Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Darman, Peter

  After what seemed like only a few seconds but was probably half an hour, as if by magic the enemy horse archers disappeared. We then faced a charge by the enemy spearmen but it was not pressed home with any great vigour. Having seen the remnants of the horse archers flee into the desert, only small groups of spearmen attempted to charge us. Orodes rode up and down the line waving his mace in the air, shouting orders for the ranks to reform to face north where the bulk of enemy spearmen sat on their horses. I rode to the centre of the line, Vagharsh holding my banner and the standard of Orodes being held by another rider beside him. I tried to make a quick tally as officers arranged their companies in two ranks. It appeared that our losses had been slight, which was more than could be said for the enemy. The ground was carpeted with their dead as far as the eye could see, with dozens of slain horses also lying on the ground.

  My own and Remus’ scale armour was smeared with blood but it was not my own, and a closer inspection of my cataphracts revealed that they too were daubed with enemy gore. It had been one of the most one-sided victories that I had taken part in. All that remained were the disorganised and no doubt dispirited enemy spearmen who were now grouped to our front. Their officers were riding to and fro, cajoling and threatening their men to move forward. But then arrows began falling among their ranks and many saddles were suddenly emptied. This was the final straw for the demoralised spearmen who suddenly broke and fled east into the desert in the wake of the surviving horse archers.

  My men whooped and cheered as the enemy ran, pursued by companies of Nergal’s horse archers. Seeing the charge of the enemy horse stopped and then their whole wing largely destroyed, he had halted the retreat of his horse archers and brought them back onto the battlefield. He and Praxima now rode over to where we stood among the enemy dead and dying. I clasped his forearm when he arrived at our position.

  ‘My thanks, Pacorus,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘My thanks to you, my friend,’ I said.

  ‘You have won a great victory, lord,’ said Praxima, which elicited cheers from those men within earshot.

  Nergal looked east to where his men pursued the enemy.

  ‘Not many will get back across the Tigris,’ he said with satisfaction.

  ‘Our men are under orders to take no prisoners,’ said Praxima sternly. I smiled at her. Even after all these years she still had the power to unnerve me.

  ‘That’s one part of Narses’ army dealt with,’ I said. ‘Let’s hope my father and Vardan have broken through to the Ishtar Gate.’

  I saw Praxima pull an arrow from her quiver and nock it in her bowstring. Around fifty paces from us a wounded enemy soldier had staggered to his feet and was limping away east, into the desert. His right leg was obviously injured as he could barely put any weight on it. Just a few feet away, men on their horses watched him making his escape. They could have ridden him down with ease but saw no honour in killing such a pathetic figure. Sweating profusely from their exertions in battle, most had pushed their helmets back up on their heads. I saw their expressions change from unconcern to horror as Praxima’s arrow hit the poor wretch in the right leg, causing him to yelp in pain and collapse on the ground. He groaned in agony for a few seconds then, with great effort, managed to get back on his feet, almost hopping as his right leg hung uselessly. There was another twang and a second arrow hit him square in the back, pitching him forward face down on the ground. He made no further movement as Praxima calmly replaced her bow in its case.

  She spat on the ground. ‘No pity for the soldiers of Narses.’

  Suddenly the ground shook and I heard a deep rumble – the sound of thousands of horses charging. I gave the order to wheel left and face the direction of the sound, hoping that it was not more enemy horsemen mounting another attack against us. Within minutes we had reformed our line facing west and moved forward. Nergal, meanwhile, had brought his horse archers forward and deployed them either side of my cataphracts to provide missile support should we need it. We did not, for ahead I saw a most imposing sight – the lords were leading their men against the now isolated enemy foot soldiers.

  A rider, one of Dura’s horse archers, arrived at my position with a message from Gallia that she had committed the lords and their horsemen against Narses’ foot soldiers. She had received news that the Babylonians and Hatrans had routed the enemy horsemen in front of them and had pushed back the remnants to the Ishtar Gate. The battle was as good as won and all that remained was the destruction of the enemy’s foot. Twenty thousand horse archers were now enveloping those troops as the lords and their horse archers emptied their quivers against them. The air was thick with arrows as Narses’ men were assailed from all directions.

  I rode over to where Gallia had halted with her Amazons observing the scene unfolding before her, a great cloud of dust now obscuring the distance as Dura’s lords directed their assaults against the enemy. I reached over and kissed her on the cheek, my vest and shirt drenched with sweat. In comparison she looked as though she had just washed and dressed. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on her or Epona and her bow was still in its case. Behind her the Amazons appeared just as fresh and unruffled.

  She smiled warmly at Nergal and Praxima as they joined us. She laid a hand on Orodes’ arm.

  ‘It warms me to see you all unharmed, especially you, lord prince.’

  He took off his helmet and bowed his head solemnly. ‘Your servant, lady.’ Ever the gallant knight.

  I also took off my own helmet, my sweat-soaked hair matted to my skull.

  ‘Spandarat insisted on getting involved, then,’ I said to Gallia, observing horse archers riding towards the enemy mass, shooting their bows and then wheeling sharply away.

  ‘I ordered him and the rest of the lords to attack,’ she replied. ‘Word reached me from your father that the enemy horsemen in front of him had been dispersed, and with you and Nergal scattering those on the other wing, it seemed an opportune moment to unleash the lords.’

  ‘You have impeccable timing, lady,’ remarked Orodes, wiping his brow with a cloth.

  ‘Now we can watch them being slaughtered,’ said Praxima with relish.

  Dura’s horse archers were now reforming in their companies behind the Amazons, having retreated to the camel train stationed in the rear to obtain fresh quivers of arrows. To our left the tired cataphracts and their blown horses were forming into line, and beyond them the Mesenians. We had returned to our original positions.

  ‘Do you wish me to commit my men?’ asked Nergal.

  I smiled at him. ‘Your troops are yours to dispose of as you see fit, lord king.’

  Gallia swung round in her saddle. ‘Nergal is offering you assistance, Pacorus, don’t get all high and mighty with your royal talk.’

  ‘Why don’t we take the Amazons forward, Gallia,’ suggested Praxima. ‘Lop off some heads and balls just like in the old days.’

  Nergal laughed and Orodes looked most uncomfortable.

  ‘Wait,’ I said. I turned and beckoned forward one of the commanders of my horse archers.

  ‘Send some of your men forward and inform the lords that I command that they desist their attacks.’

  He saluted and rode back to his waiting officers.

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘No nonsense, my sweet,’ I replied. ‘Rather common sense.’

  Praxima looked perplexed as a detachment of officers rode forward and searched out Spandarat and the other lords in the dust storm that was engulfing the horsemen and foot soldiers as thousands of hooves kicked up the dry earth. I sent other riders to the Ishtar Gate to see if Vardan or my father wanted assistance, and while I waited for a reply the shrieks, cries, shouts and screams of horses and men in front of us gradually died down as the lords disengaged from the battle.

  A most unhappy Spandarat brought his horse to a halt in front of me.

  ‘If you weren’t my king, if my sons didn’t serve in your army and if I didn’t love your wife I would
tan your arse.’

  ‘A most eloquent speech, Spandarat. Can I assume that you disagree with my orders,’ I said calmly.

  He pointed excitedly at the enemy foot still standing in their ranks.

  ‘We have the bastards. They are surrounded and short of missiles and they can’t go anywhere. They are helpless.’

  ‘That is precisely the point, Spandarat. Everything you say is true and I am sure that they are even more aware of their predicament.’

  He threw out his arms. ‘So?’

  ‘So I would speak to them first.’

  He dropped his arms to his sides. ‘Speak to them?’

  ‘Yes, Spandarat. And I can’t do that if you and your men are shooting arrows at them.’

  He looked behind him, scratched his head and rode to the rear muttering to himself. During the next few minutes parties of horse archers, most with empty quivers, filed past us to muster once more around the banners of their lords.

  I asked Nergal to take his men and form a cordon around the enemy’s foot, supported by the resupplied Duran horse archers, telling them to stay out of bow and sling range.

  Orodes was impressed. ‘You show mercy in victory, Pacorus.’

  ‘Mercy has nothing to do with it,’ I grunted in reply.

  Men on foot, surrounded and with no hope of relief, would be more amenable to surrendering than fighting on, and that meant Duran and Mesenian lives would be saved. The battle had gone better than expected, our losses had been light and the enemy had been routed. As Nergal’s horse archers cantered south to form a cordon around the enemy foot soldiers, I began to formulate a plan that could yet salvage the whole campaign and avenge Gotarzes.

  The army of Narses was on the verge of being destroyed and once that had happened the road to Ctesiphon would be open. Mithridates himself had suffered great losses when they had engaged my legions near the Tigris, notwithstanding our own brush with calamity, and now the enemy had tasted yet another defeat. Mithridates had clearly fled the scene, no doubt scurrying back to Ctesiphon to seek solace from his poisonous mother, Queen Aruna. If we finished Narses’ forces here, today, then Susiana and perhaps Persis would be open to attack. Once they had been rested and refitted the legions could be recalled to join with my horsemen. I could field ten thousand foot and twenty-three thousand horsemen, more if I could persuade Nergal to help us. My father would not be a part of any plan, I knew that, but Vardan might be willing to lend me some horse archers at least, if only to repay Narses and Mithridates for the destruction they had visited on his kingdom. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It all seemed perfectly achievable. Then I opened my eyes and saw Byrd and half a dozen of his scouts riding towards us, and my plan began to disintegrate.

  Dobbai had once told me that the gods cared nothing for the lives of men and that our prayers to them were wasted words. She said that they sent plagues, drought and famine to torment men to alleviate their boredom for it amused their cruel natures to see humanity suffer, much as a small child delights in pulling the wings off a fly or the legs off a spider. She said that some men were beloved of the gods, and included me in that number, but only because such individuals were warriors or tyrants who inflicted pain upon others and washed the land with blood. She said the notions of peace and prosperity, which most men craved, were anathema to the gods. They loved only chaos, despair and bloodshed, for in such tumults men fell on their knees in front of idols of their gods and begged for deliverance, and the divine ones responded by heaping more misery upon them to satisfy their cruel natures. And men wept and the land bled. And so it was now as Byrd brought his sweating horse to a halt before me.

  ‘Vardan dead at Ishtar Gate. Narses reveals his hand.’

  I heard the words but did not believe them.

  ‘Dead?’ said Orodes incredulously.

  Byrd nodded nonchalantly. ‘Great number of enemy horsemen attack from south. Narses leads them. I see his great banner.’

  I felt sick to my stomach. How can this be?

  ‘We must aid your father,’ said Orodes.

  I looked at him and then Byrd, unsure of what to do.

  ‘Pacorus, decide!’ shouted Gallia.

  My cataphracts were tired, their horses blown, and my horse archers and those of the lords had already fought their own battle. Only Nergal’s men were relatively fresh. I looked at the expectant faces around me.

  ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘We must ride to the Ishtar Gate immediately. Nergal, will you ride with us as your men are the least tired among our forces?’

  ‘It will be an honour, Pacorus,’ he replied.

  So I took my heavy horsemen, my own and Nergal’s horse archers, plus half the lords and their riders to the Ishtar Gate. Spandarat and the remaining lords were left behind to guard the enemy foot soldiers. We rode in haste across the battlefield to the blue-painted bricks of the Ishtar Gate, to find a scene of grim carnage but no Narses. Dead horses lay scattered all around, their guts ripped open and their legs twisted and broken, staring with lifeless eyes. Bones protruded from shattered ankles and blood oozed from gaping neck wounds. Some animals, still alive, groaned pitifully as pain shot through their punctured bodies. As we halted and slid from our saddles I could see that the path of dead and dying began around a hundred paces from the Ishtar Gate and led directly north.

  Dead riders lay alongside their slain mounts and I saw that most of them wore the purple of Babylon. Some of Vardan’s soldiers were walking among the dead horseflesh, putting wounded animals out of their misery and retrieving any men still alive. Smashed shields and broken lances lay scattered on the ground along with abandoned swords and helmets.

  As we led our horses in the direction of the Euphrates we came across a knot of officers from Vardan’s royal bodyguard, and among them my father and Vistaspa. Relief swept through me. I left Remus with my men and went to his side. We embraced and I thanked Shamash that he was safe and unhurt. I nodded to Vistaspa who bowed his head, and then saw Mardonius kneeling by the side of his dead lord. Vardan looked serene and untroubled in death, his eyes closed and not a mark on his face. His body was covered with a rich purple cloak edged with gold. There were a great many dead soldiers of the royal bodyguard in this particular spot, no doubt where fierce fighting had taken place. I also saw a number of slain cataphracts dressed in short-sleeved scale armour cuirasses, yellow shirts underneath – the colours of Persis. My father’s bodyguard waited on their horses two hundred paces away, their heads bowed with exhaustion.

  I took off my helmet as Gallia embraced my father and Orodes bowed to him.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  My father, ashen faced and looking tired, shook his head.

  ‘What happened? I will tell you what happened. We advanced and engaged the enemy horsemen deployed in front of the Ishtar Gate, my soldiers on the right and Vardan’s men on the left. We cut our way through their spearmen and horse archers and reached the Ishtar Gate. That was easy enough. And in the moment of victory, when the soldiers of Hatra were finishing off the enemy and filling the city’s moat with their dead, Narses appeared at the head of a multitude of horsemen and hit the Babylonians in the flank.’

  I could scarce believe it. ‘Appeared from where?’

  ‘From the Marduk Gate,’ answered Mardonius with a quivering voice as his lord and master, lifted onto a stretcher fashioned from lances lashed together, was carried into his city. Still wrapped in the purple cloak, his arms had been crossed over his chest and his sword lay on his body. The remnants of his bodyguard followed their lord on foot.

  ‘Narses kept his heavy cavalry in reserve near the Marduk Gate,’ continued Mardonius, ‘the main entrance into the city from the west, and led them against us when we and the Hatrans were disorganised following our first attack.’

  ‘It was clever,’ added my father, ‘very clever. He struck the Babylonians in the flank when they, just like us, were disorganised and compressed into a small area in front of the city walls. His men hi
t the Babylonians who had no time to turn and face them, herding them towards the river and preventing me from deploying my men.’

  ‘He used the Babylonians as a wall of flesh between them and us,’ said Vistaspa undiplomatically.

  ‘Their first charge inflicted many casualties, including the king,’ said Mardonius.

  ‘Where is Narses now?’ I asked.

  ‘Fled north,’ replied my father. ‘I sent my horse archers after him but he will be miles away by now.’

  It was a catastrophe. Two of the empire’s kings, both of them allies, had been killed in the space of two weeks. My plans evaporated and the gods laughed. On the heels of Vardan’s death came more grievous news when a rider came from Spandarat informing me that the enemy foot that I had left him to guard had escaped and were marching towards the Tigris.

  When I rode back to my lords and demanded an explanation I learned that not all of Narses’ reserves had been committed at the Ishtar Gate. I found Spandarat sitting on the ground when we arrived, his dead horse laying a few paces away, a lance through its body, and one of his men bandaging a nasty gash to his scalp. After the bandage had been tied off he was hauled to his feet. I slid out of my saddle and stood before him. Gallia did the same.

  ‘Are you hurt, Spandarat?’ she enquired with concern.

  ‘Nothing a bellyful of beer won’t cure,’ he replied, blood already seeping through the bandage.

  I looked around and saw more than a few dead Durans on the ground. Spandarat saw my concerned look.

  ‘A great load of horsemen, men armed with shields and spears, came from the south and charged us. We emptied a few saddles with our bows but there were a lot of them, we had empty quivers and they were fresh. They charged us a couple of times and I was nearly turned into a kebab,’ he nodded at his dead horse. ‘They kept us occupied long enough for the foot soldiers to escape. I reckon they are about five miles away by now.’