‘We found them wandering in the desert, lost,’ beamed Malik.
‘Glad to have your men with us, Nergal,’ I said. ‘Vagises told us that there is a great army gathering at Seleucia, which is now probably heading this way.’
He looked surprised. ‘No army is approaching, Pacorus. Narses and Mithridates have fled back across the Tigris, taking their army with them.’
‘And Babylon?’ Orodes looked momentarily concerned.
‘The city is safe. My horsemen made contact with the garrison yesterday.’
‘The last I heard,’ I said to Nergal, ‘you were beset by the hordes of King Phriapatius.’
‘If I can wash the dust out of my throat,’ he replied, ‘I will tell you our story.’
That night he revealed what had happened in Mesene and Babylon. The Carmanians under Phriapatius had indeed invaded Nergal’s kingdom and had marched towards Uruk. But Nergal had called on Yasser for help and as the enemy advanced on his capital Nergal’s horsemen launched a series of hit-and-run raids against the Carmanians.
‘Small parties, mostly,’ said Nergal, chewing on a biscuit, ‘just to slow their advance. But we kept up the pressure on them day and night to fray their nerves. And you know how Parthians hate to fight at night.’
‘I’ve never understood that,’ remarked Domitus. ‘War is not a game. The enemy is there to be beaten irrespective of whether it’s night or day.’
‘Those of us who follow Shamash believe that it is better to fight during the day when we have His protection,’ I replied, ‘though I would not expect a heathen such as you to understand that, Domitus.’
‘Better a living heathen than a dead worshipper,’ he sniffed.
‘The enemy got as far as Umma, a town less than fifty miles from Uruk,’ continued Nergal, ‘but I had strengthened its walls and the garrison was not to be intimidated, and we continued to launch raids against the besiegers until it was they who were besieged.’
He smiled at Yasser. ‘It got worse for them when Lord Yasser arrived. After five days the Carmanians gave up and fell back towards the Tigris. Two days later Phriapatius asked for a truce. So you see, there was never a battle and Uruk was never threatened.’
‘I get the impression that Phriapatius is a rather lukewarm player in the grand scheme of Mithridates and Narses,’ I said.
‘That is why I am here, Pacorus,’ replied Nergal, ‘to take you to see him.’
The next day I gave command of the army to Orodes and told him to take it directly to Babylon to secure the city. Mithridates and Narses may have retreated but there were still probably roving bands of the enemy at large that had either been deliberately left behind or had deserted and were nothing more than groups of brigands. I took a thousand horse archers with me as I accompanied Nergal and Yasser south. We travelled at speed through a land laid waste by a cruel enemy. Every village we came upon had been destroyed and its population either killed or carried off into slavery. The bodies of the slaughtered still lay where they had been cut down, the stench of decomposition filling our nostrils and making us want to retch. Occasionally we saw a dead dog next to a corpse where a master and his faithful servant had been killed side by side.
We rode into the now deserted Jem det Nasr and straight into a scene of horror. The enemy had obviously killed those remaining members of the population before they had fled. As we made our way to the centre of the city we rode through streets strewn with bodies, mostly the elderly, frail and children, those who were not strong enough to endure a forced march. Any able-bodied men and women and teenage girls would have been taken away as slaves, though we did come across the naked corpses of women whose breasts had been cut off, no doubt having first been raped before their mutilation and murder.
‘And they say that we are savages,’ remarked Yasser.
At that moment I was ashamed to be a Parthian, ashamed that Parthians could do such things to each other. It was worse than the scenes I had witnessed at Forum Annii in Italy when Crixus and his Gauls had stormed that place and butchered its inhabitants. There was literally no one left alive, in fact nothing left alive, just the usual repellent odour of death that hung over the whole city.
We reached the centre of the city where the Temple of Shamash stood, its massive twin doors shut. It fronted a large square and behind it was the governor’s palace and the royal barracks. We filed into the square and Nergal organised parties to search the palace grounds to see if there were any survivors. Fortunately the enemy had not had time to torch the city.
Yasser seated on his horse looked at the shut doors of the temple.
‘There are no braces against the doors, they must have been shut from the inside.’
‘Perhaps there are people in there,’ said Nergal.
I looked at the temple, the barred doors facing east like every temple dedicated to Shamash. They were set back from the yellow stone columns that surrounded the building on all four sides to support the high arched roof. There was a smaller entrance in the west wall of the temple but an officer reported that it too was closed.
I dismounted and walked up the dozen stone steps that led to the main entrance. There were square windows cut high in the walls allowing the rays of the sun to enter the temple. In the mornings the priests would welcome its first rays, signifying that Shamash had left the underworld to bring the sun to warm the earth once more. The sound of hundreds of horsemen riding into the square would have been carried through those windows to whoever, if anyone, was inside. Aside from horses scraping at the ground and chomping on their bits there was silence. Any people inside would probably be filled with terror at the thought that their tormentors had returned. I stood in front of the doors.
‘I am Pacorus, King of Dura and a friend and ally of your queen. If there are any within the temple let them come forth in the knowledge that I am here to protect you.’
There was no reply to my plea.
‘I say again, my name is King Pacorus of Dura and I am a friend of Queen Axsen. The enemy has left your city. You are safe.’
I looked behind me to where Nergal was sitting on his horse beside Yasser, the latter smiling and shaking his head at me. I walked back down the steps.
‘What now?’ asked Nergal.
‘We will break down the doors.’
I called forward the commander of the horse archers who organised an empty stone water trough to be used as a battering ram. A dozen men, six on each side, supported the trough on iron bars and rammed it against the doors, which were eventually forced open after being struck a dozen times.
The pungent aroma of dead flesh and emptied bowels met our nostrils the moment we stepped inside the temple, shoving aside the tables that had been used to brace the doors. Light was still flooding through the windows, illuminating the interior where bodies lay on the marble-tiled floor. Only Nergal, Yasser and I entered the temple, picking our way through the dead towards the altar at the far end. I knelt down and examined one of the bodies. There were no marks on it, no signs of a violent struggle and no gaping wounds. The expression on the woman’s face was one of calm resignation. I went to another corpse, this time an old man in his sixties. Once again there were no marks on the body, no signs of violence. The eyes were closed and I saw an empty cup in his hand. Looking around I saw other cups scattered on the floor.
‘They took poison. Hemlock, probably,’ I said.
‘Suicide?’ Nergal was shocked. Parthians generally frowned on the taking of one’s own life, seeing it as a cowardly and disgraceful act.
‘The priests have also taken their own lives,’ I said, pointing to the high altar where white-robed figures lay on the dais. ‘They must have authorised the distribution of the poison and thus sanctioned the act. That being the case, I assume that the suicides were a way of protesting against submission to tyranny, and in the women’s case a way of avoiding the shame of rape. Shamash will care for their souls.’
I ordered that the bodies were to be removed from the te
mple and consigned to funeral pyres along with the other corpses in the city. That night we camped outside the city walls to sleep well away from so much death.
The next day I left the horse archers to garrison the city and rode on with Nergal and Yasser. Amazingly, as we journeyed south we encountered small groups of people who had come out of hiding and were making their way back to their homes. Some had fled from Jem det Nasr and were now heading back there, though perhaps it would have been better if they had not, such was the scene of desolation that awaited them.
As we rode from Babylonia to Mesene we left behind death and destruction and travelled through a countryside untouched by war. Nergal told me that Phriapatius had kept his men under control and his own attacks had confined them to a small corridor that extended from the River Tigris to Umma. We slept at the latter place the night before my meeting with the King of Carmania. Praxima had ridden to the city to await her husband and me, and I embraced her warmly, my face engulfed in her wild red hair. She told us that High Priest Rahim had things in order at Uruk and had delivered a sermon to thousands of people at the White Temple in the city, telling them that the retreat of Carmania’s army was a miracle worked by Anu and proof that Nergal and Praxima were beloved of the gods.
‘He told me that he frowns upon the Agraci being in Mesene,’ she said, smiling at Yasser as we were served roasted chicken coated in a delicious sweet sauce.
‘Let Rahim believe that the gods saved the kingdom,’ said Nergal, washing his hands in a bowl of warm water. ‘I am glad that eight thousand Agraci warriors are with me.’
‘You do not believe your gods are helping you?’ asked Yasser.
‘The gods help those who help themselves,’ replied Praxima.
‘It is as my wife says,’ added Nergal.
‘Then the gods must look favourably upon our alliance with your people, Yasser,’ I said.
‘That is one way of looking at it,’ he agreed. ‘If I had been told that one day I would be sharing a meal with Parthian kings…’
‘And a queen,’ interrupted Praxima. Yasser smiled at her.
‘Then I would have told them they were mad. And yet here we are, so perhaps the gods are indeed weaving their magic around us.’
‘How many men does Phriapatius have?’ I asked, turning to more practical matters.
‘Around ten thousand,’ answered Nergal.
‘A few less now,’ grinned Yasser. ‘Nergal wants to talk but I urged him to attack them. I can smell their fear from here. They are weak and should be slaughtered like lambs.’
I smiled thinly at him. I sometimes forgot that our Agraci allies were ruthless as well as cunning. They despised weakness and respected strength. Yasser did not become a lord by diplomacy and Haytham did not become a king of these fierce desert people by being merciful.
‘I think we shall hear what the Carmanians have to say before we put them to the sword,’ I said as Yasser screwed up his face at my words.
‘When words run out the conversation is carried on with weapons,’ he replied, holding a rack of lamb in his hand and tearing off a great strip of meat with his teeth. ‘It has always been so and always will be.’
He pointed at all three of us in turn.
‘You talk of peace but only when it suits you, and only from a position of strength. When you, Pacorus, were trapped in the desert before my king and your queen came to your aid, did you squeal like a little girl and ask for quarter? You did not. And you, Nergal, when the enemy invaded your lands did you lie down like a lamb and invite him to steal your kingdom? You are more like me than you like to think. Now that the enemy has retreated you wish to talk, but I know that you would both prefer war.’
There is an old road that runs from Uruk through Umma and across the Tigris to the city of Susa and thereafter to the east. From Uruk the road heads north into the Kingdom of Babylon and then into Hatra. It spans the Tigris between Umma and Susa by means of a multi-arched stone bridge that was built by Greek engineers after Alexander of Macedon had conquered the Persians over two hundred and fifty years ago. Ever since that time it had been maintained by engineers employed by the king of kings himself, for it was the only bridge south of the one at Seleucia and as such was strategically important. Though in summer the level of the Tigris drops considerably, below Seleucia the river is still at least twenty feet deep even in the hottest months and thus an army not in possession of the bridge would need a great number of rafts to get across the waterway.
Nergal had decided not to fight Phriapatius at the bridge but rather let him and his army cross into Mesene. Afterwards, as the Carmanians were advancing towards Umma, Nergal’s horsemen attacked and destroyed those enemy forces left behind to defend the bridge. Phriapatius was thus cut off and surrounded at the beginning of his campaign. He had negotiated a truce with Nergal soon after, one of the terms of which was that he and his army would be allowed withdraw to the east bank of the Tigris. We now dismounted and left our horses at the western end of the bridge and walked across the yellow flagstones that covered its surface.
The day was hot and airless, the waters of the Tigris below us brown and slow moving. I walked with Nergal, Praxima and Yasser as Nergal’s horse archers together with their Agraci allies lined the riverbank either side of the bridge. On the opposite bank the army of Carmania was drawn up to face them – a mass of cataphracts at the bridge, with horse archers and mounted spearmen carrying huge round shields on either side. Green dragon windsocks hung limply from their poles among the ranks of the horse archers but I knew that the symbol of Carmania was the golden peacock.
Four figures approached us to equal the number of our own party. As we got to within a hundred paces of each other both groups slowed as if by mutual consent, though more likely mutual suspicion. I rested my left hand on the hilt of my sword as I studied the king and his subordinates. Phriapatius himself walked a couple of paces in front of the others. He was a man of medium height with broad shoulders, a thick black beard, large nose and skin turned dark brown by the sun. He wore an open-faced bronze helmet on his head and a short-sleeved silver scale armour cuirass. Sculptured bronze plates bearing a peacock motif, the design also appearing on the sleeves of his red silk shirt, also protected his shoulders. His sword was held in a red scabbard decorated with gold and on his feet he wore a fine pair of red boots.
All of the men behind him also wore scale armour, two of them were about half the king’s age while the third carried his helmet in the crock of his arm and wore red leggings edged with gold and silver greaves. By the look of his weatherworn face I guessed he was one of the king’s senior commanders. We halted ten paces from each other.
‘Greetings King Phriapatius,’ said Nergal, holding out his hand to me. ‘This is King Pacorus of Dura.’
I bowed my head ever so slightly to Phriapatius, who nodded back.
‘I remember you from the Council of Kings at Esfahan all those years ago. You look older now and more severe.’
‘Constant war does that to a man, lord,’ I answered. ‘How can I be of assistance to you?’
‘Straight to the point, I like that. I can tell you have not spent any time at the grand court at Ctesiphon lately.’
‘I find the atmosphere there disagreeable, lord, and the man who occupies its throne even more distasteful.’
He smiled wryly. ‘So I have heard. Mithridates would pay me handsomely if I drew my sword and slew you right here, on this bridge.’
He made no movement to draw his sword but Nergal, Praxima and Yasser instinctively clasped the hilts of their swords; the three others behind Phriapatius did the same. I stood dead still and fixed his brown eyes with my own. He smiled.
‘But then that would make me a worthless murdering wretch like he is, not a responsible king who desires only to be back in his kingdom.’
The atmosphere, seconds before tense, relaxed as he waved his hand at his subordinates to show restraint.
‘I would talk with you in private, King P
acorus,’ he said.
I nodded to the others who withdrew a few paces behind me, while those with Phriapatius likewise retreated. The king walked over to the edge of the stone parapet and stared at the water below.
‘I thank you for coming here today,’ he said, still staring at the river. ‘I would not have blamed you if you had brought your army to do your talking.’
‘My army has done its talking in Hatra and Babylonia, lord. Even as we stand here and talk, Narses and Mithridates crawl back to Ctesiphon with their tails between their legs.’
He looked surprised. ‘Babylon has not fallen?’
‘No, lord,’ I answered, ‘though grievous damage has been inflicted upon Queen Axsen’s kingdom.’
He nodded to himself. ‘Narses promised an easy victory against Babylon. He also promised those who marched with him would be richly rewarded with lands and gold at the expense of those kingdoms who sided with you. The reality has turned out to be very different, it appears.’
‘You should also know that Cinnamus and Vologases were also turned back at Hatra’s border. I know; I was there.’
He stared once more at the meandering waters of the Tigris. ‘So the grand scheme begins to unfold.’
‘Next year,’ I announced, ‘Dura and others will be marching across the Tigris to put an end to Mithridates once and for all. I would be honoured to have the banner of Carmania fly next to mine.’
He turned his head and looked at me. ‘How many children do you have, Pacorus?’
‘Children?’
‘Yes, how many? One, two, a dozen?’
‘Three, lord, all daughters.’
He jerked his thumb to where his three subordinates stood facing Nergal, Praxima and Yasser. ‘The two young ones are my sons, Phanes and Peroz.’
‘They are fine young men, lord.’
‘I have two other sons, who are currently “guests” at Ctesiphon, and you will find that the other eastern kings of the empire also have their children being held hostage at Mithridates’ palace. If my banner flew beside yours, Pacorus, their heads would be adorning his palace walls.’
Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles) Page 47
