‘No enemy anywhere,’ reported Byrd, ‘land empty.’
‘I’m sure my stepbrother has his spies watching us,’ said Orodes.
‘If they are, then they are very well hidden,’ said Malik.
The land along the riverbank was highly cultivated and populated, but further inland the fields and irrigation ditches gave way to flat, barren desert until one encountered the cultivated land on the western bank of the River Tigris. There were few inhabitants of the land between the rivers apart from nomads.
‘Mithridates will soon learn that we have left Dura,’ I said. ‘The disadvantage of being a city on the Silk Road is that the traffic is an efficient carrier of gossip as well as goods. It doesn’t matter. After all, we want to goad him into action.’
Nevertheless Orodes shielded the army with a thick screen of patrols as we marched south along the Euphrates. As usual each night the army sheltered in a camp surrounded by an earth rampart surmounted by a wall of stakes, constructed after the Roman fashion. Each day the stakes were taken down and loaded onto mules for transportation to the next night’s camp site. It was a time-consuming process to erect and then disassemble these camps, but it ensured that the army and its wagons and animals were safe from any night attack. Not that there was much risk of that – Parthians as a rule did not fight at night.
‘I would not put it past my stepbrother to launch a night attack,’ remarked Orodes as we relaxed in the command tent after another day’s march.
‘No army near,’ said Byrd.
‘I doubt he will even fight,’ added Malik, his black robes matching the tattoos on his face.
‘What was he like, as a child, I mean?’ I asked.
‘Pacorus wants to know if he had horns on his head and a forked tail,’ said Domitus, cramming a biscuit into his mouth.
The biscuits that we took with us on campaign were called Parthian bread, though they were actually rock-hard wafers that reportedly lasted for years. Domitus said that they were excellent for patching shields.
Orodes leaned back in his chair. ‘Cruel, I would say.’
‘Nothing else?’ I asked.
‘Oh, he was spoilt and indulged by his mother, my stepmother, and by father. But then, there is nothing exceptional about that. But he was possessed of an evil nature. He made trouble just for the sake of it and inflicted injury on those who were helpless and could not fight back, slaves mostly. That is why he dislikes you, Pacorus.’
‘Because Pacorus was a slave?’ offered Domitus.
Orodes nodded. ‘Yes. He could not accept that one reduced so low could rise up and become great. Made worse by you having taken the crown of Dura from him.’
‘I did not take the crown from him,’ I said bitterly. ‘I found it lying in the gutter, such was the state he left my kingdom in.’
Domitus continued to munch on his biscuits. ‘Most poetic. Hopefully we can track down the bastard, kill him and get things back to normal.’ He looked at Orodes. ‘No offence meant.’
‘And none taken, my friend,’ replied Orodes, ‘the world will be a better place without Mithridates in it.’
Everyone agreed with him, though if we did end the reign of Mithridates then without a doubt Narses would seize the high crown for himself. But not if he too was dead. One battle at a time.
It took the army ten days to reach the spot that brought us parallel to where the Tigris and Ctesiphon lay fifty miles to the east, and still there was no sign of the enemy. Perhaps Mithridates had abandoned Ctesiphon and fled east to Narses’ capital at Persepolis. I hoped not – it was five hundred miles from Ctesiphon to the capital of Persis. On the other hand, if he had then Narses would have to abandon the siege of Elymais and Gotarzes would be relieved. All these thoughts went through my mind as the army stocked up on its water supplies for the march east across the desert. Fourteen thousand soldiers, two thousand squires and their two thousand camels, over two thousand mules, the drivers of the wagons, a thousand camels carrying spare arrows and their riders and over six thousand horses consumed a lot of water each day. At least it was spring and not summer for the heat of these areas in the hottest months was fierce. Fortunately the camels and mules were hardy creatures. Indeed the mules were capable of tolerating extremes of heat and cold and surviving on sparse rations of food and water and only a few hours’ sleep each night.
After a day of rest we set off east across the desert. Byrd, Malik and their scouts rode far ahead of the army and patrols of horse archers covered our flanks and formed a vanguard. I walked with Orodes and Domitus at the head of the army, the cataphracts leading their horses behind them, the squires tending to their horses and camels.
It was another glorious spring day with just a slight northerly breeze and a small number of puffy white clouds dotting the blue sky. Once again there was no sign of the enemy anywhere and I began to think that we would take the city of Seleucia, which lay on the west bank of the Tigris, unopposed. Directly opposite Seleucia, across the river, was the palace of Ctesiphon. It was a large palace complex filled with treasure but it was of no use to us. All I was interested in was confronting Mithridates. We covered fifteen miles the first day and another fifteen the next and once again we marched across empty desert. The army camped for the night behind its earthen rampart and wooden palisade, the men wrapping themselves in their cloaks as the temperature plummeted after the sun disappeared from the western sky.
Two hours after night had fallen Byrd and Malik rode into camp at the head of their scouts. They thundered up the main avenue that led directly to my command tent. As usual I was in attendance with Orodes and Domitus when the pair burst in, their faces unshaven and their clothes dirty.
‘Mithridates’ army approaches,’ said Byrd.
‘At last,’ grunted Domitus, ‘I was beginning to think that we would have to tramp for hundreds of miles to get our hands around his neck.’
‘How far away is he?’ I asked.
Malik walked over to a water jug on the table, filled a cup and handed it to Byrd. ‘Twenty miles, perhaps less.’
Byrd gulped down some water. ‘Many horse, no foot. There are more of them than we have.’
I smiled. ‘There’s always more of them than us, Byrd.’
Malik filled another cup and drained it. ‘We saw the banner of Mithridates but there was no sign of Narses.’
‘He must still be besieging Elymais,’ said Orodes.
This was better than I expected. My enemies had made the fatal mistake of dividing their forces, allowing me to defeat each in turn. I began to feel very confident.
I walked past Malik and Byrd, clasping their arms in turn. ‘I am in your debt, my friends. You bring good tidings. We should be able to see our opponents. Come.’
We all filed outside and stared into the east. Sure enough, the horizon was illuminated by a red glow – the campfires of Mithridates’ army. At last we would finally settle the differences between us. I slapped Orodes on the arm.
‘Well, my friend, by this time tomorrow your stepbrother will be dead and the empire will need another king of kings.’
‘Narses will take his crown,’ replied Orodes mournfully.
‘After we have dealt with Mithridates we will march east, link up with Gotarzes and go after Narses. He will never wear the high crown.’
‘And then?’ asked Domitus.
‘And then, what?’ I replied.
‘It is no small thing we do, Pacorus,’ said Orodes.
I scratched my head. Orodes was a loyal and brave friend, one whom I held dear, but on occasion he could be insufferably correct. Even after all the treachery of Mithridates and Narses he still clung to his strict interpretation of protocol. I knew that he was appalled by the notion that we had as our objective the deaths of Mithridates and Narses. Perhaps a part of him still believed that bloodshed could be averted and we could all settle matters to everyone’s mutual benefit. I knew this to be fantasy and deep down so did he, but he liked to think the best of everybody
, including his vile stepbrother.
I laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I did not cross the Euphrates lightly, my friend, but the dagger thrust that killed Godarz began a course of events that can only have one end – my death or that of Mithridates.’
Orodes’ black mood did not lessen my sense of satisfaction that we were about to fight Mithridates. I had disliked him ever since our first meeting at the city of Esfahan years ago, a loathing that had been instantly reciprocated. And now I had him. He may be king of kings but Mithridates was also a liar and a coward, and tomorrow all would be settled.
I rarely slept much before a battle and this night was no different. Domitus, Byrd and Malik wiled away the rest of the evening talking of past battles, Domitus as ever sharpening his gladius with a stone. Orodes retired to get some sleep and wrestle with his morality. He was probably the most upright individual in the empire. I excused myself and walked among neatly arranged rows of tents that each accommodated eight sleeping legionaries or a similar number of horsemen. Sentries stood guard and centurions stalked around with their trusty vine canes. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of leather, cooking fires, horses, mules, camels and animal dung. I stood for a moment and closed my eyes and was transported back more than ten years to when I was in Italy with Spartacus. After all this time I still missed him. I reached inside my shirt to touch the lock of Gallia’s hair hanging on a chain round my neck. Together for all eternity.
I continued my tour of the camp, exchanging pleasantries with Companions and talking to other soldiers who were veterans of more recent campaigns. The horsemen were quartered with their animals in the northwest corner of the camp. Many of the Parthians in their ranks thought it most odd that they and their horses should be confined so. The camps of Parthian armies comprised an assortment of different-sized tents arranged in a random fashion. As it was the Parthian custom not to fight at night the notion of surrounding a camp with defences appeared a waste of time and effort. That may be, but no adversary of Dura would ever catch its army unawares by launching a night assault.
When I arrived at the quarters of the armoured horsemen their squires were still busy checking scale armour and helmets. If they were lucky they would get four or five hours sleep before they had to rise to get their masters ready for battle. I also found Surena with a group of his subordinates clustered round a brazier. They stopped their conversation when they saw me and bowed their heads.
‘As you were,’ I said. ‘Surena, walk with me.’
We ambled among other groups of men gathered round fires, indulging in the idle chatter and boasting that most men partake of on the eve of battle. Tomorrow each one would fight secure in the knowledge that they trusted one another and that the man on either side of him in the battle line could be relied on not to desert him. It was no accident of speech that men were organised into companies, for at the end of the day men did not fight for causes, politics or gods; they fought for each other, their companions. And they preferred to fight and die among their friends.
‘I want you to take care tomorrow, Surena. No recklessness on the battlefield, remember your training.’
He beamed at me. ‘Of course, lord.’
His strong frame filled his white shirt and his well-groomed shoulder-length black hair gave him the appearance of a noble Parthian officer, but his eyes flashed with mischief. Despite all the training and education there was still a part of him that was that wild boy of the marshes I had first met years ago.
‘I don’t want you getting yourself killed and wasting all that expensive education I have lavished on you.’
He nodded solemnly. ‘No, lord.’
We walked on in silence for a few moments, men rising to their feet as we passed them and bowing their heads, a few clasping Surena’s forearm. He was a popular figure in the army, not least for saving my life in battle. He had also married an Amazon, one of the few men who had. That earned him much respect, though I never did tell him how close he had come to being hanged on the orders of Gallia for his pursuit of Viper.
‘I was sorry about Godarz, lord, we all were. He was a good man.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, he was.’
He cast me a sideways glance. ‘The queen must miss him terribly.’
Gallia thought Surena cocky and arrogant, though grudgingly accepted that he was brave. Viper must have told him how much Godarz’s death had affected the queen.
‘She does, as do I.’
‘I know what it is like to lose parents. The passing of time heals the wounds but the scars remain.’
He was speaking with a maturity that I did not know he possessed. He was talking of his own parents who had been murdered by the soldiers of Chosroes when he was a boy.
His visage hardened and he grasped the hilt of his sword, a spatha like my own. ‘Mithridates deserves to die for what he has done.’
‘Just make sure you don’t die as well.’
As usual I slept for barely three hours that night and before the dawn announced the new day I was up and preparing for battle. I always slept with my dagger under my pillow. A most ridiculous habit considering I was in the middle of an armed camp and at Dura my bed was in a guarded palace surrounded by thick walls. It infuriated Gallia that our marriage bed had to accommodate a weapon, but as I reminded her she always secreted her own dagger under our bed. Like most of my military equipment, my dagger came from Italy and had once belonged to a Roman centurion I had killed on the night that Spartacus had rescued me. My scale armour hung on a frame at the foot of the bed. It was bulky and heavy but the metal scales and thick rawhide underneath became as light as a feather when the frenzy of combat gripped me. All Dura’s cataphracts wore full-face helmets that covered all of their heads and necks, but I always wore my Roman helmet on the battlefield. It sat on the stool beside the scale armour.
I rose and knelt by the side of the bed, closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would give me the courage to fight well this day. I held the lock of Gallia’s hair in my hand. In that moment I felt a sense of supreme serenity. I opened my eyes and stood up. It was time to fight.
Though each cataphract had two squires to attend him I never bothered with servants, being content to enlist the assistance of anyone to hand. I had been raised a prince in the great palace at Hatra but during my time in Italy with Spartacus I had had no slaves or servants to attend to my every whim. I had become used to preparing my horse and equipment myself and the habit had stayed with me. First I put on my silk vest that felt cool next to my skin, then my leggings and boots. Finally I pulled on my long-sleeved white shirt and stepped out of the sleeping compartment and into the main section of the command tent. Domitus was already sitting at the table munching on some biscuits and salted meat. Did he ever sleep on campaign? The early morning was cool so his cloak was wrapped around him. Outside I could hear the blare of trumpets and officers hurling orders at their men.
Sentries brought us hot porridge from the field kitchens and after acknowledging each other we sat in silence as we devoured the thick, appetising stodge. There was nothing to say. Domitus was not one for idle chatter and on the morning of battle I always liked to mull over the coming clash in my mind.
Some ten minutes later Orodes, Byrd and Malik joined us. Byrd and Malik had already ridden out to reconnoitre the enemy’s positions. I indicated for them all to join us at the table as more hot food was brought from the kitchens. The oil lamps hanging from the tent poles still burned to illuminate the tent’s interior but outside the first rays of the sun were now lancing the eastern sky.
Domitus finished his food and pushed his metal plate aside. ‘Well, what is your plan for today?’
I smiled at him. ‘To beat the enemy, Domitus, as always!’
‘It’s too early to be a smart arse, just answer the question.’
I turned to Malik. ‘You see, lord prince, how my subordinates disrespect me.’
‘Alas, Pacorus,’ replied Malik, winking at Domitus and shoving porri
dge into his mouth with his fingers, ‘there is no respect left in the world, I fear.’
He and Domitus were good friends and would lay down their lives for each other, while Byrd had become like a brother to Malik. Indeed, all of us gathered at the table were brothers, having shared hardships and shed blood over the years.
‘Guard!’ I shouted.
One of the legionaries standing sentry outside the tent appeared and saluted.
‘Go and find Marcus Sutonius and Surena and bring them here.’
He saluted and left. I turned to Domitus.
‘The problem with you, Domitus, is that you have no sense of humour in the early morning.’
‘And the problem with you,’ he shot back, ‘is that you talk too much. You should be more like Byrd, who says very little but what he does say is worth listening to. Isn’t that right, Byrd?’
As ever Byrd cut a dishevelled figure in his scruffy robes, with long straggly hair and unshaven face. But his eyes were alert and his mind quick.
‘Plenty of time to finish breakfast and beat enemy,’ he sniffed. ‘They in no hurry to leave their camp.’
Malik finished licking his fingers. ‘It’s true, we rode right up to the perimeter of their camp and saw very little activity.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘It appears that they anticipate an easy victory.’
‘And they will have one unless Pacorus shares his battle plan with us,’ said Domitus.
The tent flaps opened and Marcus and Surena entered. I invited them both to sit at the table as I rose and waited for them to be seated. The Roman Marcus Sutonius was the commander of my siege engines. He, the hundred men under him and their machines had been captured and enlisted into my service when a Roman army had invaded Dura. At first they served with reluctance but then enthusiastically when they discovered that life at Dura was pleasant enough and infinitely better than serving in the Roman army.
I ordered more food to be brought from the kitchens, which Surena and Marcus accepted greedily. Sitting side by side they presented very different appearances. Surena was tall and powerfully built with broad shoulders and muscular arms, while Marcus, nearly twice his age, was shorter and carried some fat mainly around the stomach on his wiry frame. His short hair was thinning on top.
Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles) Page 9
