Parthian Vengeance (15 page)

‘Tired men cannot fight another battle and win,’ added Domitus.

Orodes looked dejected and said no more.

‘Well, then,’ said Domitus, ‘I’d better get the camp organised.’

He took a swig from his water bottle, replaced the cork and then strode off.

‘Domitus,’ I called after him, ‘ensure that no water is wasted. We will need every drop.’ He raised his hand in acknowledgement and then was gone.

At that moment Surena rode up. His helmet was pushed back on his head although he was still wearing his scale armour. His horse was still similarly protected. ‘I have just heard, lord. Let me take my half dragon to disperse them.’

Orodes rolled his eyes in despair and Malik laughed. Byrd stared at Surena in disbelief.

‘As much as a glorious death may appeal to you, Surena,’ I said, ‘I still have need of you. Get your men and their squires back to camp and wait for further orders.’

He looked towards where the din of kettledrums and horns was getting louder and then at me in frustration. Finally he snorted loudly and then rode back to his men.

‘He fought well today, Pacorus,’ said Orodes. ‘But he doesn’t know when to stop. He will over-reach himself one day, I fear.’

‘But not today,’ I replied.

Orodes’ squire had finished packing his armour onto the camel and now held the reins of his and his master’s horse. Orodes nodded to me and then vaulted into his saddle and rode away to his men mounted and waiting a couple of hundred paces away. I turned to Byrd and Malik.

‘My friends, though you are tired I would ask a favour of you both.’

They both nodded.

‘Byrd, I would like you to ride to King Vardan at Babylon and tell him what has happened here. Tell him that we are marching back to Dura. Warn him that Mithridates may strike at Babylon then make your way back to us. Malik, I would ask you to ride straight to Dura and convey the news of our predicament to Gallia. She will take it better if it comes from a friend. And convey my love to her also.’

He bowed his head to me. ‘You can tell her that yourself when you return home.’

I embraced him and then Byrd and then they were away, riding back to camp to get food and fodder before leaving us. Byrd would head southwest towards the Euphrates, taking him away from the enemy and allowing him to get water for both him and his horse. The great river lay around thirty miles in that direction, and Babylon another eighty travelling southeast and following the course of the waterway.

Malik would ride west, following the same route that the army had taken to get to this place. After travelling fifty miles he and his men would reach the Euphrates, thereafter riding another two hundred miles north before arriving at Dura. We were in Babylonian territory, but sixty miles north lay Hatra’s border, and once Malik reached my father’s kingdom he would make contact with one of the mud-brick forts that littered the realm. Each one held carrier pigeons that could convey messages faster than a horse. With luck news of my predicament would reach Dura in a week. I prayed that any subsequent news that reached my wife’s ears would not tell of my bleached bones lying in the sun.

The horse archers acted as the rear-guard of the army as the legions, cataphracts, squires and camels retreated back to camp. I stayed with the rearmost units as I watched the army disappear into the vast rectangle that we had created in the desert, and then cast my eyes to the east. The army of Narses was visible now, a black line of foot and cavalry filling the horizon. I gave the signal to fall back as a party of enemy horse archers, dressed in baggy long-sleeved yellow shirts and blue leggings, halted around five hundred paces from me. About a hundred in number, they gave no indication that they were going to attack. They merely spread into a long line and pulled their bows from their cases and observed us retreating. They advanced as we fell back, but when I ordered a halt and about-face they stopped. More of their comrades joined the end of their line until there were around five hundred horsemen facing us. We fell back another five hundred paces and they followed, but when we wheeled round to face them as before they again halted. They were obviously under orders not to provoke a fight. I was tempted to launch my own assault, but more and more horse archers were now joining them and any combat would have been a very one-sided affair. And so, as the final units of Dura’s army filed back into camp, the rear-guard and I followed them. What had started as a most propitious day had ended very badly.

I thanked Rome’s gods that they had revealed to me the mysteries of the Roman military machine, its organisation and encampment procedures. For if Dura’s army had been run along Parthian lines then we would surely have been carrion for the crows by the morning. But at least we had a ditch, rampart and palisade surrounding us. Those defences gave me time to think of a plan for the morrow. I also breathed a huge sigh of relief that it was not the Parthian way to fight at night; otherwise we would be fending off attacks during the hours of darkness.

When word had reached Marcus of what was happening, after they had arrived back in camp he had ordered the squires to man the rampart with their bows in case the enemy tried to storm the camp. The squires had taken no part in the battle and they were thus fresh and rested, and eager to fight. They may have been boys, mostly between fourteen and sixteen years of age, but they were well versed in using a Parthian bow. To curb their youthful enthusiasm Marcus gave each boy a full quiver and said he would increase his fatigue duties if he wasted any arrows.

As well as the squires and the fighting men there were farriers, veterinaries, blacksmiths, the riders of the camels of the ammunition train and the wagons, Marcus’ men and Alcaeus’ medical personnel in camp – over three thousand men.

Domitus organised parties to reinforce the rampart defences as the enemy slowly surrounded the camp. Despite my general’s fears that they would launch an immediate attack from all sides they actually showed no signs that they would assault us. They were content to deploy on all four sides of the camp and then stand in their ranks. The camp’s main entrance was on the western side and that was where Narses placed his foot, thousands of spearmen dressed in yellow tunics and blue leggings. They carried long spears topped by leaf-shaped points and wore helmets on their heads. Their large rectangular shields were made of wicker covered with leather painted yellow. They also carried what looked like long daggers in scabbards fixed to their belts. They wore no body armour. In the centre of the line stood Narses’ élite foot soldiers – his palace guard, or at least that is what I assumed they were. They wore bronze helmets with large cheekguards to protect the sides of their faces and had leather cuirasses over their torsos. Their tunics were yellow like the other foot soldiers and they too were armed with spears that had leaf-shaped blades. However, their shields were round and faced with bronze after the Greek fashion, with the symbol of the bird-god painted on each one. There were around two thousands of them.

To the north of our camp Narses deployed his horse archers, thousands of men in helmets, yellow shirts and red leggings. Some of them wore armour on their bodies. On the south side of the camp were yet more archers similarly attired, a great mass of men and horseflesh intended to awe us. Last but by no means least to the east of the camp came Narses himself, accompanied by around five thousand or more armoured horsemen.

I stood on the rampart with Orodes, Domitus and Surena as they rode towards our camp and then halted around four hundred paces away; a horde of heavy cavalry, each man holding a
kontus
. I estimated that we were surrounded by at least thirty thousand enemy soldiers.

Narses, the King of Persis and Sakastan, had always cut a dashing figure, adorning every inch of his powerful frame with expensive clothes and armour. Today was no different. Mounted as ever on his magnificent black stallion, whose immaculately groomed coat shone in the late afternoon sun, he and his horse wore no scale armour. Instead he wore a cuirass made up of overlapping rows of silver segments and on his large head he wore a helmet inlaid with gold. Its cheekguards were also inlaid with gold and silver and from its crown streamed a long black horsehair plume. Next to him, also seated on a black stallion, was King of Kings Mithridates. I spat over the palisade stakes in his direction, hoping he would see my insult. Perhaps he would be enraged and launch an assault. I gripped the hilt of my
spatha
.

‘You are wasting your spit,’ growled Domitus. ‘He’s got us where he wants us. The last thing he’ll do is make any rash moves.’

‘Give me some men, lord,’ said Surena, who appeared remarkably fresh despite his participation in the battle. ‘I can launch an attack against them. They are very close.’

Domitus looked at him and shook his head, prompting a scowl from Surena. Domitus had always regarded Surena as volatile and reckless. For his part Surena believed Domitus to be far too cautious.

‘No, Surena,’ I replied. ‘For the moment we conserve our strength.’

Domitus looked up at the sun descending on the western horizon.

‘They won’t attack today.’

‘Knowing my stepbrother,’ added Orodes, ‘he would prefer to starve us into submission rather than offer battle.’

Narses was obviously bored with watching us as he wheeled his horse away and rode back to the camp that was being established to the south of our position. His many cataphracts and Mithridates followed the lord high general of the Parthian Empire. To the east where the earlier battle had taken place, smoke was billowing into the sky. The enemy was cremating the dead on great pyres rather than burying them. Perhaps Orodes was right – the enemy intended to starve us into submission rather than assault our camp. No general would want piles of bodies and rotting carcasses near his army. Already the flies would be swarming over dead flesh, and where there was dead flesh there would soon be plague and sickness. At least there was still a slight northerly wind that carried the stench of burning flesh to the south rather than over our camp. To the west the sky was a mass of blues and purples streaked with orange and yellow. It was a beautiful spring evening. I hoped it would not be our last.

I turned to the others. ‘Get something to eat. Council of war in an hour.’

With due reverence the griffin and lion standards were returned to their tents and guards placed around them. Officers reported to Domitus and Orodes in my command tent and clerks recorded the number of dead and wounded. When we returned to Dura, if we returned to Dura, those killed who had families would be informed of the pensions they were entitled to. Any children of the deceased would be entitled to free education and any males could be enrolled in the Sons of the Citadel scheme should they be suitable. When I had first come to Dura Domitus had insisted that his legionaries should be forbidden to marry, as was the rule in the Roman army. However, after a while many legionaries had formed relationships and had given their women part of their wages so they could rent rooms in the city. They were de facto man and wife. And when men among the cavalry began to enter into marriages it was clearly impractical and unfair to insist that the legionaries should be treated differently. Domitus grumbled but acquiesced. I suggested that he too should take a wife but he had scowled and grumbled some more so I let the matter rest.

Before the council meeting I walked round the camp and talked with as many men as possible. Despite being outnumbered and surrounded they were in remarkably good spirits, but then victory has a habit of intoxicating the soul and diminishing the size of the enemy. Walking back to my tent I threaded my way through the neat rows of eight-man tents in which the legionaries and horsemen slept. I came across one of the Companions, a Thracian named Drenis who had been a gladiator in Capua, in the same school as Spartacus. I had absolutely no idea how old he was but judging by the scars and lines on his face he must have been a veteran of a hundred battles! His arms and legs were similarly adorned with scars and marks, further mementoes of his time in the arena and on the battlefield. He had started out as a slave before becoming a gladiator, then served in the ranks of the slave army in Italy before becoming a centurion in Dura’s army. He now commanded two cohorts, the equivalent of a Roman tribune, though he would never countenance accepting a title used by his enemies. He was standing next to a brazier holding forth to a group of his centurions sitting on stools round it. They all stood up when they saw me. I indicated to them to regain their seats.

‘Ah, Pacorus,’ all the Companions were allowed such familiarity with each other, ‘I was just telling them about when that bastard Crassus had us boxed in at Rhegium, do you remember?’

‘I do indeed, I also remember it being very cold.’

I was taken back to the southern tip of Italy, to when Spartacus had led the army to the port of Rhegium prior to embarkation aboard ships of the Cilician pirates for transportation to the island of Sicily. But the pirates had betrayed us, and Crassus had built a line of earthworks and wooden forts across the land to trap the slave army with its back against the sea.

Drenis put his arm round my shoulder.

‘So the Romans thought they had the war all done and dusted and were planning their victory parade when Pacorus and his horsemen smashes through their lines and allowed us to escape. We gave one lot a beating today and tomorrow the ones that turned up late for the show will get the same treatment. I was telling them that there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Perhaps we might negotiate our way out of here, Drenis.’

He laughed aloud. ‘You’ve been a king too long. Besides, someone told me that Mithridates is present.’

‘He is.’

Drenis pulled his
gladius
from its scabbard. ‘Well he can negotiate all he wants to; he’s not going anywhere. He has to pay for what he did to Godarz.’

They all cheered at this. I clasped Drenis’ forearm and left him to his tall stories. I suddenly felt more confident that we would all live to see Dura again.