The Slave King

by Peter Darman

  ‘How large is the city garrison?’ I asked.

  Pogon took a large gulp of water. ‘How small would be a more accurate question, majesty. At present I can muster one hundred cataphracts, three hundred horse archers, two hundred heavy foot and two hundred spearmen. Eight hundred men in all.’

  ‘How many men marched with you, majesty?’ Soter asked me.

  ‘One hundred men and one hundred women,’ Gallia replied frostily.

  ‘A thousand in all,’ remarked Joro, ‘who will be hard pressed if the city is attacked.’

  ‘If being the operative word,’ said Soter. ‘But surely the King of Hatra, your brother, King Pacorus, can reinforce us if indeed Irbil is attacked.’

  I shook my head. ‘My brother is ill and will not be able to aid us.’

  ‘But his large army…’

  ‘Did you nor hear me?’ I shouted. ‘Hatra’s army will not come to our aid.’

  Soter, unused to being spoken to in such a manner, regarded me coolly. No doubt my outburst confirmed what my sister had told him about me.

  ‘It might be wise to send appeals to Atropaiene, Babylon and Susiana,’ suggested Joro.

  ‘That would be wise,’ agreed Gallia, ‘though Babylon, the nearest, is two hundred and fifty miles from Irbil.’

  ‘It would be best to advance to meet Prince Atrax with however many men we can muster before he reaches Irbil,’ said Pogon.

  Joro toyed with a ring on the finger of his right hand.

  ‘To march against an enemy without knowing anything about that enemy is madness. Besides, the king is summoning the lords and their men to Irbil, which means we have to wait for them.’

  ‘At least allow me to expel the refugees,’ pleaded Pogon.

  ‘No,’ said Lusin firmly, ‘to do so would condemn them to certain death.’

  She looked at Parmenion.

  ‘When I was at the Temple of Anahit, we often distributed food to the poor and deserving from the temple’s warehouses. Perhaps Irbil’s temples could do the same.’

  Parmenion’s round eyes nearly popped out of his head. Temples were the abodes of the gods they were dedicated to, watched over by priests and priestesses who lived in and around them. And just like mortals, the gods had to be fed every day to keep them pleased and appeased. As part of daily rituals, therefore, the gods were offered the best cuts of meat, as well as great quantities of bread, dates, fruit, fish, honey, milk and beer. Such quantities of food would certainly alleviate pressures on the city’s food supplies, but at the risk of offending the gods.

  ‘This is not Armenia, majesty,’ smiled Parmenion. ‘To do as you suggest would be to anger the gods, whose help we will need to defeat the forces of Prince Atrax.’

  Lusin toyed with her lustrous locks. ‘Perhaps you and your priests might make any food left over at the end of each day’s sacrifices available for the relief of the refugees, then. After all, if the population of Irbil is slaughtered there will be no one left to give offerings to the gods.’

  I smiled. ‘Well said.’

  ‘The city will be placed on a war footing,’ announced Akmon, ‘and we will make more definite plans when General Joro’s scouts return.’

  It was around two hundred miles to the Araxes River, the traditional boundary between southern Armenia and northern Media and Atropaiene. Like all borders within the empire, there was no fence or wall to mark a precise boundary and people who lived in the borderlands criss-crossed different kingdoms at will and considered themselves residents of one realm or another depending on their point of view. If they thought about it at all. But any army marching towards Irbil would follow a certain path: cross the Araxes, head south to hug the eastern side of Lake Urmia before striking southwest towards Media’s capital. A force composed wholly of horsemen would be able to make the journey in six days; with foot soldiers that time would increase to two weeks. Longer if those foot soldiers were undisciplined or civilians recruited for the campaign. I prayed it would be so with Atrax’s army.

  Despite his unkempt appearance and flustered manner, Pogon knew what he was doing when organising the city for a siege. He sent what few horsemen he had into the countryside to collect supplies, requisitioning food and livestock and issuing promissory notes pledging reimbursement from Irbil’s treasury once the emergency had passed. Whether the headmen of villages could actually read said notes was a moot point. Normally, the lords whose estates were nearest the city would handle such affairs. But they had either died fighting Spartacus and Gafarn or had fled to join Atrax.

  I stood on the citadel’s battlements atop the gatehouse taking in the magnificent view afforded from such an elevated position. A huge, bronze sea of crops, dotted with islands of settlements as far as the eye could see, surrounded the city. Around the villages were vineyards and orchards, which would be devastated by the arrival of Atrax’s army.

  ‘This is first time I have stood on these battlements,’ said Gallia beside me. ‘I had not realised how rich Media was until now.’

  ‘It was a black day when Aliyeh married Atrax,’ I said.

  ‘I remember that day. They were both young and happy. No one could have predicted subsequent events, or indeed how Aliyeh’s resentment and malice would grow to poison the empire.’

  ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’

  She turned her gaze away from the fields of gold. ‘What is?’

  ‘Aliyeh became like a poison at the heart of the empire and ended her life by taking poison. A form of poetic justice, I suppose. What do you make of our Median allies?’

  ‘High Priest Parmenion is a pompous ass, Lord Soter is untrustworthy and Pogon looks as though he could drop down dead at any moment. Of them all, I would trust only Joro.’

  I laughed. ‘Harsh but true. How do you feel, by the way?’

  ‘As though I could take on the whole world,’ she proclaimed.

  ‘Which you might have to if our illustrious friends told us the truth.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t they?’ she asked.

  ‘The gods can be cruel as well as kind.’

  A throat was cleared behind us. I turned to see my quartermaster general, who snapped to attention and bowed his head.

  ‘Lucius, you have finished your assessment of the city defences?’

  ‘Yes, majesty,’ he bowed his head to Gallia.

  Dressed in a pristine white tunic similar to the ones worn by Dura’s legionaries, though unlike them he also sported a pair of expensive leather shoes. He was lean and tanned, his face clean-shaven and his hair cropped short in the Roman style.

  ‘I have some suggestions to bolster the city’s defences, majesty,’ he told me, ‘which will require the authorisation of King Akmon.’

  Half an hour later we were in the king and queen’s company, Joro and Pogon also in attendance. I introduced Lucius to the king and the two senior Median officers and let him give his assessment of Irbil’s defences. Because it was the height of summer, the meeting took place in the gazebo in the centre of the palace garden. Lucius stood to attention with his hands behind his back but Akmon told him to recline on a couch.

  ‘You are a general, after all,’ he grinned.

  I had to admit Akmon appeared to be handling kingship well, considering his young age and the fact he was the son of the hated King Spartacus. But, like many fortunate kings, he had the unbending support of his queen.

  ‘If the city had no perimeter wall to defend the buildings around the citadel,’ began Lucius, ‘then the chances of the city holding out would have been small to non-existent.’

  He tipped his head at Akmon. ‘However, your majesty’s foresight has increased the chances of Irbil resisting an assault significantly. That said, the perimeter still needs reinforcing to withstand the initial assault, which will be the most powerful.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Akmon.

  ‘When the enemy arrives,’ said Lucius.

  ‘If the enemy arrives,’ Joro corrected him.

  Lucius smiled. ‘Indulge me,
general. When the enemy first sights Irbil he will see an earth rampart with a wooden wall on top, with a ditch in front of them both. Prince Atrax, having been born and raised in the city, will know two things. He will know the perimeter wall is a recent addition, and he will know the garrison of Irbil is not large enough to man the whole of that perimeter.’

  ‘Surely,’ interrupted Pogon, ‘for all he knows Hatra and Dura might have reinforced Irbil.’

  Lucius discounted the idea. ‘The governor of Mepsila has moved to seize all the post stations along the Tigris, which means he has up-to-date information regarding what forces have crossed the river. Since neither Hatra nor Dura have sent any troops to reinforce Irbil, Prince Atrax will be confident the city is only weakly defended.

  ‘That being the case, he will order an immediate assault on the city with his army, knowing that we cannot defend the full extent of our defences. He will suffer losses, perhaps heavy ones, but ultimately he will succeed in breaching our defences.’

  ‘You do not give much cause for optimism, general,’ remarked Joro.

  ‘On the contrary, lord,’ said Lucius, ‘if we get the enemy to fight on our terms then we can negate any numerical superiority he may enjoy.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’ asked Akmon.

  ‘By enlisting the aid of a dead Roman by the name of Julius Caesar, majesty,’ he smiled. ‘A supreme warlord, he was greatly outnumbered while besieging a town by the name of Alesia.’

  A row of blank faces and puzzled looks met his declaration.

  ‘Where is Alesia?’ asked Lusin.

  ‘In Gaul, majesty, the birthplace of Queen Gallia of Dura, though I believe my queen was actually born in Cisalpine Gaul, which if my memory serves me right…’

  ‘Cut to the quick, Lucius,’ I ordered, ‘time is of the essence.’

  Lucius looked disappointed he was not given the opportunity to wax lyrical about Caesar’s achievements at Alesia, or Gallia’s heritage.

  ‘We channel the enemy into killing zones when he launches his assault on the city,’ he said, ‘to reduce his advantages and increase our own.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’ enquired an unconvinced Joro.

  When Lucius had finished speaking, Akmon gave his consent to his plan.

  The king had employed the refugees from the north of his kingdom to construct the ditch and wooden wall that surrounded his city. Mostly farmers and their families, they were used to hard manual labour, which made them an ideal workforce to instigate Lucius’ plan. It required chopping down the trees of the orchards that surrounded the dozens of villages within a ten-mile radius of Irbil, the wood being transported back to the city on dozens of carts, where it was chopped and sawed into shape.

  I stood on the perimeter wall with Gallia, Joro and Pogon, Centurion Bullus also in attendance as Lucius briefed us on his plan. He pointed to the ground beyond the wide ditch in front of the wall.

  ‘We don’t have the time or manpower to supplement the defences already in existence with new obstacles. Therefore, having made an assessment of the extent of the perimeter wall, I intend to strengthen the defences around three-quarters of the wall’s length.’

  Joro was confused. ‘What about the other quarter?’

  ‘That will be left unreinforced, lord,’ said Lucius, ‘to encourage the enemy to use that space, or rather the four areas that I intend to leave open in front of the wall, to launch attacks into. To channel their forces into killing grounds where our missiles can exact a heavy toll.’

  ‘That is a risky strategy,’ I told him. ‘The enemy will also have archers and slingers to target our own troops on the wall.’

  ‘We have no choice, majesty,’ he told me bluntly. ‘We do not have the soldiers to man the full extent of the perimeter wall.’

  As well as the farmers among the refugees, Akmon gave Joro authority to impress all males in the city between the ages of fourteen and forty to work on the defences. Lucius and Pogon organised work parties to strength the wall itself and dig trenches and pits beyond it, lots of them. Large branches were hammered into the rampart at the base of the outside of the wall at an angle of forty-five degrees, and then sharpened to present a vicious obstacle to anyone attempting to climb up it. These branches were installed all along the wall. Immediately in front of the ditch rows of trenches were dug, each one narrow, around six feet deep and filled with a row of stakes, which were sharpened when in place. In front of the trenches were small round pits around three feet deep, tapered towards the bottom and containing a single fire-hardened stake. Ahead of the pits were strewn wooden blocks around a foot long, with iron spikes hammered into them and then sunk into the ground, which would incapacitate a man or horse unfortunate to step on them. Ideally, these three belts of obstacles should have protected every part of the wall, but Lucius was right: time and resources dictated they could only cover the majority of the perimeter wall. The four lanes deliberately left open would hopefully be too tempting for the enemy to resist.

  I hacked at the earth with the spade, the ground hard and only begrudgingly yielding. Around me hundreds of others were digging trenches and pits and removing spoil in a race against time to complete them before the enemy arrived. It was hot and I was sweating but felt strong and up to the task. I was keeping up with the two legionaries also digging the trench, which was perhaps now four feet deep.

  ‘Move your arses,’ barked Bullus, pacing up and down and forwards and backwards as he oversaw the digging. ‘The enemy will be here soon enough and I want the trenches dug and filled with nice new stakes to impale the bastards on.’

  He stopped at my trench, a frown creasing his broad forehead.

  ‘Are you all right, majesty?’

  ‘Never better.’

  He looked up at the sun in a cloudless sky. There were still eight hours of daylight left and many around me, especially the civilians, were wilting in the heat.

  ‘Perhaps you should take a break, majesty, in the palace, perhaps.’

  I shovelled earth into a wheelbarrow on the lip of the trench, a teenage boy waiting until it was full before wheeling it further away from the city where it would be spread. I ignored Bullus.

  ‘Bearing in mind your age, majesty.’

  I stopped and stared up at him.

  ‘What about my age?’

  He looked around. ‘You are the only man in his sixties working out here, majesty.’

  ‘You are as old as you feel, centurion, and I feel fine.’

  The other two legionaries had stopped their spadework and were using our conversation as an excuse to take a rest. Until Bullus spotted them.

  ‘Get back to work, you lazy buggers, otherwise I will put you on guard duty tonight.’

  He tipped his vine cane to me and strode away to torment some other unfortunates.

  We worked for the rest of the day trying to complete Lucius’ grand scheme, filing back into the city as the sun, a huge blood-red fireball, descended slowly in the west. I drank greedily from a waterskin offered to me by one of the legion of teenage boys who had been tasked with ferrying water to those working on the trenches. Bullus, who had hovered nearby me all day, probably expecting me to faint from exhaustion to verify his concern about my age, marched behind me, my two legionary trench diggers also present. They had donned their armour and helmets, carried their shields and swords and looked fit to drop, despite being a third of my age. The boy was a scrawny article, barefoot and wearing a tunic bleached white from exposure to the sun.

  ‘Are your parents in the city?’ I asked him.

  ‘They are dead, highborn, killed by the northern demon.’

  ‘Northern demon?’

  ‘King Spartacus.’ He spat out the name with venom. ‘Is he coming back to burn Irbil?’

  ‘No, another.’

  ‘Who?’

  Bullus tapped him on the arm with his cane. ‘Watch your mouth, boy.’

  ‘What is your name?’ I asked.

  ‘Klietas, highborn.�
� He pulled out the sling tucked into his rope belt. ‘When the enemy comes, I will kill many.’

  As we walked to the gates I spotted Gallia and a party of Amazons waiting for me, Gallia’s armour dazzlingly bright in the early evening sunlight. Klietas’ eyes lit up when he saw her standing by her horse, holding Horns’ reins who was next to her mare.

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘My wife.’

  He looked at me with bulging eyes. ‘You have a goddess for a wife.’

  ‘Nearly right, Klietas. Where are you sleeping tonight?’

  ‘Wherever I lay my head, highborn.’

  ‘Then tonight it will be the palace.’

  He pointed at the citadel, its walls turned pink by the sinking sun.

  ‘In there?’

  Bullus grunted in disapproval as Gallia greeted me with a wide grin. She and the Amazons had been assisting gathering in supplies from the countryside.

  ‘How was your day of digging?’

  I kissed her on the lips, men around me whistling and whooping.

  ‘Invigorating. This is Klietas, who worked alongside me.’

  He stared in wonder at her gleaming cuirass and blue eyes.

  ‘He has given me an idea and will be joining us for the evening meal.’

  I vaulted into Horns’ saddle.

  ‘Do you want me to tidy him up, majesty?’ said Bullus, nodding at Klietas.

  I nodded. ‘I will see you tonight, Klietas.’

  As a gesture to the emergency Irbil found itself in, notwithstanding the enemy had yet to be sighted, Akmon had ordered the royal kitchens to cut back on the amount of food served at evening feasts. So instead of six different meats being served, ‘only’ three were cooked. I sat with Gallia on the top table in the feasting hall with Akmon and Lusin, Joro and his family on the table immediately in front of the dais on which we sat, along with Soter, Pogon and their wives. Only the richest and most influential lords lived in Irbil’s citadel, being invited to share the residence of the royal family by the king himself. The majority lived on their estates dotted throughout the kingdom. Inevitably, those who did live in the citadel became the fawning favourites of the king, which would explain why there was a dearth of courtiers. The absentees were probably with Prince Atrax, or perhaps they had been killed during the recent conflicts with Gordyene and Hatra.