The Slave King

by Peter Darman

  The royal armoury had issued spearmen’s helmets to all those who had volunteered to fight on the walls, and under the watchful eye of an armourer slaves handed them out from the back of a cart to the volunteers. The headgear would reduce casualties, if the wearers remembered to peek over the wall and not stand to expose their torsos and heads.

  The majority of the slingers were deployed in the towers because a skilled slinger had a greater range than an archer. And that range would be increased when shooting from a more elevated position. The stones they would be shooting were already piled on the fighting platforms of the towers, four slingers assigned to each tower. The rest would be fighting alongside the civilian archers either side of the gates and on the flanks of the Amazons. I expected casualties among the civilians to be high and I did not want them panicking and bleeding among my disciplined troops. It was a harsh but correct decision.

  I saw Klietas with an over-sized helmet on his head and pointed at him.

  ‘You are with me.’

  He hurried over, the helmet falling off his head on the ground. He picked it up and joined me as I walked up the earth embankment, the sound of drums now quite pronounced. When we reached the battlements, the enemy was coming into view.

  ‘Everyone down,’ commanded Bullus.

  Amazons, legionaries, Daughters of Dura and civilians crouched down to make themselves invisible to those beyond the walls. I grabbed Klietas’ tunic and yanked him down.

  ‘We don’t want to spoil the surprise, do we?’

  ‘No, highborn.’

  I glanced up at the two nearest towers and saw no signs of life. So far, so good. I peeked over the wall and saw skirmisher horsemen approaching, behind them horse archers and mounted spearman. Either side of them marched a small number of foot archers and slingers.

  ‘Keep down,’ bellowed Bullus, walking up and down the midpoint of the embankment so the enemy would not spot him.

  I crouched down and winked at Klietas, who was fiddling with his sling, a simple weapon consisting of a hide pouch through which were threaded two sinew cords. He stopped when a new sound joined the thumping of the kettledrums: the hollering, whooping and shouts of hill men. Once more I peeked over the wall and saw upwards of three or four hundred barbarians walking towards the wall, shields and axes held high as they taunted us to show ourselves. The horse and foot archers had halted around two hundred paces from the ditch to nock arrows.

  ‘Arrows!’ I called.

  Immediately, legionaries raised their shields above their heads, the long edge flush to the wall to allow Amazons to take shelter beneath them. The Daughters of Dura ran down the embankment to take shelter in the buildings that had been commandeered for stables, arrows being unable to penetrate their tiled roofs. I grabbed one of the spare shields arranged by Bullus and hoisted it above my head, ensuring its long edge was against the wooden wall behind me. I pulled Klietas to me.

  ‘Arrows cannot penetrate the wall, highborn.’

  ‘No, but they can shoot over it.’

  And so they did, arrows shot at a high trajectory falling on the battlements and immediately behind. The enemy loosed three volleys to the accompaniment of the hill men’s taunts and whistling, the missiles thudding into shields, wood, earth and a few hapless individuals who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Piercing screams unnerved Klietas as he tried to push himself further into the wooden wall at his back, an arrow striking the planks a couple of paces from his feet.

  ‘Stay still,’ I commanded, above us two loud thuds as arrows struck the shield we were sheltering beneath.

  To our right a man, a civilian, still wearing his helmet, tumbled down the embankment, two arrows lodged in his back. The taunts of the hill men grew louder, though they flung their insults and curses at us in a language none of us understood, and then I heard horn blasts and a great cheer went up.

  They were rushing the gates.

  ‘Shooting positions,’ I shouted, hoisting the shield on to the top of the wall to get a clear view of proceedings. To see the hill men charging towards the gates.

  Around me legionaries were positioning shields on top of barrels to create arrow slits, through which the Amazons began shooting at the enemy. Sharp thwacks echoed all around as Gallia’s warriors loosed arrows at the rapidly forming column of hill men heading for the bridge across the moat. On the towers slingers began shooting with overhand throws, their missiles invisible in flight when they left their pouches. The civilian archers added their missiles to the fray, shooting at a far slower rate than the Amazons.

  I discarded the shield, crouched down, picked up my bow and took an arrow from the quiver on the planks, nocking it and standing to search for a target. Hill men were now falling, raising their wicker shields in a forlorn attempt to protect themselves from the dozens of arrows being shot at them. But I was unconcerned about them. They would not be able to batter down the gates and I put down their wild assault to indiscipline. Far more important were the enemy’s arches and slingers, who were still shooting at us. But they were stationary in an exposed position and easy meat for skilled archers. I smiled when I heard Gallia’s voice.

  ‘Pick off the archers and slingers.’

  Instantly the shooting of the Amazons was directed at the enemy’s missile troops, her bodyguard shooting up to seven arrows a minute against the line of enemy archers and slingers. Which soon buckled under the deluge of nearly a thousand arrows in just over a minute. The first to turn tail and withdraw out of range were the traitorous Medians who had sided with Atrax, the horse archers and mounted spearmen abandoning their Pontic allies. The latter followed them, but not before at least two dozen had been killed where they stood, their bodies struck by many arrows.

  Beside me Klietas hurled a stone at the fleeing enemy, whooping with joy as he placed another missile in the pouch of his sling and launched it with an overhand throw.

  I heard a chopping sound and realised with horror that the hill men had reached the gates and were hacking at them with their axes.

  ‘Javelins,’ I called.

  Bullus blew his whistle to reorganise his men, who stepped back from the wall to retrieve their javelins lying on the arrow-peppered embankment. The hundred legionaries shouldered their javelins, ran to the wall and threw them at the hill men clustered on the bridge. The civilians in the towers and on the walls shouted in triumph as ear-piercing screams came from below when a hundred javelins pierced flesh and shattered bones.

  ‘Find your targets,’ shouted Gallia.

  Seconds after the javelin storm came a hail of arrows directed at the hill men from the walls, the Amazons taking careful aim to ensure every arrow struck flesh. The chopping ceased abruptly as the wild men from Pontus ran for their lives, scrambling over their dead and wounded comrades to flee back across the bridge and away from the walls. Klietas took aim and loosed his missile, the stone striking a man in the back and knocking him to the ground. One or more bones broken, perhaps even his spine, the hill man tried to get up but failed before being trampled on by his panicking comrades.

  ‘I hit him, highborn,’ shouted Klietas, ‘did you see?’

  ‘Well done, Klietas, that only leaves another fourteen thousand or so.’

  ‘Stop that shooting, you bastards,’ Bullus was screaming at the civilians still launching arrows and slingshots at the enemy, now well out of range.

  Victory is a heady brew. Men who had previously questioned their sanity for volunteering for service on the walls now believed themselves to be invincible, invulnerable and able to defeat anything the enemy threw at them. Flush with victory, they shouted their experiences to those they had fought besides, embellishing their deeds as they did so. They would feast off this day’s battle for years. If they survived the siege to tell the tale.

  I ordered my horse to be brought from the stables, a gleeful Daughter of Dura handing me Horns’ reins as Bullus had the gates opened and the dead hill men collected and dumped on the ground on the other s
ide of the ditch where they would rot in the sun and remind the enemy what awaited him if he ventured too near the walls again.

  I rode with Gallia from the gates in the company of half a dozen Amazons, our bows at the ready in case any enemy horsemen appeared. But the ground to the west of the city was now empty save for the dead and the dying, the latter either crawling in a pitiful fashion or lying still and gasping for air. I saw one hill man, the back of his tunic stained with blood, grabbing at the earth with his hands as he attempted to flee from us, his legs quite useless. I wondered if he was the individual Klietas had struck with his stone. I slipped my bow back in its leather case fixed to my saddle and jumped down from Horns.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Gallia.

  I drew my dagger, straddled the hill man and with a swift motion drew the blade across his neck, severing his windpipe. He gasped for a few seconds before falling silent. I wiped the blade on the grass and slipped it back in its sheath, returning to Horns and vaulting into his saddle.

  ‘Going soft?’ Her tone was mocking.

  ‘I take no pleasure in suffering,’ I told her.

  We trotted on, seeing no sign of the enemy who I assumed had withdrawn back into camp.

  ‘Today was just a probe of our defences,’ said Gallia, looking back at the city wall. ‘Tomorrow will be different.’

  That night we rode to the citadel where Akmon, Pogon and Lucius told a similar story: the enemy had only tested their resolve and defences. Casualties had been minimal and passing the test of combat had fortified morale tremendously, especially among the civilian volunteers. We sat at one table in the palace’s banqueting hall where we tucked into a fare of a single meat dish – chicken – and parsimonious quantities of bread, cheese and fruit. Lusin had ordered the royal kitchens to be abstemious until the siege ended, to the approval of Joro and the unhappiness of Pogon. Parmenion, eager to display his piety and determination, confined himself to bread and water only.

  ‘Today was a good start,’ said Joro, raising his chalice to Akmon, ‘and if we can hold the perimeter wall, I am sure we can prevail until King Pacorus’ army arrives.’

  ‘I have sent a courier pigeon to Vanadzor,’ said Akmon, ‘requesting aid.’

  Lucius looked surprised and Joro said nothing.

  ‘Alas, lord king,’ I said, ‘even if your father had a mind to aid you, he and his army will be campaigning in Armenia by now, two hundred miles away from Irbil.’

  Akmon stared at his chalice.

  ‘The high king having abandoned us, I have little choice. Media needs allies.’

  ‘I fear it is not so much a case of Phraates abandoning you,’ I said, ‘but rather his desire to rein in your father.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Lusin.

  ‘It is all part of a great game played out between Parthia and Rome,’ I told her. ‘Octavian has Phraates’ son, the high king wants him back and, subject to the Roman eagles being returned to him, Octavian will return the infant to Ctesiphon.

  ‘Octavian desires peace with the Parthian Empire, but he cannot appear weak to his own people or indeed foreign powers. He therefore cannot allow the client kingdom of Pontus to be raided with impunity by the allies of Gordyene.’

  ‘But what has that to do with us?’ asked Lusin in exasperation.

  ‘Media has become the sacrificial lamb in the great game,’ I answered. ‘Phraates would never challenge Gordyene directly, but if Atrax triumphs then Spartacus will be faced with hostile kingdoms to the north and south, and Phraates will also not support Gordyene if Octavian launches a campaign against Spartacus.’

  ‘That is a lot of “ifs”, majesty,’ opined Joro. ‘The high king, when he learns of your presence here, will realise Dura fully supports King Akmon.’

  I nodded. ‘Indeed, and I doubt he wants to see Atrax, the son of Darius and grandson of Aliyeh, two individuals who did so much to threaten his rule, triumph. But neither does he want Gordyene to become too powerful.’

  ‘It is all very confusing,’ said Lusin.

  ‘When we defeat Atrax, majesty,’ Joro reassured her, ‘things will become much simpler.’

  ‘With the help of the gods, Irbil will be safe, rest assured,’ stated Parmenion, nibbling a piece of crust.

  I looked at Gallia who rolled her eyes. Like many priests, he had an aloof nature, regarding the affairs of men as secondary to service to the gods. Of all those besieged in Irbil, he was probably the safest. He had been a priest and then a high priest during the reigns of King Atrax and King Darius and probably believed the latter’s son would never violate Irbil’s temples and those who served in them. Of course, he reckoned without the influence of Titus Tullus and the soldiers of Pontus, who worshipped different gods and cared little for Parthia’s deities or the temples built to honour them.

  ‘Perhaps you would visit the walls tomorrow, high priest,’ I suggested, ‘to fortify the spirits of those defending the city.’

  He stopped his nibbling. ‘My first duty is to attend to the Sun God, King Pacorus, to pray and offer sacrifices so that the city will be safe.’

  ‘Your priests, then,’ I proposed.

  His brow furrowed. ‘Their days are fully occupied, majesty, though all those of noble blood are welcome to join them in the Sun God’s temple.’

  ‘They too will be occupied tomorrow,’ I said.

  Pogon emptied his chalice. ‘The enemy will be stronger tomorrow.’

  ‘How so?’ demanded Joro.

  ‘Lord Soter will be joining Prince Atrax after his desertion of the king, he and his retainers. His estates are but a day’s ride from the city and by now he will have rallied his horsemen.’

  ‘We do not know that, Lord Pogon,’ said Akmon.

  The governor was now drunk, his inebriation adding to his bitterness.

  ‘We do. Why else did he leave the city with his family? You should seize his house in the citadel, majesty, and kill his slaves as an example.’

  ‘A wise move,’ agreed Parmenion.

  ‘Why should innocent people die just because the man they work for is a traitor?’ snapped Gallia.

  Parmenion gave her a condescending smile.

  ‘I realise the attitude to slaves and slavery is different in Dura from other kingdoms in the empire, majesty, but slaves are the property of their owners. If those owners prove disloyal to the crown, then their property can be seized. And of course, their slaves are judged to be guilty of their owner’s crimes.’

  ‘So if one of your priests molests a young girl,’ seethed Gallia, ‘does that mean you will hang alongside him?’

  Everyone stopped eating and drinking and stared at her, Pogon with an open mouth and Joro’s blue eyes wide in astonishment. Lusin’s jaw dropped and Akmon looked distinctly uncomfortable.

  ‘It is late,’ I said, rising and bowing my head to Akmon, ‘and I need my bed to prepare for tomorrow. Thank you for your hospitality, lord king.’

  Gallia joined me, smiling at the king and queen and giving Parmenion a contemptuous sneer. Aside from Akmon and Lusin, everyone stood as we walked from the hall, Gallia beaming from ear to ear at putting the high priest in his place.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Burn like fire, scorch like flame.’

  Two minutes after we had retired to our bedroom there was a knock at the door. I ordered whoever it was to enter and was stunned to see the boy who had taken us to the camp of the high ones standing before us, tray in hand and on it what appeared to be two glowing silver chalices.

  ‘A gift for the King and Queen of Dura,’ he said, walking over to us.

  Gallia looked at me and then him. ‘A gift from whom?’

  ‘It is bad manners to enquire as to who has gifted you a treasure.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

  ‘Who are you?’ he retorted angrily. ‘You who insult the priests of my masters while the enemy creeps up on this city?’

  I grew alarmed. ‘What?’

  His eyes glinted wit
h evil relish. ‘The enemy has stolen a march on you, King Pacorus. No sleep for you tonight. Drink. You will need it.’

  I took one of the chalices and sipped at the liquid. It was the same intoxicating, ethereal drink we had been served in the camp of the immortals and I gulped it down greedily, a warm, invigorating sensation racing through my torso and limbs. Gallia also drank rapaciously, her eyes a vivid blue after she had finished.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Better hurry,’ he grinned, ‘before it is too late.’

  I did as he advised, pulling on my armoured cuirass and strapping on my sword belt, Gallia doing the same. In our haste we forgot about the boy, buckling our belts and pulling on our boots. But when we looked up there was no one in the doorway. He had vanished. We headed for the throne room where guards stood sentry night and day to protect the great dragon banner hanging on the wall.

  ‘Sound the alarm,’ I shouted at them when we burst into the chamber.

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Now!’ I screamed.

  The silence of the palace was broken as the alarm was raised and a bleary-eyed Akmon and Lusin came into the chamber moments later, followed by a half-dressed Pogon and an irate Joro. Lucius Varsas alone among us looked as though he was about to take a morning stroll.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Joro.

  ‘The enemy is attacking the walls,’ I told him, ‘we must go to the gates immediately.’

  Gallia turned and marched towards the doors.

  ‘I would advise you all to get to your positions as soon as possible,’ I said, hurrying after my wife, ‘that is an order, Lucius.’

  He followed us, leaving the Medians totally befuddled. But Akmon, perhaps sensing that the gods had visited his palace, commanded his governor and general to hasten to their positions, calling for his armour and sword as we left the chamber. We went straight to the stables to fetch our horses, saddling them ourselves as the equine night watchman apologised profusely for the lack of stable hands and farriers present. I told him he was not at fault but warned him that his king and General Joro would soon be with him, and he had better rouse whoever he could to prepare their horses and those of their bodyguards.