Companions (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  ‘You should get some air,’ I told him. ‘How are they doing?’

  ‘The Romans did a typically thorough job on their bodies. I had hoped to save all seven when we reached Lemnos but I gather from the sailors that we have company.’

  I nodded. ‘We should get these men on deck.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If we are rammed this hold will flood in minutes and everyone in it will drown.’

  He wiped his sweat-beaded forehead with a cloth. ‘And if they are on deck they will be butchered by the Romans. Not much of a choice.’

  ‘In here they will die for certain. On deck they have a chance, albeit a small one I grant you.’

  So we spent the next half hour getting the wounded out of the foetid hold and into the fresh air. Even if they were all going to die at least they could feel the wind on their faces and the sun on their cheeks. Gallia laughed at me when I told her this.

  The triremes were closer now – less than three hundred paces away I estimated – and Surena was straining at the leash to shoot at the figures standing on their decks: marines in mail shirts and blue tunics and Roman officers wearing burnished helmets topped with rich crests.

  ‘At this range, shooting into the wind, your chances of hitting your target are slim,’ I told him.

  ‘There’s Lemnos,’ shouted Athineos.

  We turned to see land in the distance, a slither of light purple on the horizon.

  ‘How far away?’ I asked.

  Athineos looked at the horizon and then up at the billowing sails. ‘About an hour I would say.’

  He jerked a thumb behind him. ‘They will have seen it as well.’

  Everyone crowded at the prow of the ship, eager to see the island that I had promised would be our salvation but which in reality offered no more safety than the empty sea all around us. But they stood, pointed, congratulated each other and temporarily forgot about the two triremes closing on us.

  Then the voice of Athineos boomed from the stern.

  ‘They have dropped their oars.’

  I turned to see the three banks of oars on each trireme dipping into the water in perfect unison.

  ‘They will be on us in ten minutes or less,’ shouted Athineos.

  His foul-looking second-in-command began barking orders and the sailors grabbed their weapons and took up position along each side of the ship, ready to repel boarders. Domitus, Drenis and Arminius stood near the mast, ready with swords and shields to assist the sailors as and when required. Cleon and his Greeks did the same, Cleon escorting Hippo to the cabin first. Burebista also took Anca to the cabin and then went to join Domitus while Gallia rushed to the stern with her bow.

  The honey coloured rock of the island was visible now, the mountains of Lemnos rising into the blue sky and an entrance to what appeared to be a huge bay flanked by sheer-sided cliffs directly ahead.

  ‘I will take us along the east coast of the island,’ said Athineos. ‘I don’t want to get caught in that deep inlet. There’ll be no wind so we will be dead in the water.’

  I was staring at the two triremes that had now taken up position either side of The Cretan, around a hundred and fifty paces to the rear and closing fast. They were actually moving away from us, which I found confusing. Athineos kept glancing back and must have read my thoughts.

  ‘Remember what I told you. They are getting themselves into position, which means moving outwards so they can change direction and swing in to ram us. It won’t be long now.’

  ‘More Romans,’ Surena suddenly shouted.

  We all turned to the left, to the direction in which he was pointing, and saw two more vessels, triremes like our pursuers, approaching from the west. They were moving at speed and must have been sailing along the island’s western coast. They had been moving against the wind and had had their sails furled. But now they had changed direction to swing round to approach us from the southwest. Their rows of oars were dipping in the sea but their motive power was suddenly increased as the mainsails of both ships were unfurled, momentarily hanging limply and then puffed out as the wind filled them. Four triremes were bearing down on us.

  ‘Lions,’ said Surena.

  I looked ahead. ‘What?’

  He was frantically pointing his bow at the two new triremes that were bearing down on us from the west.

  ‘They have lions painted on their sails, lord.’

  I looked at the new arrivals and saw that he was right. Lions! The Roman triremes had eagles painted on their sails but these ships sported lions. We had found the lions of Lemnos but who owned these ships?

  ‘They are getting ready to ram us,’ shouted Athineos as the two triremes behind us suddenly headed right and left away from us, their rowers working frantically to power their vessels. I saw the one on our starboard side power ahead and momentarily forgot the two new arrivals as the Roman vessels continued to head away from The Cretan.

  ‘They will swing in towards us soon,’ said Athineos who appeared angry and despondent in equal measure.

  The Roman trireme on our port side was also powering past us but was suddenly in the path of one of the new triremes that was bearing down on it.

  ‘They are from Pontus,’ said Gallia suddenly.

  ‘Pontus?’

  ‘Think, Pacorus. What is the sacred symbol of your own Exiles? It is the lion. Those ships are full of men from Pontus.’

  I grabbed her and kissed her on the lips as the Roman ship on the port side tried to turn to face the oncoming duo of Pontic triremes but failed. There was a staccato sound as the right-hand trireme’s ram sheared off the oars on the port side of the Roman vessel. Its own port-side oars had been swiftly withdrawn into the hull before it hit the Roman trireme and once it had passed the disabled vessel the oars were poked back out of the oar-holes.

  ‘It’s turning,’ shouted Athineos and our eyes darted to the right to see that the other Roman trireme had swung left and was bearing down on The Cretan.

  Athineos glanced left to see the damaged Roman ship falling behind and looked back to the other trireme aiming at our mid-ships.

  ‘I’m going to change direction,’ he said, ‘so their rams hits my prow. Brace yourselves.’

  I ran from the stern to shout at those on deck.

  ‘Prepare for a collision at the prow,’ I shouted, ‘fall back to the mast.’

  I ran back to Gallia, Surena and Athineos as the latter manoeuvred his ship into the path of the oncoming trireme. The Cretan was ninety feet in length and at least ten feet of that vanished when the trireme’s bronze ram chewed into its timbers. The ship shuddered and groaned as its prow and artemon disappeared and the front of the trireme was towering over The Cretan’s deck.

  ‘Shoot at them before they board us,’ I said as we stood on the cabin’s roof as the first of the marines jumped from the trireme.

  I had no time to think about the Pontic vessels as I nocked arrows and shot over the heads of my companions at the Roman soldiers boarding us. I hit at least three and two white-clothed archers who stood at the trireme’s prow searching for targets. Gallia and Surena were releasing arrows at a faster rate than me, hitting Romans before they boarded The Cretan.

  ‘I’m out of arrows,’ shouted Gallia as another six marines came aboard, led by the tribune Marcus Aristius.

  Surena shot one down. ‘That was my last.’

  I pulled back my bowstring and focused on the man who had dared to threaten my wife. Time to die, Roman. But he tripped over one of his dead men at the moment I released my arrow, which hissed through the air and struck the marine behind him in the chest. I put down my bow and drew my sword.

  ‘Stay here,’ I said to Gallia before jumping down from the cabin and running to support the others.

  Domitus, Arminius, Drenis and Burebista were desperately trying to protect the wounded that had been brought from the hold, forming a line as Alcaeus tried to haul each patient back towards the cabin. Cleon had led a charge of his men as soon the first mari
ne had jumped on board, but his ill-judged heroism had led to two of them being killed immediately. Archers on the trireme had picked off most of Athineos’ sailors, who had no shields as a defence against their missiles. I picked up my scutum and kept it close to my body as I ran to attack Marcus Aristius.

  He knocked Cleon to the ground and stood over him, his sword pulled back to deliver a fatal blow, when with my spatha held above my head I screamed a war cry. He stepped back, calmly raised his shield to block my overhead strike and flicked his wrist to thrust his gladius forward to stab me in the belly. I caught the point of his sword on my shield, my momentum forcing him back and away from Cleon, who sprang up and retrieved his sword.

  Aristius’ eyes flashed with scorn as he showed me the front of his scutum and drew back his sword arm prior to launching an attack. Then we both lost our footing as The Cretan shuddered again as one of the Pontic ships rammed the Roman trireme. It smashed into the latter just behind the prow, shearing off the front of the trireme and ripping out the ram embedded in Athineos’ vessel. The latter immediately began to sink as seawater rushed into its smashed prow. The archers at the prow of the Roman trireme had disappeared and as the deck of The Cretan began to slowly fall towards the waterline I heard a creaking sound above me. I scrambled to my feet and looked up the see the mainmast falling. I leaped back just in time as the mast and furled sail attached to it crashed on to the deck, crushing two marines and three sailors as it did so. It also crushed the helmet of Marcus Aristius, reducing everything inside it to a bloody pulp. The tribune was no longer handsome as he had no face. I looked up at the sun and silently thanked Shamash for his divine intervention.

  No one thought of fighting now as seawater flooded the deck and the stern of The Cretan began to rise out of the water. I heard shouts ahead, saw rowers throwing themselves from the deck of the crippled trireme and then heard a succession of thuds to my right. I turned to see grappling irons lodged in the gunwale with ropes attached. Soldiers on the deck of the Pontic trireme were pulling on the ropes to bring their vessel alongside The Cretan and prevent the latter, or what was left of it, sinking beneath the surface.

  Domitus and the others came to my side. ‘That was a stroke of luck. I thought we were going to drown.’

  ‘Get the women out of the cabin,’ I ordered.

  ‘Help me,’ shouted Alcaeus, still hauling wounded sailors towards the cabin.

  I ran over to assist him but saw that the man he was dragging across the deck had glazed, lifeless eyes.

  ‘He’s dead, Alcaeus.’

  His head dropped and he let go if the corpse. He looked around at the others he had been trying to save and I saw that at least three others had the hand of death upon them. Only two were still alive.

  ‘What a waste,’ he muttered.

  ‘Prepare to be boarded,’ shouted one of the soldiers on the Pontic trireme. ‘We are not your enemies.’

  That much was certain, though as Burebista escorted Hippo and Anca from the cabin I was concerned that our vessel might still sink at any time. The trireme’s rowers had withdrawn their oars so the ship could be brought alongside, after which a dozen or more soldiers jumped aboard. We stood in a group in front of the two wounded sailors still alive and the women as Gallia and Surena came from the stern in the company of Athineos, who looked close to despair. There was a crashing sound and everyone turned to see the other Pontic ship ram the disabled Roman trireme, cutting it in half. The soldiers who had boarded us gave a cheer as an officer shouted at them to be quiet. His soldiers were attired in bronze helmets, and beige tunics with wide leather belts around their mid-rifts. They carried round shields faced with leather bearing a lion on all fours, matching the motif on the mainsail of their trireme. Like the temple guards at Ephesus they were armed with the curved xiphos, though a few had javelins. There were archers on the deck of the triremes keeping watch on our movements.

  This commander stepped onto the leaning deck of The Cretan and stared at us. His appearance marked him out as a man of high rank, his burnished bronze helmet sporting two white feathers either side of its crown. His bronze scale armour cuirass shimmered in the sunlight, as did his bronze greaves. He was about my height, though when he removed his helmet I discovered that he was around twice my age, his neatly cropped beard and hair flecked with grey. Curiously for a native of Pontus, he had penetrating blue eyes. He had a dignified, authoritative air, which was reinforced when he spoke in a firm, commanding manner.

  ‘I am Admiral Arcathius of the navy of Pontus. Who is your captain?’

  Athineos walked forward.

  ‘I am Athineos, a trader from Crete and the captain of what’s left of this vessel.’

  Arcathius placed the helmet in the crook of his arm and examined our party.

  ‘And what goods were you transporting that warranted the attention of two Roman warships, Captain Athineos?’ asked Arcathius.

  ‘Some people who wanted to leave Ephesus,’ replied Athineos evasively, ‘and who the Romans wanted to prevent from leaving.’

  Arcathius remained impassive as he studied each of us in turn, his eyes eventually settling on Gallia beside me. My wife was holding her bow and had her sword strapped around her waist. I saw him noting the hilt of her dagger tucked in her boot.

  I saw no advantage in disguising our identities.

  ‘I am King Pacorus of the Kingdom of Dura and this,’ I turned to Gallia, ‘is my wife, Queen Gallia. I am the son of King Varaz of Hatra, friend of the lately deceased King Balas of Gordyene whom we also considered a friend.’

  Arcathius’ ears pricked up at this. ‘King Balas? You are Parthian?’

  ‘I am, admiral.’

  There was a loud creaking sound and one of his men walked forward and whispered something in his ear.

  ‘Agreed. Well, I am sorry to report, captain, that your vessel is about to slip beneath the waves. I offer you all sanctuary on my ship, which I suggest you take advantage of speedily.’

  As we clambered aboard the Pontic trireme, several of the soldiers leered at the shapely figure of Hippo, but their eyes widened in surprise when they saw Gallia’s blonde hair, blue eyes and martial accoutrements. The sailors cut the ropes, retrieved the grappling hooks and jumped back on the trireme. Athineos wore a sad expression as The Cretan drifted from the ship for a few seconds and then silently slipped beneath the waves. I slipped an arm round Gallia’s waist and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘That tribune sinks with her. The mast fell on him and killed him.’

  ‘He deserved a longer death,’ she said.

  The other Pontic trireme was now slowly going among the rowers and sailors from the Roman vessels, throwing ropes into the water to pick them up. I estimated that we were around half a mile from Lemnos’ shoreline and many rowers were swimming towards land.

  ‘Surely they will drown?’ said Gallia with alarm.

  ‘Greeks are all good swimmers, lady,’ said Arcathius behind us, ‘they will make landfall as the wind and tide are with them.’

  ‘What will you do with the ones your other vessel is picking up?’ I asked.

  ‘Those who do not wish to remain with us we will take closer to the island so they can swim ashore. They will be re-employed soon enough. Good rowers are highly sought after.’

  ‘And what do you intend to do with us?’ asked Gallia.

  Arcathius smiled. ‘Sharp and to the point, no doubt like your sword, Queen Gallia. Well, first I intend to sail us away from Lemnos so we can avoid any curious Roman vessels that the governor of the island may despatch. Then we will sail northwest to spend the night at one of our sheltered bays where we have hidden food and supplies. After a night’s rest you will have the opportunity of either leaving us or accompanying us to our base.’

  ‘Which is where?’ I asked.

  ‘The city Histria on the western coast of the Black Sea,’ answered Arcathius.

  I did not know where Histria was and had only the vaguest knowledge of the Black
Sea, but I liked this straight-talking admiral and we badly needed rest.

  ‘We would be appreciative of your hospitality, admiral,’ I said.

  The triremes picked up those in the water nearby and sailed close to the shore so they could swim to land. Arcathius informed me that they would probably be transported back to Ephesus where they would be re-employed by the Roman squadron there. A handful decided to stay. As the sun dipped on the western horizon, the wind dropping and the sea turned into a shimmering carpet once more, I told the admiral our story. Of how I had grown up a Parthian prince and how fate had taken me to Italy. He had not heard of Spartacus but listened intently as I told him of his revolt against the Romans and my part in it, of my escape from Italy with the Companions and how I had travelled to Ephesus to rescue one of the latter.

  ‘And did you succeed?’ he asked as his crew furled the ship’s two sails and the rowers pulled on their oars to power us through the almost flat sea.

  I pointed to Burebista sitting on the deck with his arm around Anca.

  ‘I found him lord, and now your ship carries him to freedom.’

  He enquired about what happened after my return to Parthia and I told him about my marriage, which was attended by King Balas, my gaining the crown of Dura and the subsequent civil war in Parthia.

  ‘I never met King Balas,’ he said, ‘but his memory is held in great esteem by many in Pontus. I am glad he did not live to see my country become a Roman whore.’

  ‘Pontus is now ruled by the Romans?’ I tried desperately to hide my disappointment.

  ‘Worse than that,’ he said bitterly, ‘my lord, King Mithridates, the man who fought the Romans for thirty years, was killed by his own son Pharnaces, who has since become a Roman puppet. But there are many of us who carry on the late, great king’s fight.’

  ‘And not just in this part of the world, admiral.’

  I told him about Dura’s army, about the Exiles and how they had helped to destroy a Roman army before the walls of my city.