Parthian Vengeance (81 page)

‘You really think so?’

‘I have never doubted it.’

Fortified by my wife’s certainty that we would emerge victorious I decided to conduct a tour of the camp before I met the kings, which unfortunately served only to dampen my spirits once more. In the hospital Alcaeus and his medical staff were working tirelessly to stitch wounds, bind broken limbs and extract arrows from flesh. Gallia went among the wounded and tried to comfort them with soft words. We came across one of the injured, a squire lying in a cot, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped round his stomach.

‘Javelin in the stomach,’ remarked Alcaeus. ‘He won’t see the dawn.’

This boy had barely begun his life and now it was to end in a few hours, far away from his family, alone and in pain.

‘No,’ said Alcaeus, ‘not in pain. He has been given morphe to ease his journey.’

On the royal estates in Dura Alcaeus oversaw the cultivation of herbs and flowers to make medicines for his corps. The most remarkable was the milky liquid of the unripe fruit of the green poppy. Mixed with wine it produced a drink that could take away pain, the liquid being named after Morpheus, the Greek god of dreams and sleep. It had the power to numb even the most severe pain and could also be used to hasten the end of those who would not survive their wounds. It was so now as Gallia knelt beside the cot and gently stroked the face of the youth with the far-away stare, taking his hand in hers while I stood with Alcaeus watching the scene.

‘It will not be long now,’ he said softly as Gallia spoke to the boy.

‘How many squires have you treated?’

‘Dozens,’ he replied, ‘most with arrow or javelin wounds.’

‘They saved the camp. One day bards will write about how a few boys held off an army of barbarians with their bows.’

‘Let us hope we all live to see that day.’

Gallia, pale and downcast, came to us. ‘He’s gone.’

Alcaeus signalled to one of his orderlies to take the body to where the others were laid out in neat rows behind the hospital, nodded to us both and continued with his duties. The low moans and occasional screams added to the overall frightfulness of the scene and though I thanked Shamash for Alcaeus and his healers, I was glad to leave them.

In contrast I was delighted to see Domitus two hours later when he informed me that Marcus and his ballista had forced the enemy’s royal archers to retreat, the latter having discovered to their cost that their shields offered no protection against his ‘shield piercers’. With their retreat the enemy’s assault against the camp finally ceased. It was now two hours past midnight and still the kings had yet to meet. Dawn was four hours away.

We finally gathered in my tent half an hour later, all of us tired, dirty, unshaven and listless. None of us had slept much over the last two days and now we faced yet another day of combat. Even Domitus appeared drained. We drank water out of fear that consuming wine would induce sleep, chewing on salted mutton and hard biscuit as we considered our parlous position. Only Marcus appeared jovial, once again delighted that his machines had exceeded all expectations.

‘Well, Marcus, perhaps you would give us a summary of our present condition.’

He rubbed his hand across his scalp and began reading from a parchment of his notes.

‘There are in camp two thousand, two hundred cataphracts fit for duty, sixteen thousand horse archers, two hundred of Babylon’s royal guard,’ he bowed his head to Orodes, ‘nine and a half thousand legionaries and two thousand Babylonian foot soldiers. Plus three thousand squires and the camel and wagon drivers, medical staff and so forth.’

No one said anything but all realised the sobering nature of these figures. In two days of fighting our combined forces had lost over eight thousand foot soldiers killed and wounded, over a thousand cataphract dead and casualties of eight thousand among the horse archers, to say nothing of Babylon’s three hundred royal bodyguards killed and three thousand squires slaughtered when the camps had been overrun. The only ray of sunshine was that the legions’ losses were light.

‘At least the enemy’s losses are greater,’ offered Surena in an attempt to brighten the mood.

‘We must march out of camp when it is light to fight the enemy once more,’ said Orodes. ‘Either that or withdraw north back to the bridge and return to Ctesiphon.’

‘I would advise against withdrawing, Orodes,’ I said. ‘The hill men may have gone but the remnants have probably fallen back to the bridge, which means we may have to fight our way across while conducting a rearguard action at the same time.’

‘I also do not wish to retreat,’ added Atrax. ‘It is dishonourable to flee thus before the false high king.’

Gallia rolled her eyes at his notion of honour but Surena was nodding his head in agreement.

‘The enemy will think that we are almost beaten,’ he said. ‘As such they will not be expecting us to attack, which may give us an advantage.’

Domitus was more sobering in his assessment. ‘Whatever the decision taken here, you all should know that this army has only one fight left in it.’

‘There is something else,’ remarked Marcus, ‘we are running short of arrows.’

I was astounded. ‘How can this be? Dura has its own camel train carrying spare ammunition, as does Hatra, Gordyene and Media.’

‘I am sorry to report that during the last two days of fighting we have expended a great many arrows and we also lost a great many camels carrying ammunition when the camps were attacked.’

Orodes looked at him with weary eyes. ‘How much is left?’

‘Two quivers for each horse archer, more or less.’

‘That will last about ten minutes,’ said Gafarn.

‘Our odds lengthen,’ remarked Atrax flatly.

We fell silent as each of us mused over the possibilities in our minds. Retreat was out of the question. We had come this far and to crawl back to Ctesiphon would not only embolden the enemy but would deal a fatal blow to our cause. We had no idea how Musa and Khosrou were faring, but if we were defeated here then Narses and Mithridates would surely pursue us as we fell back west while the other eastern kings marched against our allies in the north. And when news of our defeat and the death of my father reached Hatra the Armenians would surely launch a full-scale invasion of Gafarn’s kingdom.

‘I have an idea.’

I stopped thinking of nightmares and looked at Surena, upon whom all eyes were now fixed.

‘Please share it with us,’ said Orodes, smiling faintly at him.

Surena cleared his throat.

‘We must use Dura’s legions to attack the enemy frontally to focus the enemy’s attention, while we use our one remaining advantage – our cataphracts – to make a wide detour to envelop Narses’ right wing. Then we can roll up his whole army. The horse archers can deploy on the left of the legions to support their advance with what little ammunition they have left, but the decisive force will be the armoured horsemen.’

‘You will split the army,’ I remarked.

‘That cannot be helped, lord. We must do the unexpected to confuse the enemy.’

‘Makes sense,’ said Domitus, ‘though what about the hill men? They may return.’

‘Babylon’s foot and horse can act as a reserve to deal with any threat from the north. In addition, half the horse archers should also be deployed towards the north to form a defensive screen to cover our rear.’

‘You dilute our depleted forces even further, Surena,’ said Orodes.

‘It will make no difference with regard to missile power, lord,’ he replied, ‘the Babylonians are…’

He suddenly remembered that he was addressing not only the king of kings but also the King of Babylon and so stopped his words.

Domitus laughed gruffly. ‘He’s too polite to say that the Babylonians are finished as a fighting force.’

Orodes frowned but what Domitus said was true. The Babylonian foot had suffered eight thousand casualties and were demoralised, and even the royal guard has lost over half their number. It made sense for them to stay out of the front line.

Orodes smiled at Surena. ‘Please continue with your battle plan.’

Viper smiled at Surena who spoke once more.

‘The horse archers deployed to the north will carry no ammunition. Those who are supporting the legions will have all the arrows.’

Atrax stared in disbelief at his fellow king. ‘What use are horse archers without arrows.’

‘They will give the illusion of strength,’ replied Surena.

Surena’s plan had merits but it was also a gamble, and if it failed the army would face certain destruction. And yet it was audacious enough to succeed against an enemy who had also suffered high casualties but who must have believed that we were on our last legs. Whether we opted for Surena’s plan or not we had to do something this day. Inactivity was not an option.

‘I think we should decide what we are going to do,’ said Orodes. ‘Pacorus, I would hear your views on the matter.’

I could think of no alternative. ‘I agree with Surena.’

Orodes looked at Atrax. ‘And you, lord king?’

‘Let us finish this business,’ he replied.

‘And what of you, Gafarn?’ enquired Orodes.

Gafarn wore a mask of steely determination. ‘I have a debt to settle with Narses. I say we attack.’

Orodes nodded his head. ‘Very well. We march out at dawn.’

That was three hours away and so everyone left my tent to go back to his forces to brief their officers. Before they left, though, Alcaeus appeared with jugs full of a bitter-tasting liquid that he insisted we all drink. He told us that it was water mixed with an extract from a Chinese plant called Ma-huang that was a stimulant and would sharpen our dulled senses during the coming fight. He made sure that we all drank a full measure before retuning to his hospital as we went to rouse our sleeping men.

As aching and fatigued bodies were shaken awake a thorough search of the camp was conducted for arrows, including those that had been shot by the enemy during the previous day and night. In this way enough ammunition was found to equip each horse archer who would be fighting alongside the legions with three full quivers. These men would be drawn from the contingents of Dura, Media and Hatra and would be commanded by Vagises, while Surena would use his own horse archers from Gordyene to form the defensive screen immediately north of the camp. Gallia would remain in camp with the reserve.

‘I do not wish to remain in camp,’ she complained as she assisted me in putting on my scale armour.

Having already lost my father I was gripped by a desire to protect her at all costs.

‘If the hill men return then Surena will not be able to hold them with horsemen armed only with swords. Your reserve will buy us more time.’

She was unconvinced. ‘More time for what? If more hill men return then my Amazons and a few hundred demoralised Babylonians will not be able to stop them. I would prefer to fight by your side today.’

She looked at me with sad eyes. ‘In case we do not see each other again.’

I grabbed her shoulders. ‘Do not think such thoughts. Thinking them may make them come true. Think instead of Narses skewered on the end of my lance.’

She handed me my helmet. ‘A pleasing enough thought. Just ensure you are not hurt yourself.’

I tried to ruffle the battered crest on my helmet, to no avail. ‘That is in the hands of Shamash.’

She shook her head. ‘You and your gods. There are so many of them with so many names, but I have often thought that perhaps there is only one, like Aaron’s people believe.’

I looked aghast at her. ‘Only one god?’

She shrugged. ‘Shamash is your lord of the sun, but the Gauls also have a god of the sun called Lugus. I wonder how many other peoples have a name for the sun god? But there is only one sun, so perhaps there is only one god.’

I held her face and kissed her on the lips. ‘What a strange idea. I’m sure the Gauls have many gods.’

‘Nearly forty as far as I can remember.’

‘Well, then, wouldn’t you prefer to have them all on your side instead of just one?’

She was clearly in a reflective mood. ‘I suppose.’

We walked from the tent towards the stable area, around us hundreds of men putting on armour and checking their weapons before mustering in their companies and centuries.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘Surena doesn’t believe in any gods at all.’

She smiled wryly. ‘I can believe that. He’s so cock-sure of himself he probably thinks he is a god.’

‘But very able. It is gratifying to know that one of the Sons of the Citadel has become a king. It should act as an inspiration to others.’

She gave me a sideways glance. ‘Let us hope that he is as talented as he thinks he is.’

The sun was a perfect yellow ball surrounded by orange hues as we rode east from the camp’s entrance, the banners of Susiana, Babylon, Media, Hatra and Dura fluttering behind us, and behind them twenty-two hundred men going forth for the final clash with Narses and Mithridates. Immediately after leaving camp we swung north to avoid the wreckage of the Babylonian camp that had been thoroughly pillaged and set alight by the hill men the day before. The temperature was already warm and there was no wind and so the putrid stench of death met our nostrils as we skirted the northern side of the Hatran camp and then the charred remains of the encampments of Media and Gordyene. The camps themselves and the ground to the south, where much of the fighting had taken place, were covered with thousands of dead men and slain horses and camels. Some of them had been lying on the ground for two days and already were starting to rot in the heat. The smell of death is an aroma that could only have been concocted in the underworld – an odour akin to mixed dung, urine and vomit. That is what I smelt now as we cantered east towards the rising sun.

The legions followed us out of camp and after them came the horse archers who would fight on their left flank. The last to leave would be Surena and his men to form our northern screen, while inside, straining at the leash, would be Gallia with the meagre reserve. I felt pity for Domitus and his men, who would have to march across a carpet of dead flesh to get to grips with the enemy, unless the enemy decided to assault them first.