Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  ‘We know that three Armenian armies have invaded Parthia,’ he said, ‘one under Tigranes that defeated Vata and captured Nisibus, another led by his son Artavasdes that moved into Gordyene. We have no details as to the size of these armies. We have also received news from Aschek that another Armenian force has attacked his kingdom from the north.’

  ‘Three armies?’ I was astounded. ‘I did not realise the Armenians had so many soldiers.’

  ‘Tigranes has prepared well,’ muttered Dobbai. ‘He is not called “Great” for no reason. He has watched the empire tear itself apart these last few years and now he makes his move.’

  ‘Supported by the Romans, who pull his strings,’ said Aaron bitterly.

  ‘Speaking of whom,’ I said. ‘Do we know the whereabouts of the second Roman legion in Syria?’

  ‘Byrd sent word that his spies in Antioch have informed him that it remains in the city.’

  I frowned. ‘That is most odd. I expected it to be with the fat king of Emesa, but it just sits in Antioch.’

  ‘Will the Armenians march on the city of Hatra?’ asked Gallia with concern.

  I shook my head. ‘Hatra has strong walls and, more importantly, is positioned in the middle of a desert. There is no water outside the walls to support a besieging army.’

  ‘Unless your brother decides to march outside the city walls and fight Tigranes, just as that fool Vata did,’ remarked Dobbai.

  ‘He would not do that,’ I snapped, ‘and Vata was not a fool. He was my friend.’

  ‘He lost the whole of the north of your brother’s kingdom,’ retorted Dobbai, ‘that makes him careless at the very least.’

  ‘The greater danger lies to the east,’ continued Domitus, looking at the map. ‘If the Armenians conquer Gordyene they will push on into Media, which lies on Hatra’s eastern border. If Atrax’s kingdom falls then the Armenians will be able to pour into Hatra from the east.’

  ‘The Roman speaks with wisdom,’ said Dobbai. ‘We live in strange times indeed.’

  ‘Gordyene is held by Surena,’ I stated, ‘it will not fall. Have we had any news from him?’

  Rsan shook his head. ‘None, majesty.’

  ‘Let us hope that he has not been killed by the Armenians also,’ added Kronos glumly.

  ‘Any news from Orodes?’ I asked.

  ‘None’ replied Domitus, ‘though he will have received news of Vata’s death at the same time we did.’

  ‘Very well, prepare the cataphracts and horse archers to march to Hatra,’ I ordered. ‘There is little point in waiting here for the Armenians to conquer the northern half of the empire.’

  ‘What about the legions?’ queried Domitus.

  ‘With two legions still in Syria they must remain here to counter the Romans. I will also leave the lords here.’

  ‘That means only four thousand horsemen will be riding to Hatra with you, Pacorus,’ said Domitus.

  Fortunately the army had had nearly six months in which to recuperate its strength following our victory at Susa, and in that time the legions and horse archers had been brought back up to strength. The loss of a hundred cataphracts had been most grievous, but with the promotion of the most promising squires their numbers had been restored to a thousand. Dura was fortunate to lie on the Silk Road for the caravans always brought with them adventurous young men who fancied a life of soldiering rather than trade. Then there were the runaway slaves who came from Syria, Armenia and other kingdoms in the empire. But as long as they passed the induction process all were welcomed into the army’s ranks, specifically the legions. Recruits for the horse archers and cataphracts were drawn largely from the families of Dura’s lords and their farmers. Despite the years of civil strife within the empire Dura’s lands had been spared devastation and had prospered, which meant farmers not only produced abundant crops but also large families, from which Domitus enlisted many young recruits.

  That evening I relaxed on the palace terrace in the company of Gallia and my daughters. Claudia was now nine and resembled her mother in appearance with her high cheekbones and thick hair, which was light brown instead of blonde. Isabella was six and had a more olive complexion than her older sister, whereas Eszter, now five, looked like one of the Agraci with her mop of unruly hair, dark brown eyes and brown complexion. As usual Dobbai joined us; sitting huddled in her cushion-stuffed chair. Claudia fussed round her bringing sweet meats, fruit juice and pastries from a table piled high with food and drink, though Dobbai ate little. Ever since she had assisted in bringing Claudia into the world Dobbai had had a special bond with my eldest daughter, who now knew more about the gods, spells and magic herbs than many of the empire’s most learned holy men. Isabella, named after the wife of King Balas of Gordyene who had made such an impression on Gallia when we had been married, was a thoughtful and kind-hearted child, whereas Eszter was a wild thing, fearless like her mother and with a similar temper. A sand storm had been battering Dura when she had been born and Dobbai had told me that it was a sign my daughter would be fierce and uncontrollable like the wind that had brought her into the world.

  She now raced round the terrace squealing at the top of her voice as she did so. Then she stopped and squealed with fear before throwing herself into my lap, knocking my plate of food on the floor. Claudia and Isabella also cried out in alarm and retreated to stand behind Dobbai who opened her eyes at the commotion. I turned and saw the strapping figure of Scarab standing beside the officer I had handed him over to earlier. The Egyptian had swapped his Agraci robes for a spotless short-sleeved white tunic, baggy white leggings and leather boots. The white of his clothing accentuated the dark colour of his skin and gave him a somewhat ominous appearance. It had certainly frightened my children and Scarab looked most upset that he had alarmed them.

  ‘It is quite all right,’ I reassured Eszter, before helping her onto her feet and getting out of my chair. I waved Scarab forward.

  ‘Welcome, Scarab, please come over.’

  The officer nodded to him and our Egyptian friend took two steps forward to prostrate himself before me.

  ‘Thank you, divinity,’ he said.

  Gallia rolled her eyes and Dobbai laughed.

  ‘He’s no god, boy, though sometimes he thinks he is.’

  I walked forward to stand before Scarab. ‘Get up.’

  He did so and the officer smiled at him.

  ‘He’s eager to please, majesty.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I can see that.’

  My daughters stood in silence as I introduced each of them to Scarab, who smiled to reveal perfect white teeth. I told them he was going to be my new squire and came from a land far away called Nubia. Eventually Eszter stepped forward and touched Scarab’s muscular arm and then looked at her fingers.

  ‘It does not come off,’ she said in surprise.

  Gallia frowned but Dobbai laughed. ‘That is the colour of his skin, child, not paint.’

  She gestured to Scarab to approach her. He looked at me and I nodded.

  Despite his size he was obviously nervous at being in the presence of this old woman with the severe countenance.

  ‘You know of me, boy?’

  He nodded. ‘You are the sorceress of the king. Your name is held in awe by many.’

  ‘How ridiculous,’ she scoffed. ‘Give me your hand.’

  He held out his right arm and she grabbed his wrist to look closely at his palm.

  ‘You chose wisely, son of Hatra. The gods send you a guardian.’

  ‘I think we have alarmed Scarab enough,’ I said. ‘Go and get some rest. Your training begins tomorrow.’

  While Scarab began to receive instructions on the duties required of a royal squire a courier arrived from Babylon with a letter from Orodes. I assembled the council and then read its contents to everyone. It did not make heartening reading and indicated just how weak the empire was at this present juncture. Orodes was waiting for Nergal to arrive from Uruk at the head of ten thousand horse archers, to which
he would be adding five hundred heavy horsemen and a further five thousand horse archers. He could spare no foot soldiers as those he had were spread across three kingdoms – Babylon, Susiana and Elymais – undertaking garrison duties. He had called on the help of King Phriapatius of Carmania but his troops would not be available for many weeks due to the great distance they had to cover.

  ‘Twenty thousand horsemen won’t be able to defeat the Armenians,’ remarked Domitus glumly.

  ‘The legions should march with you,’ agreed Kronos.

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘If we strip Dura of men the Romans will march straight in. The frontier with Syria is quiet for the moment, but to denude this kingdom of troops is to invite the Romans to invade.’

  ‘What of the lords and their men?’ asked Domitus.

  ‘They will stay here with you, my friend,’ I answered, ‘to deter the Romans. Remember, sometime next year Crassus and his army will be arriving in Syria. Dura has to remain strong.’

  ‘What of Media and Atropaiene?’ asked Vagises.

  ‘Aschek has his own Armenian invasion to deal with and Atrax will hopefully be assisting Surena in Gordyene. He will not be able to spare any troops to reinforce Orodes.’

  The room fell silent. Domitus adopted his usual habit of toying with his dagger while Kronos and Vagises stared at the tabletop. Rsan looked very concerned and Aaron thoughtful. Dobbai for once appeared lost for words. Afterwards, somewhat deflated, I wandered back to the palace where one of the young apprentices from the armouries was waiting for me with an invitation from Arsam, the chief armourer, to attend him in his workplace. The latter was a collection of buildings in the northwest corner of the city, beyond the Citadel’s walls, home to hundreds of armourers and their apprentices where the weapons, armour, shields and horse furniture for the army were produced.

  I took Scarab with me. He had spent the morning at the stables mucking out stalls and grooming horses. I had taken Remus out for his daily exercise, and when I returned Scarab assisted me in unsaddling and ungirthing my horse and then rubbing him down, all the time asking me questions about Dura and its army. He certainly had an inquisitive mind. He still called me ‘divinity’, much to the amusement of the stable hands, and for the moment still believed that he was a slave. But then, all he had ever known was bondage and cruelty. As the time passed he would hopefully get used to his new position.

  Ever since the murder of Godarz, the city governor, Domitus had insisted that I should have an escort wherever I went, even on the shortest journeys, and so it was today as I walked from the Citadel to the armouries. A score of legionaries flanked Scarab and me as we strolled out of the gates and turned right. Thumelicus, a big German who was a Companion and one of the army’s most formidable soldiers, happened to be on guard duty in the Citadel that week so commanded the detail.

  ‘When do we march north to fight the Armenians?’

  ‘You don’t,’ I told him. ‘The legions are staying here just in case the Romans invade.’

  A look of disappointment spread across his big face. ‘More marching and guard duty, then. Can’t wait. We should have fought them all those months ago when we had the chance.’

  ‘Well we didn’t so there is no point agonising over what might have been.’

  Thumelicus looked at Scarab. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘My new squire. He was a slave in the city of Emesa.’

  Thumelicus grinned at Scarab. ‘So this is the one that prompted Gallia to put an arrow in one of the enemy’s soldiers.’

  I nodded.

  ‘He doesn’t say much. Did they cut out his tongue?’

  ‘No,’ I answered. ‘He does not yet speak Parthian.’

  We arrived at the gates that led to the armouries, the sentries on duty snapping to attention as we passed them. The wall was a fairly recent addition but was deemed necessary to deter thieves. Dura’s weapons were among the finest in the empire and commanded a high price. The man responsible for equipping Dura’s army with the implements of war was a stocky Parthian who had learnt his craft in the armouries at Antioch and Hatra before taking up residence at Dura. That had been nearly fifteen years ago and in that time he had established a large group of talented sword smiths and armourers. Because Dura was a frontier city he knew that its rulers would always place a high premium on having first-class weapons to equip its army.

  I had purposely increased the capacity of the city’s armouries, which meant hundreds of workers and apprentices, who produced a steady stream of weapons and armour. Such a large pool of labour and high production was expensive and a drain on the treasury, but it was money well spent because it resulted in Dura’s army being one of the most well equipped in the empire.

  Arsam stood with his thick arms folded across his barrel chest in front of one of his workshops, a high and long single-storey building with a tiled roof. From within I could hear hammers beating metal and chisels being struck, and then the smell of burning charcoal reached my nostrils. Thumelicus put his arm round my shoulder.

  ‘Here you are. We will be waiting for you when you have finished.’

  ‘There is no need,’ I told him.

  He shook his head. ‘I beg to differ. Even since Godarz’s murder Domitus has been adamant that you have a guard at all times. Besides, I heard that bastard Mithridates is at Antioch and that is not that far away.’

  He tilted his head at Scarab.

  ‘You sure he isn’t an assassin? He’s as big as that boyfriend of the killer with the big breasts sent to murder you.’

  I held up my hand. ‘Thank you, Thumelicus, but much as I would like to stand here and gossip I have business with Arsam.’

  I left Thumelicus and his men and joined Arsam at the entrance to the armoury.

  ‘Is that man your brother, divinity?’ asked Scarab, glancing back at Thumelicus.

  ‘No, not at all.’

  He looked confused. ‘Then why is he allowed such familiarity, for it is death in Egypt and Emesa to touch the body of the king.’

  ‘It is a long story,’ I replied. ‘I will tell you one day.’

  Arsam bowed his head, frowned at Scarab and went inside the workshop. My ears were assaulted by a cacophony of noise as dozens of men wearing leather aprons stood working at anvils, benches and forges shaping, beating and cutting metal. The building was light and airy with many open windows, a high arched roof and a dirt floor to minimise the effects of molten metal spills. Good light is essential when working with metals and leather protection and ventilation even more so when beating and shaping hot iron. Nevertheless, the air was full of dust and fumes and the smiths and apprentices were covered in sweat and grime. The heat produced by the forges was intense and I too began to sweat as we made our way through the rows of benches and tool racks. There was an endless number of pliers, end nippers, hammers, metal cutters, hack saws, hand saws, hole punches, knives, razors, bevellers, awls, chisels and vices. And at the far end of the building were half a dozen forges that resembled the red-hot fires of the underworld.

  We passed through the small army of workers to exit the rear of the workshop and enter an open space leading to a second workshop.

  ‘Take a look at this,’ said Arsam, walking over to a table positioned along the wall of the workshop we had just left.

  He picked up an arrow and handed it to me.

  ‘We have been experimenting with different types of arrowheads. The one you are holding is made of steel and will go straight through mail armour.’

  I looked at the arrowhead, which was long and thin and tapered to a point, like a needle. I turned the cedar shaft in my hand. There was also a recurve bow, similar to my own and the ones used throughout the empire, lying on the table.

  ‘Take a shot at that target,’ said Arsam, pointing to a straw dummy forty yards away, over which had been placed a mail shirt that was the same as that worn by the army’s legionaries.

  I took the bow, nocked the arrow and shot it at the dummy. The arrow hissed through
the air and struck the target. I walked over to the dummy with Arsam and saw that the missile had gone straight through the mail shirt.

  ‘Just as our legionaries wear mail shirts, so do the Romans,’ he said, yanking the arrow from the target.

  ‘And like Dura’s soldiers,’ I said, ‘the Romans also have shields.’

  Arsam smiled knowingly at me. ‘Wait here.’

  He dashed back inside the workshop and re-emerged moments later carrying a shield sporting the Duran markings of griffin wings. He carried it to a wooden stand positioned next to the dummy and walked over to the table, picking up another arrow.

  He held it out to me. ‘Take another shot.’

  I walked back to my shooting position and knocked the arrow in the bowstring. I raised the bow and pulled back the bowstring so the three goose flight feathers were adjacent to my face, then released the string. The arrow flew straight and true and slammed into the shield, just above the central steel boss. Arsam was grinning like an idiot.

  ‘Now go and take a look at the shield, majesty.’

  I handed the bow to Scarab and told him to follow me as I walked over to the target. When I reached the shield I saw that the arrow had pierced the layers of wood and one of the reinforcing strips attached to its rear and had exited the other side to a length of six inches.

  ‘If it will go through our shields then it will also pierce Roman ones,’ said Arsam with satisfaction. ‘We’ve tested them on helmets as well. They go through them like a knife through parchment.’

  Most of the arrowheads used by my horse archers were three winged and cast from bronze. As such they were relatively cheap and hundreds could be produced on a weekly basis.

  ‘These new arrowheads are steel?’ I asked.

  Arsam nodded. ‘Heated in the fire and then shaped on an anvil.’

  ‘Which means they are more expensive and will take longer to make than bronze arrowheads.’

  ‘But are more effective,’ he replied. ‘With Crassus’ legions on the way it would be advantageous to have the armoury well stocked with these little beauties. Marcus thinks it is a good idea.’