by Peter Darman
‘Your men did well today,’ I said as he settled himself into a chair at the opposite end of the table to where Mark Antony was sitting.
‘Thank you, Pacorus. Nergal trained us well.’
I poured wine into a cup and gave it to him as he watched the Roman with suspicion.
I took the jug and refilled Mark Antony’s cup. He nodded and held the cup up to me.
‘To noble adversaries.’
I drank some wine in acknowledgement of his toast and sat at the table. Vagises rose, held his cup up to me and drained it before slamming it down on the table.
‘By your leave, Pacorus, I have patrols to organise.’ His eyes never left Mark Antony. ‘To make sure the Romans do no not slit our throats while we sleep.’
He curled his lip at Mark Antony and left us.
‘Your commander does not like me,’ observed Antony.
‘Do not take it personally, he has a low opinion of all Romans.’
Antony leaned forward. ‘Tell me, was he a slave, for I have heard that you only enlist slaves in your army? Men say that is the reason it fights so fiercely.’
I nodded at the closed tent flaps. ‘That man, Vagises, is a Parthian who was taken captive with me in Cappadocia before we were transported to Italy as spoils of war. He has little reason to regard Rome or the Romans with affection.’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘And you?’
‘I do not hate my enemies, because to do so would cloud my judgement at a time when clarity of thought is essential.’
He nodded approvingly. ‘A most philosophical answer.’
I poured him some more wine. ‘Now it is your turn to answer some questions. Where is the other legion that your proconsul commands in Syria, for I know that only one was present today? You and your allies underestimated the fighting abilities of the Agraci, I think.’
He laughed mockingly. ‘The Agraci have no fighting abilities. We were more than capable of dealing with them before…’
I smiled. ‘Before I arrived, you mean. You honour me, commander.’
He stiffened. ‘My title is Praefectus Alae.’
‘It is a great pity that so many of your fine horsemen now lie dead on the desert floor. That is the price invaders pay for their aggression.’
‘That is the price Rome pays for civilising the world,’ he tried to correct me.
How many times had I heard that argument before? ‘Roman civilisation is built on the corpses of vanquished peoples.’
‘Only the strong deserve to live,’ he said casually.
‘And the weak deserve only slavery or death, I suppose?’
‘The gods have charged Rome with civilising the world. If our mission was not a divine one, how else can you explain Rome’s victories over the other tribes of Italy hundreds of years ago, her conquest of Carthage, Greece, Pontus, Armenia and Syria?’
I sipped my wine. ‘And now Rome seeks to add Parthia to that list.’
He was momentarily nonplussed. ‘I am a soldier, sir. I obey orders.’
I laughed. ‘And a member of one of Rome’s most prominent families, I’ll hazard.’
He blushed. ‘I have been fortunate to have been born into a noble family, I admit, though everything I have achieved has been by my own hand.’
‘You are to be congratulated. I hope being exchanged for a young girl does not harm your reputation.’
‘There will be other battles to fight,’ he replied flatly.
‘I am curious about one thing,’ I continued. ‘Why did you not wait until Crassus had arrived in Syria before commencing hostilities again the Agraci and Parthia?’
‘You are very well informed,’ he said.
‘When you rule a frontier kingdom it is wise to know what is happening in adjacent lands. So, why not wait for Crassus?’
‘As I said, I am a soldier and take orders,’ he replied evasively.
‘Have it your own way. I am sure all will be revealed when he arrives. If I was a gambling man I would wager that your commander, Proconsul Aulus Gabinius, desired to make his name great before Crassus arrived in Syria.’
He placed his cup on the table. ‘King Pacorus, as you have saved my life it is only proper that I return the courtesy. If you would be prepared to submit to Roman rule then I can use whatever influence I enjoy to have you exonerated from your crimes.’
‘My crimes?’
‘We know that you have been supplying the rebels in Judea with weapons. That in itself is enough to earn you a death sentence. Would it not be better for you and your kingdom to live in peace under the protection of Rome?’
I tilted my cup at him. ‘Under the heel of Rome would be a more accurate description, I think. I must decline your kind offer.’
His mouth creased in disapproval. ‘When Crassus arrives he will sweep aside all opposition. We know that Parthia is weak through years of civil strife and is in no position to repel a Roman army. To oppose us is to invite death and destruction. I am merely suggesting that a logical course of action would be to accept the inevitable and act accordingly.’
‘A very Roman way of thinking,’ I replied.
Frustration was etched on his handsome features. ‘You must know that you cannot defeat us.’
‘If I knew such a thing, Mark Antony, then I would not be sitting here at this table but would be sleeping in my palace as a client king of Rome.’
‘No rival has defeated Rome, King Pacorus, and none will. You yourself have endeavoured to copy Rome, for is not your army modelled on our own?’
‘It is true that I have adopted some Roman practices,’ I agreed, ‘but my army is Parthian, Mark Antony, not Roman.’
‘If you agree to be an ally of Rome,’ he persisted, ‘then your kingdom will be safe from any harm. But I have to tell you that if you are still in arms against Rome when Crassus arrives he will show no mercy.’
‘Is that what you told Mithridates?’
His eyes averted mine. ‘Mithridates?’
‘I know that he has taken refuge in Antioch with his venomous mother. Does your proconsul plan to make him the puppet ruler of Parthia?’
Mark Antony said nothing but turned the cup in his hand.
‘Your silence speaks volumes.’
I did not press him further on the subject of Mithridates. It had been an agreeable evening and I knew the character of the former king of kings better than he did. It was plain that the Romans would use Mithridates if they could and were probably already thinking of installing him as a puppet ruler of the empire, though how they would do so with only two legions remained a mystery. Perhaps they believed that Parthia had been so weakened by civil war that it was like a wooden house riddled with woodworm, and required only one good kick to bring the rotten structure crashing to the ground.
Chapter 2
The new dawn came soon enough and with it the familiar sounds of soldiers complaining and their officers barking orders, the grunts of irritable camels and the reassuring clank and clatter of cooking utensils as men prepared breakfast. I had fallen asleep at the table and woke with an aching neck after what had been perhaps two hours of slumber. I went outside to stretch my legs as Mark Antony still dozed in the tent. Around me the neat rows of the horse archers’ tents were already being dismantled prior to being packed onto the camel train. Normally the tents would be stashed on wagons but these had been left at Dura.
Horns sounded assembly and then each company of horse archers paraded for roll call. The lords and their men were probably still sleeping but in Dura’s army soldiers rose before dawn. As I stretched out my arms I noticed that my tent was ringed with guards, twenty in all, all facing inwards. As I rubbed the stubble on my chin I saw Gallia and Vagises walking towards me. The commander of my horse archers saluted.
‘Why all the guards?’ I asked.
‘To make sure the Roman did not escape,’ he replied.
‘You look terrible,’ said Gallia looking remarkably fresh, her hair hanging loose around her shoulder
s.
‘Too little sleep, my love, as a consequence of debating with our Roman friend.’
‘He is no friend of mine,’ she sniffed. ‘Where is he?’
‘Still sleeping,’ I answered.
Vagises nodded. ‘Pity he didn’t try to escape, then we could have put a few arrows into him.’
‘And then we would not get Rasha back.’
At that moment a tent flap opened and Mark Antony appeared, dressed in his silver muscled cuirass and wearing his helmet adorned with its large red crest. He tipped his head at me and then strode over to our little group, removed his helmet and bowed his head to Gallia. His eyes were alight with glee as he admired her.
‘It is an honour to meet you, majesty,’ he beamed. ‘I have heard much about the beauty of the famed Queen Gallia of Dura and I have to say that I never knew such elegance and allure existed among the Gauls.’
Gallia regarded him coolly, this Roman noble who strutted like a rutting peacock even among his enemies.
‘Remember, Roman’ she said slowly, ‘your life is still mine until Princess Rasha is freed by the enemy.’
‘Well,’ I said, desirous to dissipate the mood of gathering threat, ‘perhaps you would like something to eat, Antony, before you are exchanged.’
I ordered food to be brought to the tent but could not persuade Gallia and Vagises to join us for breakfast. So after a meal of dates, biscuit and water I rode with my wife, the Amazons, a hundred horse archers and our captive to the camp of Haytham. Despite the early hour the day was already hot and airless and we sweated in our armour and helmets. Once more Dura’s horse archers were posted to the wings as thousands of Agraci warriors mounted their horses and camels and rode forward to face the enemy, whose camp lay five miles to the west.
The Agraci king was waiting on his horse at the head of his lords when we arrived at his tent, Malik beside him.
‘Greetings, lord king,’ I said, bowing my head to him and then smiling at Malik. ‘Shall we go and get your daughter back?’
He nodded at me, then Gallia and ignored Mark Antony as he nudged his horse forward and we followed him out of camp. Malik rode beside me as a great column of Agraci trotted behind us.
‘My father still desires to destroy the enemy, Pacorus, if we get Rasha back or not. More warriors arrived during the night. He believes he can defeat them easily.’
I thought of the disciplined ranks of the Romans and the ease with which they had defeated the Agraci yesterday.
‘I think it would be better to convince the enemy to retreat, Malik, at least until Domitus can bring the rest of the army. You yourself know that horsemen cannot break disciplined foot.’
‘I may know that, Pacorus, but trying to convince my father that talking is preferable to fighting is another matter.’
Half an hour later we watched as a delegation rode out of the enemy camp and threaded its way between the corpses and dead animals littering the ground from yesterday’s battle. Most of them were Agraci and I could understand Haytham’s desire to avenge their deaths. There must have been upwards of thirty-five thousand Agraci deployed behind Haytham, stretching left and right for around two miles. Beyond them was a dragon of Duran horse archers on each flank. Vagises had divided the lords into two bodies and had allocated one to each wing, deployed behind his horse archers. In this way nearly sixty thousand men faced the Romans and their Emesian allies. How many the latter numbered I did not know but Gallia had told me that she and the lords had scattered around ten thousand of their horse the previous day. If most of those horsemen had subsequently made it back to camp then I estimated the enemy to number around thirty-five thousand men, unless they too had received reinforcements during the night.
The party of enemy horsemen met a score of Agraci riders in the middle of no-man’s land as I waited with Haytham. The king was in a sullen mood and spoke only to Gallia, reminding her that she was to kill Mark Antony if Rasha had been murdered. Any ebullience or bravado Mark Antony may have had evaporated as we waited for the king’s men to return to our position. He waited on his horse looking ahead, unblinking, small rivulets of sweat running down his noble face. The riders returned to report that King Sampsiceramus himself would meet with Haytham to ensure that the exchange of prisoners went smoothly, but could the meeting be held away from the stench of dead bodies as the king had had a full breakfast and the aroma of decomposing flesh would be offensive to his nose?
I noticed that Haytham’s grip on his horse’s reins tightened as he was informed of this request and for at least a minute afterwards he said nothing. I looked at Malik who wore a stony expression, and when I caught Yasser’s eye he merely shrugged. The rider looked at his king in confusion and then at the group of Agraci and Emesians who waited for an answer.
At last Haytham spoke. ‘He comes into my kingdom uninvited, he kills my warriors and now he complains that their rotting flesh offends him. Perhaps I should slaughter his army so that the stench is so great that it will deter him from entering Agraci territory ever again.’
His lords behind him murmured their approval and several drew their swords. Though it was not my place to do so, I spoke.
‘Lord King, let me parley with Sampsiceramus on your behalf.’
Haytham looked at me. ‘You?’
‘I would consider it an honour.’
Yasser and the other lords looked at each other in confusion, and even Malik looked perplexed.
‘Why should you care if the King of Emesa lives or dies?’ asked Haytham.
‘I do not,’ I replied, ‘but I do care about the life of Rasha who is like a daughter to me.’
‘Why do you, a great warlord, go out of your way to avoid bloodshed?’
I did not dare tell him that it was because I believed that he might lose. ‘Because I value your daughter’s life over my quest for glory.’
Haytham considered for a moment.
‘Very well, for my daughter’s sake and the friendship between Palmyra and Dura I will grant you your wish.’
The rider was sent back to the Emesians and an hour later I was riding with Gallia, Vagises, the Amazons and a hundred other horse archers to meet with the enemy. The venue was two miles to the north, well away from yesterday’s battlefield where ravens and flies were already feasting on dead flesh. Mark Antony rode behind Gallia and me and in front of Vagises, who had his drawn sword resting on his shoulder for the entire journey. We slowed when we saw the enemy party approaching us and then halted as we awaited our guests, the Amazons forming into line behind us and the other horse archers on either side of them. It was now blisteringly hot and windless and I wanted negotiations to be concluded as quickly as possible.
That was a remote hope as the Emesian party inched its way towards us, preceded by at least fifty members of what I assumed were some sort of royal foot guard. Each man was wearing a cuirass of silver scales that shimmered in the sunlight, a bronze helmet adorned with twin silver feathers, his features obscured by a mail face mask. On his left side he carried an oval shield faced in burnished bronze and in his right hand was a javelin. Silver greaves, red tunic and leggings and a long sword completed his appearance.
Behind these sparkling soldiers came a large chariot pulled by four black horses carrying the King of Emesa himself, a huge fat man in a great silver robe that covered his massive bulk. As the chariot edged closer I saw that Sampsiceramus was almost bald aside from two clumps of hair just above his ears. His robe was the size of the eight-man tents used by Dura’s army and there was hardly enough room to accommodate the chariot’s driver.
Beside the chariot walked a muscular black man in his early twenties I estimated, who carried a large silver parasol on the end of a long pole that he held over the chariot so the corpulent king was shaded from the sun. Behind the barefoot black man walked a member of the royal guard holding a great whip in his hand, while on the other side of the chariot walked a tall, wiry man in a white robe with white sandals on his feet. Behind them a
ll tramped an additional two hundred members of the royal guard. The entourage halted around fifty paces from us. Then the man in the white robe moved closer to the chariot where he was spoken to by the king. Moments later he shuffled over to us and stopped in front of me. His long face wore a serious expression and his brown eyes darted from me to Gallia and then Mark Antony. He looked back at me in confusion.
‘I am Harrise, chancellor to the great King Sampsiceramus. We were led to believe that King Haytham himself would be present for the exchange.’
‘He sent me instead,’ I answered.
The chancellor clasped his hands together in front of his chest.
‘And you are?’
‘Pacorus, King of Dura, friend and ally of King Haytham.’
‘And godfather to his daughter, Princess Rasha, whom your king now holds captive,’ added Gallia.
Harrise’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped in surprise.
‘King Pacorus, of course. If your majesty would wait for a few moments while I announce your presence.’
‘Be quick about it, then,’ I said.
He bowed his head then scuttled back to his monarch. I looked at Gallia.
‘Godfather?’
‘A nice touch, I thought,’ she replied.
The reed-thin chancellor returned, sweat running down his wrinkled face.
‘The great King Sampsiceramus would speak to you personally, King Pacorus.’
‘Not until we have seen that Princes Rasha is safe,’ said Gallia forcefully.
Harrise’s brow creased in consternation at the continual interruptions from the helmeted individual sitting on my right.
I smiled at him. ‘This is my queen, Gallia, who is like a mother to the princess. Like her I desire to see that she is alive before I speak to your king.’ I pointed at Mark Antony. ‘As you can see, our prisoner is alive and unharmed.’