The armouries needed to manufacture per day twenty-five of each of the following types of weapon: gladius and scabbard, spear, dagger and sheath and helmet. Over a fifteen-month period this would be enough to equip ten thousand men. And Alexander also wanted a thousand mail shirts for horsemen. It was fortunate for Dura that the armouries were staffed by four hundred blacksmiths, each one having an apprentice that had begun his training in metal craft at the age of eight. Even so the pace of production was frenetic and the chief armourer, a squat, barrel-chested man named Arsam, made frequent complaints that the requirements of the army and the monthly shipments to ‘the rich Jew’ were placing an intolerable strain on his ironworks. Arsam had forearms as thick as stone pillars and his name ironically meant ‘possessing the strength of heroes’. I told him to hire additional workers from Babylon and Hatra if he wished, though not from Damascus. I had no doubt that eventually the Romans would discover that I was sending weapons to Judea, but hiring workers from Syria would ensure they would find out sooner rather than later.
Domitus continued to rebuild the legions, finally receiving his five thousand ‘missing’ javelins. Meanwhile the horse archers of Silaces began to fill their quivers as the armouries churned out thousands of arrows. It was fortunate that the arrowheads were made of bronze and were cast rather than forged and then shaped on anvils. This way Arsam could order additional quantities from Babylon and have them transported by camel to Dura.
As a reward for his services to Dura I made Aaron the royal treasurer, as Rsan was now the city governor. As the old year waned Dura slowly became one of the richest kingdoms in the empire as the caravans on the Silk Road passed through the city and Alexander’s gold arrived at the Citadel. The reports I received from Babylon, Uruk and Hatra reported no hostile activity east of the Tigris, and in the west all was quiet in Roman Syria and Judea. No doubt Mithridates and Narses were licking their wounds and preparing a fresh campaign against me, but the longer they delayed the stronger Dura became.
When the new year dawned I once again refused to pay the annual tribute demanded of each kingdom by the king of kings. I received word from Nergal, Axsen and my father that Mithridates had demanded twice the normal tribute so he could deal with the ‘traitorous King of Dura’. Apparently he could not bear to even mention my name in his royal proclamation.
Hatra, Babylon and Mesene declared that they were unable to meet his demands. My father stated that he was dealing with Armenian incursions into the north of his kingdom and invited Mithridates to send an official letter to the Armenian king, Tigranes, politely requesting that he desist his aggressive actions. For her part Axsen stated that her kingdom could not afford the additional tribute as resources were being directed to repairing the damage incurred during the invasion of her lands the previous year. Though she was diplomatic enough to refrain from stating that it was the king of kings and his lord high general who were responsible for the damage. Nergal did not even bother to reply to Mithridates’ demands.
The prospect of war hung over us like thick smoke on a windless day, and we prepared our forces accordingly. The men of Elymais were fully equipped now – eight thousand horse archers divided into eight dragons, each one made up of ten hundred-man companies. Silaces and his men trained every day to turn them into an effective force, though there was not the time to train them to work with the cataphracts, much less the legions. In any case I hoped that in the near future they would be in the vanguard of an army that would liberate the Kingdom of Elymais. They were quartered near the ruins of Mari, forty miles south of Dura beside the Euphrates. It had once been a great city but that was seventeen hundred years ago, and after its destruction by King Hammurabi of Babylon had been largely deserted. The remains of its mud-brick buildings provided adequate shelter for eight thousand horses, though.
Two months into the new year I had the whole army drawn up in front of the Palmyrene Gate and presented Silaces with his new banner: a great white flag upon which was Gotarzes’ symbol of a four-pointed star. I could now call upon over twelve thousand horsemen and ten thousand foot, in addition to the men the lords could raise. Last year I had relied on speed and surprise to achieve success; this year I would assemble greater numbers to ensure victory.
Orodes made yet another trip to Babylon, this time to ensure that the production of arrowheads was progressing smoothly. I told him that he did not need to concern himself with such trivia but he insisted. And to speed his journey he and his bodyguard plus their horses travelled down the Euphrates on rafts.
While he was gone I had a most unexpected visit from my father. He sent word that he was visiting me and arrived ten days later accompanied by Vistaspa and his bodyguard plus their squires, who camped across the Euphrates in Hatran territory while their king and his general were lodged in the Citadel. Gallia and I greeted them at the foot of the palace steps in the company of Domitus, Surena, Rsan, Aaron and my three daughters. My father kissed Gallia and knelt to embrace his granddaughters while Vistaspa bowed his head to everyone stiffly and ignored my children. I think he thought infants were small demons sent to torment adults, a view that was not entirely incorrect.
We took refreshments on the palace terrace as a forest of tents began to spring up across the river as the squires of Hatra’s royal bodyguard erected the shelters of their pampered masters.
My father flopped down in a wicker chair next to the stone balustrade. He looked tired. ‘I wish to make a show of force against the Armenians. I grow weary of their incursions into my kingdom, and the longer I do nothing about them the bolder they become.’
To say I was surprised was an understatement. My father had always been a cautious monarch, always reluctant to seek recourse to conflict.
‘I had no idea the Armenians were proving so bothersome, father.’
He smiled wryly. ‘Vata holds the northern frontier but now raiders are coming from Gordyene. It has become an intolerable situation. I have asked Farhad and Aschek for their assistance and they have agreed that we should arrange a meeting with Tigranes to sort this matter out once and for all. I now ask you, my son, if you will join with me.’
‘Dura stands by you, father,’ I said with pride. ‘When do we attack?’
Vistaspa looked at my father, who frowned. ‘We do not go to make war, Pacorus, but to persuade Tigranes that his recklessness endangers Armenia.’
‘You will be wasting your words.’ Dobbai had walked unseen onto the terrace and took her seat, unconcerned that my senior officers and I were in conference with the King of Hatra. She waved over a servant holding a tray of drinks.
‘Armenia is the slave of Rome, even I know that.’ She took a silver cup filled with wine and sipped at it as my father regarded her with curiosity and Vistaspa glowered at her.
‘Do you suggest I declare war on Rome, then?’ asked my father, trying to out-fox her.
‘War is coming with Rome whatever you do,’ she replied. ‘The question is, when it comes will the empire be united or divided?’
‘I can see where my son gets his advice from,’ said my father dryly, ‘advice that nearly led to his death last year at the Tigris.’
‘I told him not to underestimate Mithridates and Narses, he chose to ignore that advice,’ she snapped back.
I held up my hands. ‘We are straying from the matter at hand. When do you meet the Armenians?’
‘I have sent a message demanding a meeting with Tigranes at his southern border in a month’s time,’ said my father.
‘The army of Dura will be there, father, I guarantee you that; though I am surprised that Aschek and Farhad have agreed to support you.’
‘Raiders from Gordyene have also been attacking Media and Atropaiene,’ said Vistaspa.
‘Gordyene is like an abscess,’ complained my father.
‘And where does the king of kings stand in this matter?’ I asked. ‘His empire is assaulted and all he can do is demand more money to raise an army to march against Dura.’
&
nbsp; My father shook his head. ‘Mithridates will not support me after I supported you last year.’
‘And when Pacorus is away in the north, father,’ said Gallia, ‘what is to prevent Mithridates and Narses marching against Dura?’
‘A wise question, child,’ said Dobbai, looking at my father.
‘Mithridates is a coward,’ I said. ‘He will not march through Babylonian and Hatran territory to attack Dura and thereby risk outright war with those two kingdoms having been worsted by them last year. Had he desired that he would have marched against me a long time ago. No, he will bide his time and let others do his work.’
‘Mithridates will not attack you, Pacorus,’ said my father. ‘After all, you have Babylon and Mesene behind you, to say nothing of Haytham and his hordes.’
‘Is it not curious,’ mused Dobbai, ‘that had it not have been for Mithridates taking the daughter of Haytham hostage when he ruled this city, Pacorus might never have forged an alliance with the Agraci. The gods weave their magic in most curious ways.’
My father regarded Dobbai guardedly. ‘Well, be that as it may, I doubt that Dura will face any problems while you are away.’
He was probably right, but in the days following his departure I appointed Marcus as Rsan’s deputy and instructed him to mount his smaller ballista on the towers on the city walls that faced west. Deep wadis were immediately beyond the city’s north and south walls and at the bottom of the rock escarpment upon which the Citadel sat was the Euphrates. An attack against the city could only be mounted against its western wall. I thought it highly unlikely but it was better to be safe than sorry.
The replacement cohort would act as the garrison while the army was away. It consisted mostly of green recruits who received basic training before being allocated to either the Durans or Exiles. There was also the walking wounded who had received injuries in training or who were suffering from fever and similar ailments. Too sick to go on campaign, they were quite capable of undertaking garrison duty. Dobbai had told Gallia that there would no fighting with the Armenians and so she decided to stay in the city, which meant her Amazons could use their bows against any attackers.
Peace or war, training continued as usual. Each day was the same routine for legionaries and horsemen – wake, wash, attend to the horses if a cavalryman, eat breakfast, morning parade and roll-call, camp duties, such as cleaning the latrines, hours spent drilling and training, bedding down the horses, evening meal and bed. The time between evening meal and bed was usually filled with cleaning weapons and equipment, though the married soldiers usually also found time to visit their wives and children in the city. It was certainly an austere life but one that was rewarded with ample amounts of good food, regular pay, the best weapons and equipment that gold could buy and the knowledge that they were part of what I believed to be the best army in the world. And at the apex of the army was a figure feared and respected throughout the kingdom, a man who was the benchmark when it came to professionalism, discipline and fighting prowess. A man that was harder than the blade of the gladius he wore at his hip – Lucius Domitus.
I was in the Citadel’s courtyard discussing with Rsan the licensing of brothels in the city when Orodes and Surena rode through the gates and jumped from their horses.
‘The queen won’t approve,’ I said, ‘but the fact is that thousands of young men travelling with the caravans pass through Dura each year, and when they stop here they seek the company of prostitutes.’
‘It is as you say, majesty,’ agreed Rsan gravely.
‘So the treasury might as well benefit from their brisk trade.’
Rsan nodded approvingly. ‘I was thinking of a licence for each brothel, majesty, renewable each year.’
I saw Orodes and Surena pass the reins of their horses to waiting squires and then walk towards us.
‘Good, Rsan. I leave the matter in your capable hands.’
‘It was actually Aaron’s idea, majesty. He has proved a most useful addition to the administration here.’
He bowed and went back to the treasury as Surena and Orodes appeared in front of me.
‘I think you should ride to the legionary camp immediately, Pacorus,’ said Orodes.
‘Grave news, lord,’ added Surena.
‘What is it?’ I said, concerned.
‘It would appear that Domitus has a woman,’ said Orodes seriously.
I looked at them both, suddenly grinning like mischievous children. ‘What nonsense is this?’
‘No nonsense, lord,’ said Surena. ‘He has been spotted walking with a woman, in camp.’
‘I think you should investigate immediately,’ suggested Orodes.
The idea that Domitus would have a woman was a ridiculous notion. He was married to the army, unyielding, iron-hard, devoid of emotion. The whole army looked up to him; indeed, the whole kingdom held him in high esteem.
‘Impossible,’ I said. ‘I have known that man for thirteen years and in all that time he has shown no interest in the opposite sex.’
Orodes held up his hands. ‘Have it your own way, but I have it on good authority that he is in camp with her as we speak.’
‘You should ride to the camp and see for yourself, lord,’ urged Surena. ‘Everyone is talking about it.’
‘We will be marching north soon,’ I said, ‘and I have better things to do than indulge in idle gossip. And so do you two.’
‘Actually,’ remarked Orodes, ‘I don’t. Your cataphracts are fully prepared and Strabo has ensured that the horses, camels and men are fully provisioned.’
‘As are my horse archers, lord,’ added Surena, a self-satisfied smug look on his face.
‘But the legions may not be,’ said Orodes casually.
‘Oh? Why not?’
He feigned ignorance. ‘Well, if Domitus is distracted then who knows what might happen? His men might arrive in Nisibus without javelins, or helmets even.’
I decided to put a stop to this frivolity right away.
‘I am riding to the camp and you two are coming with me,’ I commanded.
The three of us rode from the city and into camp, leaving our horses at the stables near the workshops. Domitus was not in his headquarters tent and the sentries standing guard outside did not know of his whereabouts.
‘Bad sign that, Pacorus,’ remarked Orodes.
‘Please be quiet,’ I replied.
‘Perhaps he has been kidnapped,’ suggested Surena.
I turned to face them both. ‘Listen you two, I hope Domitus is not out on manoeuvres and you have dragged me here for some sort of joke.’
Orodes looked most alarmed. ‘Joke, Pacorus? I hardly think the corruption of the commander of the army is a joke.’
At that moment I saw Drenis striding across the parade square adjacent to the headquarters tent. He saluted when he saw me.
‘Drenis,’ I said, ‘have you seen Domitus?’
Orodes and Surena both smiled at him but he ignored them.
‘I saw him go in the griffin’s tent a few moments ago.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied, relieved.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Of course, thank you. How are the men?’
He winked. ‘Lean and mean and itching for a bit of revenge. They’ve never fought Armenians before.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘let us hope that it won’t come to fighting.’
‘If that is all, Pacorus?’ Drenis was not one for small talk.
I nodded. He saluted and then went about his business as we strolled over to the tent that housed the golden griffin standard of the Duran Legion. Guards ringed it and there were more guards inside to watch over what had become the religious totem of the Durans. The Exiles had their own emblem, a silver lion that also had its own guarded tent nearby. The legionaries at the entrance snapped to attention as we removed our headgear and went inside.
There, positioned in the middle of the tent and held in place by a stand, was the griffin tha
t had been cast in gold sitting on its metal plate, bold, defiant and seemingly about to fly. The atmosphere inside the tent was still and dripping with reverence, as though the griffin was holding court. This was as it should be for it was the symbol of Dura and, like the statue at the Palmyrene Gate, as long as it existed no harm would come to the city. And there, standing before it, helmet in the crook of his arm, straight as the shaft of an arrow, was Domitus. And beside him was standing a woman dressed in a long blue robe and with a white head cloth descending down her back. He was speaking to her slowly in Latin.
‘And ever since it was presented to them my soldiers believe that it has magic powers, and that as long as it remains unharmed they and the kingdom are safe.’
‘They worship it?’ asked the woman, whose voice I recognised.
‘Some do, believing it to be sacred object; others look upon it as a good luck charm. But they would all die to protect it.’
‘My religion teaches that it is wrong to worship idols.’
‘Each to his own, I say,’ replied Domitus whose instincts told him that there were others in the tent behind him. He turned round to see the three of us standing in a row like legionaries waiting to be disciplined. The woman also turned and I saw that it was Miriam, the mother of Aaron’s future wife.
Domitus was dressed in his full parade uniform. Though he was now a general he had never abandoned the uniform of a centurion that he now wore: mail shirt adorned with silver discs, silver-edged greaves and helmet with a white transverse crest, the colour of Dura’s army. His gladius was in its scabbard at his left hip, dagger at his right and his trusty vine cane in his right hand. He looked at us all suspiciously.
Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles) Page 36
