‘You have already dragged Vardan and myself into your private war with Mithridates and Narses, which has led to Babylon being besieged. It is fortunate for you that the city has thick walls and strong defences, otherwise the blood of its inhabitants would be on your conscience. As I have told you once before, I do not wish to plunge the empire into another civil war.’
‘Neither do I, Pacorus,’ said Vardan. ‘Further war will be the ruin of the empire and of us all, I fear.’
I held out my palms to Vardan. ‘I am in your service and debt, lord king.’
To my father I said nothing. Nergal appeared to be squirming with embarrassment while Gafarn merely looked at me with sympathetic eyes and shook his head.
‘Good, well, let us continue.’ Vardan nodded at Mardonius who pointed his stick at the Ishtar Gate. ‘Tomorrow we will advance to the city with the army of Hatra on the right flank, the place of honour.’
Vardan nodded at my father, who smiled back.
‘My own Babylonians,’ continued Vardan, ‘will occupy the centre of the line, with the Durans and Mesenians deployed on the left wing.’
This arrangement made sense in that it placed fifteen hundred cataphracts on the right under my father and a thousand of my own armoured horsemen on the left wing, though the army would be rather lopsided with my lords and their twenty thousand horse archers grouped on the left flank.
‘My lords and their men could be used to strengthen our centre,’ I suggested. ‘In that way we can extend our frontage and thus have a better chance of enveloping the enemy.’
‘Poor farmers on ragged mounts,’ sneered Vistaspa, to which my father laughed.
Vistaspa was a great warrior, a man who had helped to forge Hatra’s army into a fearsome weapon, but his blind loyalty to my father and his callous nature made him a difficult man to like, though one could certainly admire him for his achievements. But at this moment I despised him. What was the bulk of Vardan’s army but horse archers who were also farmers and townsfolk?
‘At least my farmers have fought in battle, Lord Vistaspa. Remind me, when was the last time Hatra’s army crossed swords with the enemy, I forget?’
Vistaspa’s nostrils flared at the insult but it was my father who spoke.
‘A kingdom’s army is a resource to be used wisely, to preserve its safety and prosperity, not as a tool for a reckless king.’
Mardonius glanced anxiously at his fellow officers.
‘Father,’ I said slowly, ‘when I think of all the blood that has been shed these last few years, I cannot help but think that if you had listened to the words of your friends and had become king of kings then we would not be standing at this table arguing thus.’
My father let his hands fall by his sides.
‘So it is my fault that Mithridates is king of kings, that Narses is his lord high general and that Babylon is under siege, is it? Would you admit that perhaps some of the blame for the empire’s current problems can be attributable to the King of Dura?’
‘I have only responded to threats, never made them.’
He rested his hands on the side of the table and leaned towards me.
‘Do you deny that you wrote a letter to Mithridates following your capture of Uruk, stating that you would never rest until he was gone from the world.’
‘It is common knowledge that I did so,’ I replied.
‘And did you expect that the high king would forget such an insult?’
‘I do not care what Mithridates thinks.’
He gripped the edge of the table. ‘Of course not, and in so doing you condemn your allies to a state of perpetual war.’
‘What would you have me do, father, beg Mithridates for forgiveness?’
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘You might find that he is more accommodating than you think.’
I thought of the sneering visage of Mithridates, the blood-soaked body of Godarz lying on the floor of his residence and the way he had insulted me at Esfahan during the Council of Kings.
‘There can be no accommodation with Mithridates,’ I replied.
My father then tried a different strategy. He looked at Nergal.
‘What does the King of Mesene think on this matter? Your kingdom lies next to Susiana and your presence at this table may condemn you to face an invasion from the east.’
My father had articulated my own fears, for whereas the kingdoms of Babylon and Hatra lay between Dura and Susiana, Nergal’s lands were adjacent to Mithridates’ kingdom.
‘It is as you say, lord king,’ replied Nergal. ‘Mesene would not be able to defeat the wrath of Susiana and Persis. But I have fought beside your son for ten years and everything I now have,’ he put his arm round Praxima. ‘Everything we have, is all down to him. But more than that, lord, he is our friend and we will not desert his side.’
‘You must understand, father,’ said Gafarn, ‘that those of us who fought beside Spartacus in Italy have an unbreakable bond. We stand and fall together.’
‘It is the falling that I worry about,’ remarked my father grimly. ‘But regarding the plan for tomorrow, it stands. Our main priority is to relieve Babylon, nothing more.’
I was tempted to raise the issue of the enemy burning Babylonian villages and killing and raping their inhabitants, but this would have provoked more argument to little effect. Thus the meeting petered out and we said our farewells to Gafarn, Vardan and Mardonius. I ignored Vistaspa and bade an icy good night to my father, though Gallia embraced both him and Gafarn warmly.
It was late when I assembled the lords and the senior officers of my cavalry in my tent. They all stood before me as I explained to them the dispositions they would adopt tomorrow. I told them that we had Mithridates and Narses where we wanted them and that the coming battle would be a chance to settle things once and for all.
‘We go to kill Mithridates and Narses,’ I told them, ‘to avenge Godarz and Gotarzes and rid the empire of the false high king. Only when we have a new king of kings sitting at Ctesiphon will we have peace and justice in the empire instead of tyranny and lawlessness.’
They cheered and slapped each other on the back and left in high spirits. When they had all filed out into the night Orodes came to my side.
‘That was not what was agreed earlier in Vardan’s pavilion,’ he said.
I smiled at him. ‘I am aware of that, my friend. But you know as well as I do that your stepbrother will not rest until I and my family are dead. He probably wishes your death as well. That being the case, I would rather the vultures were picking at his bones than mine.’
The day of battle is like any other for the army of Dura. The men rise, dress, eat breakfast and then form up in their companies or centuries. Roll calls are taken and inspections carried out. For the horsemen the morning routine also includes mucking out, watering, feeding and grooming their horses, before saddling them to ride out to battle. The squires help to dress and arm their masters but they also have their own horses to attend to, plus the two camels allotted to each cataphract, and so even my heavy cavalrymen can be found in the early morning light shovelling horse dung. I knew that in the army of Hatra the cataphracts were spared such duties, the city’s aristocrats and their sons considering such tasks beneath them. Indeed, in the city’s royal barracks even the squires were saved such tasks, an army of slaves being used for menial duties. In Dura’s army there were no slaves and I considered it good practice for every man to acquaint himself with physical labour. On campaign the legionaries dug ditches and ramparts and the horsemen shovelled dung and groomed horses. It was a most satisfactory arrangement.
I went through the usual routine on the eve of battle. I had no squire of my own now that Surena had risen in the ranks but it mattered not. Orodes was always haranguing me about the necessity of maintaining appearances in having at least two squires, especially as I was a king, but I did not see the need. On campaign there was always someone to assist me, be it Gallia, the Amazons or Orodes himself after he had been dressed
in his scale armour.
Gallia usually stayed with her Amazons the night before battle and last night had been no different. I myself rarely slept for more than two hours before a fight, rising before dawn to kneel by my bed to pray to Shamash. The prayers were always the same – that He would give me courage in the coming fight, that Gallia’s life would be preserved, even if the price was the end of my own life, and that my conduct on this day would make my friends and family proud of me. As I closed my eyes and said the words I clutched the lock of my wife’s hair that I always wore on a chain round my neck. Then I put on my silk vest, white long-sleeved shirt, leggings, boots and strapped on my sword belt. The scabbard was on my left hip and on the right I slipped my dagger into its sheath. It had formerly belonged to a Roman centurion who had been my jailer and tormentor. I had killed the centurion on the night Spartacus had freed me on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. Gafarn had retrieved the dagger and had given it to me afterwards as a present. I had carried it ever since, as I had the Roman spatha that had been a gift from Spartacus himself. Even my helmet and leather cuirass were Roman. Today, though, I would be wearing the suit of scale armour that hung on a wooden frame beside my bed.
After attending to Remus’ needs I ate with Gallia and Orodes. We shared a light breakfast of fruit, dried apricots and dates, bread and cheese, washed down with water. Outside the tent the air smelt of camel and horse dung, leather and campfires. Gallia sat at the table in her mail shirt, her helmet and sword resting on the surface. Orodes was dressed in a rich blue shirt, white leggings and red leather boots, his hair immaculately groomed and his beard neatly trimmed.
‘Seems strange not having Domitus here with us,’ he said, nibbling on a piece of cheese.
‘I would rather he were here than the Babylonians,’ I mused.
‘You do not like King Vardan’s soldiers, Pacorus?’ asked Orodes.
‘I like them well enough, I just don’t like the idea of them on my flank. If today’s fight is a hard one they might give way.’
‘Not with your father’s army on their other flank they won’t,’ said Gallia.
I smiled at her. ‘Let’s hope not, my sweet, let’s hope not. It all depends on what the enemy does and how many of them there are.’
Those two questions were answered half an hour later when Byrd and his scouts rode into camp and he made his report in my tent. He looked tired and his robes were covered in dust. He flopped into a chair and drank greedily from a cup filled with water offered to him by Orodes.
Byrd looked at me. ‘Mithridates not with enemy army. We saw no eagle banners.’
The banner of Susiana was well known to Byrd and his scouts for it was the same standard carried by Orodes, who was the rightful prince and heir to the throne of the kingdom.
I could not hide my disappointment. ‘This is grave news indeed. You are sure, Byrd?’
I knew the answer before he nodded his head.
‘The enemy host still very large, though,’ he added. ‘Their campfires filled the night.’
I slapped Byrd on the arm. ‘Numbers aren’t what count, Byrd. You should know that by now.’
At that moment a sentry opened the tent flap, stepped inside and saluted.
‘Messenger from your father, majesty.’
I indicated for him to let the man enter. By his appearance – cuirass made of leather on which were fastened overlapping steel and bronze scales – I knew he was a member of Hatra’s royal bodyguard. He held his burnished helmet in the crook of his right arm, a white horsehair plume fitted to its top ring, his white shirt edged with silver and his sword belt and scabbard also decorated with silver. He was obviously Hatran nobility.
He held out a wax-sealed parchment to me with his left hand.
‘I send greetings from the king, your father, majesty. These are your battle orders.’
I looked at Gallia and then Orodes. ‘My what?’
‘King Vardan has appointed King Varaz as general-in-chief for the day and these are his orders. I am also to instruct you that the march south will commence in two hours.’
I snatched the letter from his hand and broke the seal. Another courier would have been nervous in our company but this one merely stood and waited for any message I might have for my father. Hatra’s royal bodyguard was lavished with the best horses, the finest weapons that money could buy and stabling and quarters that would not shame kings and princes. Their reputation as great warriors was known throughout the empire, but looking at this fine young man standing before me I realised that arrogance and haughtiness were also part of their nature. I began to wonder how good they actually were.
I read the letter and then handed it to Orodes.
‘My father obviously intends to fight the battle his way. He forgets that I too am a king.’
‘This is merely confirmation of the dispositions that we discussed yesterday in King Vardan’s pavilion,’ said Orodes, trying to be the diplomat as usual.
‘You mean the orders that we were given.’
‘Don’t start all that again, Pacorus,’ said Gallia. ‘You are like a dog with a bone, constantly gnawing away.’
‘Perhaps we should go home, seeing as my father has obviously reduced us to bit-part players in his grand drama.’
‘We must relieve Babylon,’ said Orodes severely.
Gallia smiled at him. ‘Ignore Pacorus, Orodes, he is aggrieved that it is his father and not he who is chief general for the day.’
The courier cleared his throat.
‘Well?’ I snapped.
‘Is there any message you wish to convey to your father, majesty?’
I grinned at him mischievously. ‘There is, but he would have your head if you spoke those words to him. So no, there is no message. You may go.’
Gallia rolled her eyes as he bowed his head and left us.
More agreeable company was Spandarat who appeared shortly after, his wild hair and beard matching his unruly appearance. He winked at Gallia with his one eye and sat himself down without asking permission, then helped himself to a cup of water.
He grimaced as he tasted the liquid. ‘No wine, then?’
‘I find that wine dulls the senses,’ I said sternly. ‘It is best to have a clear head in battle.’
He roared with laughter. ‘Nonsense, a man fights better with a belly full of wine or beer inside him, ain’t that right, princess?’
He winked at Gallia again who stuck out her tongue at him. She liked Dura’s lords and they liked her. It was a sort of unholy alliance between them: the rough-and ready frontiersmen who lived hard lives and their queen who tolerated no nonsense.
‘Are you and your men ready, Spandarat?’ I enquired.
He shoved a great lump of cheese into his mouth. ‘Me and twenty thousand others itching to get to grips with the enemy.’
I nodded. ‘Excellent. You and the other lords will take up position behind my horse archers.’
A hurt look spread across his face. ‘Behind them?’
‘Don’t worry,’ I assured him. ‘You will get a chance to empty your quivers.’
My lords were fearless in battle but totally undisciplined. They were like a bee. They had a powerful sting but could only sting once. On the battlefield each lord led his retainers oblivious to what was happening around him. Once committed the lords would charge headlong at the enemy in a great disorganised mass; their commitment thus required expert timing.
With Surena still absent, no doubt long dead, the command of the horse archers presented something of a dilemma. Ideally Orodes would lead the cataphracts, leaving me free to direct the whole army.
‘I would esteem it an honour if you would command Dura’s horse archers this day, lord prince,’ I said to Orodes.
Before he could answer Gallia spoke. ‘I will lead the horse archers so that Orodes may command your cataphracts.’
I looked at her and then Orodes, who said nothing.
‘Makes sense,’ said Spandarat with a mouthful of cheese
, who then stood and nodded to me. ‘I will go and inform the other lords. They will be as chuffed as a bull in a herd of young cows.’
After he had left Orodes and I put on our scale armour. The short-sleeved, thigh-length hide coats were thick and heavy, made more so by the iron scales riveted onto them. Split up to the waist to facilitate sitting in the saddle, the hide itself was thick enough to stop a glancing blow from a sword or spear. The best hide for scale armour was made from the skin of a water buffalo. This being the case, Nergal’s officials in Uruk purchased these animals from the Ma’adan. They were then slaughtered and the skins sold to the armouries in Dura, Media, Atropaiene and even Hatra.
Next came the leg and arm armour – overlapping steel rings that extended from the shoulders to the wrists and from the thigh down to the ankles. Orodes wore an open-faced helmet with cheekguards and a neck flap and I wore my Roman officer’s helmet with its goose feather plume.
We walked outside to where Orodes’ squires held his horse and Gallia held Remus’ reins. Both animals wore their own suits of scale armour that covered their bodies, necks and heads, with metal grills over their eyes. The squires assisted the Prince of Susiana and myself into our saddles and then handed us our lances, the hafts as thick as our wrists and tipped with a long spearhead at one end and savage butt spike at the other. My own kontus sported a pennant showing a red griffin on a white background, that of Orodes an eagle clutching a snake.
I rode with Gallia and Orodes at the head of the army as it made a leisurely march south towards the enemy. We were approximately ten miles from the walls of Babylon and roughly the same distance east of the Euphrates. We were riding across the hard-packed earth of the desert but Vardan and my father were travelling over the cultivated ground north of Babylon, fed by the waters of the great river, which had now been despoiled by the enemy. The mud-brick homes of the villages in the immediate vicinity of the city had been destroyed and their inhabitants no doubt dragged off into slavery. Babylonia had no fortified outposts such as existed in my own land or the Kingdom of Hatra. It would have thus been easy for enemy riders to appear as if by magic to pillage the villages.
Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles) Page 23
