Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Darman, Peter

‘It would appear so,’ I replied. ‘Did we lose many men in the fight earlier?’

  He spat out a fly that had flown into his mouth. ‘A dozen killed, five wounded. The ballista shattered their morale before we even hit them.’

  ‘How are the wounded?’ I asked Alcaeus.

  ‘Those who can walk are accompanying the wagons that are carrying those too sick to use their legs.’

  He had no helmet or mail shirt and carried only his medical bag slung over his shoulder.

  ‘You should get a mail shirt and helmet,’ I told him. ‘It’s quiet now, but soon the enemy will send their horse archers against us.’

  ‘In which case,’ he replied, ‘I shall shelter under the shield of a legionary.’

  ‘I would take Pacorus’ advice,’ said Domitus. ‘When they begin shooting the air will be thick with arrows.’

  ‘In that case, Domitus,’ quipped Alcaeus, ‘I shall be able to work in the shade.’

  ‘I could order you to wear a helmet,’ I said.

  He screwed up his face. ‘And I could refuse, but I am touched that you are both so concerned about my welfare.’

  He smiled and then walked off back to his medical wagons.

  ‘He’s impossible,’ grumbled Domitus.

  ‘But a good doctor,’ I replied.

  It was as if the enemy had disappeared as thousands of hobnailed sandals tramped across the barren ground. The thousands of mules grunted and the oxen pulling the wagons containing Marcus’ siege engines lowered. Only a few puffy clouds filled the sky now and the sun was beating down on us and heating the earth. I was beginning to think that our trek would be unmolested when from the south I heard the infernal din of kettledrums and the sound of horns. Then the earth began to shake and I knew that we were under attack.

  Narses sent in his horse archers first, a great torrent of horseflesh that swept around us and unleashed volley after volley of arrows against the square. The drivers of the wagons dived for cover under their vehicles, while the walking wounded sought shelter beneath the shields of the legionaries. Parthians use a variety of arrowheads, ranging from leaf-shaped to those with grooves for the application of poison, but the most common variety is the bronze three-winged arrowhead. And it was these that were loosed against the edges of the square.

  At first horsemen rode parallel to each side of the square, shooting arrows as they did so. Discharging up to five arrows a minute, each side of the square was peppered with thousands of arrows in a matter of minutes. For those on the receiving end of this barrage it was truly nerve-wracking, arrows slamming into shields like raindrops hitting a tile roof in a thunderstorm. It was an impressive display of mass archery and against typical Parthian foot soldiers would have been devastating. Unfortunately for Narses he had sent his horse archers against men who knew how to counter his tactics. Before the first charge of his horse archers had been made the trumpets had sounded a halt and then signalled to defend against arrow attack. The men deployed on each side of the square as one all knelt down. The first rank formed an unbroken shield wall while those behind lifted their shields above their heads to form a forward-sloping roof of leather and wood to counter the arrow rain that fell on them. The front ranks also rested one end of their javelins on the ground and held them at an angle of forty-five degrees to present a line of points to deter the enemy horsemen from getting too close.

  We all knelt and prayed as whooping, cheering and screaming horse archers emptied their quivers against us. Each shield weighs over twenty pounds and it was testimony to the strength and stamina of the Durans and Exiles that they were able to hold them in place while the horse archers lapped around the square. Each leather-faced shield was identical – three layers of wood glued together with the grain of each layer fitted at right angles to the preceding layer to make it harder to cut through. Wooden reinforcing strips added to the back further increased its defensive capabilities.

  The first attack was noisy, frightening and largely ineffective and covered us all in choking dust. There was little time to celebrate, however, as more horns calls announced a second assault against us. This time the horse archers ignored the wall and roof of shields on each side of the formation and shot their arrows high into the sky so they fell inside the square itself. The central area of the square was empty but around its edges were grouped the wagons and the mules pulling them. Once more arrows thudded harmlessly into shields but others hit mules and caused a dreadful carnage. We lost four hundred animals in that second attack, some killed outright and others being grievously wounded as they were struck by a number of arrows. Some went mad with the pain and bolted in a vain effort to escape their tormentors, succeeding only in colliding into wagons in front of them and suffering more wounds. A few ran into the rear of the cohorts and nearly caused the formation to rupture. Only a few quick-thinking centurions saved the day, using their swords to kill the beasts outright and stop their rampage.

  The square held but it required great efforts on the part of the drivers, those who hadn’t been crushed under the wheels when their beasts bolted, to get their animals under control.

  The enemy horse archers retreated to regroup and fill their quivers, giving us time to take stock of the situation. I called a meeting of the senior officers to ascertain whether we could continue the march. Domitus was not optimistic.

  ‘As soon as we start marching again they will be back.’

  ‘We can’t stay here forever,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps we may march through the night, majesty.’

  Kronos, the man who had spoken, was the commander of the Exiles. Having just entered his forties, he had spent fifteen years fighting under King Mithridates of Pontus against the Romans and had been one of the first to present himself at Dura following Rome’s victory over that land. Thereafter thousands of his countrymen had made their way south from their homeland, through Armenia and into my father’s kingdom. Many made their way south on hearing that the King of Dura, the man who was the enemy of Rome, was raising an army and needed veteran soldiers.

  ‘That is not a bad idea, Kronos,’ I replied. ‘Parthians do not like fighting at night. Perhaps we can steal away under cover of darkness.’

  Domitus was not convinced. ‘Except that Narses will surround us with his army. As soon as they realise we are on the march they will be alerted and will be standing to arms, regardless of whether it is night or day.’

  Such was the contempt that everyone had for Mithridates that no one mentioned his name, despite the fact that he was technically in command of the enemy horde. No one liked Narses but they at least respected his military ability.

  ‘If they try the same tactics as the last attack,’ said a concerned Marcus, ‘we will undoubtedly lose more mules and oxen, which means we will not be able to move all the wagons.’

  ‘Our priorities,’ I told him, ‘are the wounded, water and food. After that, your siege engines and the spare weapons. The tents, tools and spare clothing we can do without if need be.’

  ‘How much water do we have?’ Domitus asked Marcus.

  ‘Enough for five more days.’

  We all looked at him. Unimpeded we could march a hundred miles in that time. Surrounded and under constant attack we would be able to cover barely half that distance, probably less.

  ‘It would be best to drain the dead mules of their blood so we can drink it,’ remarked Kronos.

  Compact and muscular, Kronos was actually shorter than Domitus but his lack of height did not detract from his martial bearing nor his great intelligence.

  ‘A veritable feast for us all,’ remarked Alcaeus dryly. ‘Unfortunately I will need additional water to keep the wounds of the injured clean, Pacorus.’

  I drew the meeting to a close. ‘Very well, we will drink dead mule blood and cook their flesh tonight. Keep the situation regarding the water supplies to yourselves but enforce strict water discipline.’

  There were no more attacks that day, the enemy content to make camp at a distance o
f a mile all around us. The blood drained from the mules tasted disgusting though their cooked flesh was palatable enough. The men rested and slept where they had fought in their ranks earlier that day. Sentries were posted every ten paces a hundred paces beyond the outer edges of the square and were relieved every hour.

  The mood among the men was subdued but not bordering on despair. To date they had tasted nothing but victory, and though they had been forced to retreat they had still beaten off the enemy. I walked among as many as I could, clasping arms and sharing stories. All of us were aware of the glow of the opposition’s campfires that seemed unending as they stretched into the distance, and which indicated the enemy’s great strength. I wondered if Narses had received reinforcements during the day – he must have emptied the whole of Persis and Sakastan.

  An hour after midnight I stood with my arms folded staring south at what I assumed to be the camp of Mithridates and Narses. They had played their hand expertly. I thought of Gotarzes and my stomach turned. How could I assist him now? I prayed that he could hold out until… Until what? I felt wretched.

  ‘Spartacus used to do that.’ I recognised the deep voice of Domitus.

  I turned to see him standing beside me. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Stalk around the camp like a wraith and stand in the dark with his arms folded. You do a good impression of him.’

  ‘I’m glad I amuse you, Domitus.’

  ‘All right. What’s the matter?’

  I kicked at the earth. ‘I feel helpless.’

  ‘Ah, I see. You find the new sensation distasteful.’

  I had no idea what he was alluding to. ‘What sensation?’

  ‘The sensation of having to dance to the enemy’s tune. Up to now you have dictated what happens on the battlefield, more or less, now the sandal’s on the other foot.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I snapped.

  He placed his hand on my shoulder. ‘It is not nonsense. Just because you have been out-manoeuvred does not mean that you have lost the war. You have saved your horsemen and we are in good order.’

  ‘Far from home and surrounded,’ I added bitterly.

  ‘All we have to do is hold our nerve, Pacorus. There is an old Roman saying: it doesn’t matter how many battles you lose as long as you win the final one.’

  The next day we marched before dawn and before the enemy was in the saddle. Of the enemy foot we saw nothing and I suspected that they had been sent back to Ctesiphon and then probably Elymais. We managed to march five miles before the enemy horse archers attacked once more and again they caused few casualties but did manage to kill a couple of hundred mules. We adopted the same tactics and presented a continuous wall and roof of shields to the enemy, against which their arrows had little effect. Nevertheless, once again we were forced to halt and stand under the spring sun.

  Night came and once more the enemy’s campfires illuminated the darkness. I was comforted by the thought that Orodes would have reached the Euphrates by now and would be riding north back to Dura. Once more we drank mule blood and ate their roasted meat. We set off northwest again before dawn.

  The enemy showed no great desire to launch their attacks during the early part of the day, being content to allow us to cover around ten miles before sending their horse archers against us. But Narses knew that we were using up our water supplies and he was doing enough to slow our rate of advance.

  ‘Narses is a clever bastard, I’ll give him that.’ Domitus smiled at me. He looked as bad as I felt, his face unshaven and his arms and tunic smeared with dirt. We sat on stools next to a wagon that had a number of arrows sticking in it. I pulled one out and began turning over the bronze head in my hand.

  ‘I still think a night march might be advantageous, majesty,’ urged Kronos.

  ‘Perhaps not a night march but a night attack,’ I replied.

  ‘The boys are tired,’ said Domitus. ‘They can’t fight all day and at night as well.’

  ‘You are right, Domitus. But I only need a dozen.’

  He looked at me in confusion. ‘A dozen?’

  I stood up and pointed at him with the arrowhead. ‘What did you say about me having to dance to Narses’ tune? Well, I think it is time that he danced to mine.’

  Half an hour later I was squatting in a circle with a dozen volunteers, including Thumelicus and Domitus, each of us having smeared our faces and tunics with charcoal from the ashes of a fire. Even our sword blades had been blackened with charcoal and we wore nothing on our heads. We looked like a bunch of filthy miners. It was now an hour past midnight.

  Domitus looked at each of them.

  ‘Before we leave make sure you are wearing nothing that jangles when you move.’

  The pavilions of Mithridates and Narses had thus far always been positioned to the south of our position, and I gambled that tonight they would be in the same spot. That was the direction we would head to sow a little terror in the hearts of the enemy. As we exited our square, crouching low, we scampered across the featureless terrain towards the enemy camp. I prayed to Shamash that our efforts would not be wasted.

  A massive moon illuminated the landscape, its great pale surface smeared with grey blotches and filling the cloudless night sky. We advanced in two files. Domitus led one and I the other. The night was cool but I was sweating as we neared the enemy sentries. I slowed and then eased myself onto my belly to crawl forward. I glanced at Domitus who was likewise prostrate on the ground, those behind us following our example. There were two sentries standing directly ahead. I looked right and left and saw the figures of two other sentries perhaps a hundred paces away. The two ahead were wrapped in their cloaks and seemed to be deep in conversation.

  We crawled to within fifty paces of the sentries ahead and stopped. My heart pounded in my chest so loudly that I thought the sound might alert the guards. As yet we were undiscovered but the night was so still and bright that it would be only a matter of time before we were spotted. I looked over at Domitus and pointed at him, then at the guards and then drew my finger across my neck. He nodded and assumed a crouching position. I did the same. Then we rushed them.

  We did not run but rather adopted a quick scuttling pace as we neared our prey, clutching our swords as we did so. They were still wrapped tightly in their cloaks, deep in conversation when we reached them. One opened his mouth in surprise as Domitus rammed the point of his gladius into his throat. I grabbed the other’s neck from behind and thrust my sword through his back. He thrashed wildly around for a few seconds as his life ebbed away, blood sheeting from the wound.

  ‘Take off his cloak,’ I whispered to Domitus as I pulled the cloak off my dead sentry.

  Domitus did so and then used his free arm to beckon the others over. We left two behind wrapped in the dead men’s cloaks so as not to arouse suspicion when the other guards on duty looked for their companions, then continued on towards the enemy camp. I did not know when the guards would be relieved, perhaps an hour, perhaps less. Perhaps in a few minutes’ time. In which case our little venture would be compromised.

  There was no order in the enemy camp, no neat rows of shelters with sentries patrolling in between, just a huge collection of round tents of various sizes stretching as far as the eye could see. Beside some of them were large corrals holding horses, others containing camels. We moved in the shadows cast by the tents as we ventured deeper into the enemy compound. A guard stood urinating against the side of a tent. Servants, slaves most likely, huddled in groups round fires at the entrance to the animal pens, while others slept on the ground outside a great field kitchen. Suddenly, around a hundred paces away in front of us, a massive pavilion appeared.

  The front entrance of the pavilion was illuminated by a row of small, lighted braziers perched on stands extending out from the ornate canopy. Sentries were standing on guard in front of them. They wore helmets, were armed with long spears and their hide-covered shields sported the symbol of an eagle clutching a snake. This was the tent of Mithridates, not Narses.
The King of Persis must be located elsewhere in the camp, or perhaps he had returned to oversee the siege of Elymais. I dismissed the notion; he would ensure that we were defeated before he left the area.

  Thus far we had penetrated the enemy’s camp unseen but I knew that the chances of remaining invisible would diminish the longer we remained. We had to act fast. We huddled in the middle of a host of large four-wheeled wagons positioned near the pavilion. No doubt they were used to carry the great tent and its furnishings when the army was on the march.

  The others kept watch as I knelt on the ground and whispered to Domitus.

  ‘The guards have the symbol of Mithridates on their shields,’ I said. ‘He must be inside.’

  ‘All nicely tucked up in bed, no doubt,’ grinned Domitus. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘We can’t waste any more time wandering around looking for Narses. We go after Mithridates.’

  A couple of minutes later we were moving very stealthily around the pavilion to access its rear. Guards were posted at regular intervals all the way round its edge, forcing us to take a wide detour into a corral holding sleeping camels. The pavilion was on our right now as we crawled through the animal enclosure, the beasts grunting in annoyance at our presence but otherwise letting us pass. I reached forward and put my palm into a pile of dung and dunked my knee in the same pile of filth as we left the animal pen and crawled to the rear of the pavilion.

  Like all the great pavilions of Parthian kings this one was oval shaped. The main entrance opened into a reception area where guests and dignitaries assembled before being ushered into the dining area, usually a vast space housing couches, cushions and carpets. Next came the throne room, always separated from the dining area by curtains. Here on a dais the king presided on his throne. His commanders, advisers, courtiers and priests would gather around him. Finally, to the rear of the throne room, were the private chambers where the king slept, his concubines, friends and most trusted guards being quartered around him.

  We grouped together as I stared at the rear entrance to the pavilion, which was also heavily guarded. How to get in? I wiped my nose on my sleeve and caked my face in camel dung. Damn! Of course, the camels.