items, but I had had the armourers strengthen our helmets with a forehead cross-brace. This made them heavier, but Dura’s legion was Parthian, not Roman, and that meant having to fight hordes of horsemen on campaign. Even Roman helmets could be split by a man on a horse hacking down with a downward sweep of his sword, but the steel cross-brace offered protection against this.

  As I passed near to groups the men stood up, but I ordered them to resume their leisure activities. I did not wish to disturb them; I was just glad to be back among them. I felt relaxed in their company, untroubled by what the enemy might throw at us in the coming days.

  A strapping centurion, vine cane in hand, marched up and saluted. He wore no armour or helmet but his cane indicated his rank, that and his broad shoulders, thick chest and muscled arms. I recognised his face. As I wracked my brain trying to think of his name, he saved me the trouble. ‘Arminius, sir.’

  ‘Of course, forgive me, I should know the names of all the Companions.’

  He grinned. ‘I think you have enough on your plate at the moment to be bothering with names.’

  I tugged his elbow. ‘Walk with me.’

  ‘We are moving out, tomorrow, I hear.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘time to remind the Romans whose country it is.’

  ‘I’m glad. I didn’t hold with…’ he glanced at me.

  ‘Speak freely, Arminius.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t hold with leaving the queen in Dura. A lot of us are very fond of her and we want to get back to the city as quickly as possible.’

  Neither did I, though I knew that at this moment the queen was exactly where she wanted to be, and that it would take more than a Roman army to evict her from her home.

  Chapter 15

  I slept for two hours at most as I waited for the new day. Before dawn I dressed and walked to the stables in the middle of the camp to feed and water Remus. Then I groomed him and snatched a mouthful of porridge and water from the stable hands. The area stank of horse and mule dung. Already centurions were barking orders and their men were dismantling tents. The clatter of cooking utensils, the grumblings of mules and the rustle of men donning their mail shirts and personal equipment filled the air. It takes around three hours for a camp to be dismantled and its component parts packed into wagons, loaded onto mules or carried on the shoulders of individual legionaries. Domitus searched me out and we stood watching his men go about their business with consummate ease. They had done this many times before, those who had fought in Italy with Spartacus had done it for years, and I always liked to watch the organised chaos that transformed a heaving camp into a marching army. The first centuries were already forming into column of march, the men six abreast, in preparation for their journey west. By the time the last contingents had departed from where we were now standing, the legion’s foremost century would have covered around ten miles.

  After an hour Nergal arrived with my cataphracts, who wore only leggings, shirts and helmets. They carried their bows and quivers, but the scale armour for both them and their horses
was carried on the camel train attended by the squires, and which waited to the north. It was a hard life for these boys, up before dawn each day to attend to the horses and then learning the art of war around their everyday chores. But at least they would be spared battle, as their task was to stay in camp, ferrying ammunition supplies to the horse archers and to help tend the wounded. Then, at the end of the battle, they would assist their masters in taking armour off men and horses. If the worst happened and we were defeated, the squires were ordered to flee to Hatra and seek the sanctuary of my father.

  The day would be hot and already the air was filled with dust thrown up by the thousands of sandal-clad legionaries and the hundreds of mules of the legion. The men of Pontus, my second legion, albeit still in transformation, were also in camp. Thus nearly eight thousand foot soldiers were on the move, and riding on their flanks would be a thousand horse archers and five hundred cataphracts. At the bridge we would hopefully rendezvous with Dura’s lords and their horsemen.

  ‘I have scouts riding far ahead, lord, and beyond them are Byrd and Malik,’ said Nergal, ‘but we have heard of no Romans crossing the Euphrates.’

  ‘Hopefully they still believe that Dura’s army is trapped in the city. As long as we are able to cross the river unmolested, then they will have to fight.’

  ‘They could escape west across the desert,’ said Domitus.

  ‘Is it in Roman nature to flee from barbarians, Domitus?’ I asked.

  He winked at me. ‘Absolutely not.’

  At that moment Surena rode up on his horse, which appeared to have been groomed as it looked decidedly better than when he had ridden it into camp. I vaulted into my saddle.

  ‘You stay with me,’ I told him.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To fight a battle, so keep close and stay out of trouble.’

  He smiled at me. ‘Are we going to kill Chosroes?’

  ‘No, Surena, we have others to kill first.’

  It took us three days to reach the bridge across the Euphrates. When we arrived Nergal, Byrd and Malik were already there, together with a score of Agraci horsemen, black-clad warriors carrying round black shields and armed with long spears and curved swords. As the army marched across the stone arches and engineers mapped out the site for the night’s camp on the west bank, I saw dead Romans lying on the riverbank.

  ‘You did well, Nergal,’ I said.

  ‘Not me, lord,’ he nodded at Malik. ‘This was an Agraci victory.’

  I nodded to a beaming Malik. ‘My thanks.’

  ‘It was easy enough. We pretended to be pilgrims and killed them on the bridge. None escaped.’

  Nergal was looking at Byrd. ‘Show him.’

  Byrd shrugged and reached inside his robe. He pulled out a letter, nudged his horse forward and handed it to me. It was stained with blood.

  ‘It was taken off a dead Romani courier on his way to Dura.’

  By the looks on the faces of Byrd and Malik they knew what its contents were. I opened it and read the Greek words.

  To my dear friend Lucius Furius

  I have received reports of your excellent progress at Dura and the happy news that you expect the city to fall imminently. That you have encountered no resistance does not surprise me, as it is well known that the eastern peoples are effeminate and degenerate. It would be most desirable if you could capture the so-called King of Dura and his wife, as their parade through the streets of Rome would be a great political boost and would go some way to counter the popularity that Pompey enjoys within the city.

  When Dura falls I grant you full authority to do with it as you see fit, though I will retain full control of the dues raised from the tolls levied on the trade caravans, and you are additionally entitled to half of the profits from the sale of its citizens in the slave markets, though what price you will obtain for such wretches I do not know.

  Your friend

  Marcus Licinius Crassus

  I stared at the words after I had finished reading them and felt a rage building within me. It was bad enough that a Roman army was encamped before my city, but it was made far worse by the fact that it was led by Lucius Furius, a tribune whom I had met on several occasions in Italy. A red-haired, arrogant individual whom I had bested in battle several times, though he had always managed to escape. And now he was in Parthia, his army no doubt paid for by Rome’s richest man — Crassus. I threw the letter to the ground. Domitus picked it up but he could not read Greek.

  ‘Lucius Furius, that overbearing bastard we fought in Italy, leads the army laying siege to Dura, financed by the wealth of Marcus Licinius Crassus.’

  Domitus walked over and laid a hand on my arm.

  ‘Do not let your anger cloud your judgement. It does not matter who leads that army or who paid for it. You still have it exactly where you want it.’

  He was right, of course, but for the rest of that day and all morning of the next I was sullen and withdrawn, seething that Furius was in my homeland.

  ‘What difference does it make?’ asked Surena, his bow tucked inside a new hide case on his saddle together with a quiver full of arrows. Being inquisitive, he had been asking questions about my time in Italy.

  ‘It just does,’ I snapped, not wanting to discuss the matter.

  ‘The commander of the Roman army is an old adversary of ours,’ remarked Nergal, ‘King Pacorus fought him on many occasions and always defeated him.’

  ‘But now he is here,’ said Surena.

  ‘And now he is here,’ I mused.

  Surena beamed at me. ‘You visited his homeland and now he is visiting yours.’

  I turned in the saddle to face him. ‘Are you trying to be amusing? Because I have to tell you that it isn’t working.’

  ‘Well, if you had the chance to kill this Furius and let it slip through your fingers, you now have another chance to finish him. Seems simple enough.’

  ‘Does it!’

  ‘Well, perhaps this time you won’t be so careless.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and do something useful, Surena. I grow tired of your voice.’

  He dug his knees into his horse and rode away. ‘The truth always hurts.’

  My mood improved, though, when the army halted to await the lords and their followers. This time each one brought around three hundred riders, so that by the time I held a muster of the army we had been reinforced by over six thousand horse archers. The legion numbered four thousand men, the men of Pontus gave us an additional three and half thousand foot, Nergal commanded a thousand horse archers and I had my five hundred cataphracts. That night I held a council of war in the legion’s command tent. The lords, Domitus, Nergal, Malik and Byrd all faced me as I explained the plan for the coming battle.

  ‘We are two days’ march from Dura. Nergal will throw a screen of riders in front of the army as it marches south. I have no doubt that the Romans know that something is amiss, if only because their supply convoys and couriers have not been getting through. So tomorrow we march south and the day after will give battle.’

  ‘How many men do the Romans have, majesty?’ asked one of the lords.

  ‘We have counted three eagles, which means three legions. In addition, the Romans have auxiliaries of foot and their own cavalry. I estimate twenty thousand in total.’

  ‘May be less now, majesty,’ said another lord. ‘We have destroyed their courier bases and killed their garrisons.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter how many they are,’ I said. ‘I intend to break their battle line before they can make their greater numbers tell.’

  They cheered at this statement. I liked my lords; they were like the life they lived — tough and straightforward.

  ‘A fitting plan for the “pitiless one”,’ shouted one on the right.

  ‘The pitiless one?’ I said.

  He beamed at me. ‘That is what people are calling you majesty — Pacorus the Pitiless. They say that one who uses his wife and infant child as bait to lure his enemies to him ma
kes the devils of the underworld shake with fear.’

  My god, is that what people thought of me? I had to admit that I was taken aback, but then they started chanting my name and stamping their feet. Clearly they were impressed by my unintentional ruthlessness.

  Having briefed all of the lords, Domitus and Nergal on our plan of battle before we had even caught sight of the enemy, I was confident of victory. I knew the ground we would fight on and I knew the men I commanded.

  On the march south towards Dura I was in high spirits, until Byrd rode up in an agitated state.

  ‘Horses approaching from the north, big dust cloud. They are many.’

  ‘Romans?’ I was surprised to say the least. I turned to Nergal. ‘Go and find out who they are. If they are Romans you must delay them until the army is ready.’

  As he galloped away to collect his companies I cursed my luck. I had mapped out the coming battle over and over in my head, considering every imaginable possibility and how I would take all into account to fight the battle exactly according to my wishes. And now I risked being undone by an enemy force that had suddenly sprung up from the desert. As Nergal and his horse archers cantered north a sweating Domitus ran up.

  ‘Problems?’

  ‘Yes, it appears that there may be a Roman army behind us.’

  He raised his hand and then raced back to his officers. Then the sound of trumpets resounded across the area as he about-faced his cohorts and their commanders went about marshalling them into battle formation. The cohorts were marched north so that the wagons and mules carrying their supplies would be in the rear of the army if it came to a fight. I deployed the lords on our right flank, next to the Euphrates, while I took my cataphracts out to the left wing. Behind them, the squires struggled with the camels that were burdened with the cavalry’s supplies. The cataphracts hurriedly rode back to the camels to get their scale armour, and then began a race against time to put it on, one squire helping his lord, the other dressing his horse in its armour protection. Surena rode up.