Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  When I awoke it was morning and the sun was shining in my eyes. My mouth felt parched and my limbs ached. Around me the others slowly roused from their slumber and also began complaining of aches and pains. The guards had returned to their positions in the palace and I ordered one to go to the kitchens to fetch us all some breakfast. I left my complaining companions and went to the barracks to find the officer commanding the garrison’s horse archers. I ordered him to send a detachment to the base of the escarpment to bring back the clay statues that we had left there before returning to the terrace.

  The others were being served fruit, bread, cheese, wafers and yoghurt to fill their empty bellies, and water and fruit juice to satisfy their thirsts. I joined them and ate a great chunk of cheese and then a large portion of freshly baked bread, then gulped down two cups of water. The servants had also brought silver bowls so we could fill them with water and wash our faces and cleanse the blood from our hands and arms.

  The flustered chief steward came to inform me that the dead chickens and their cages had been removed from the throne room and the floor had been cleaned. After he had left the officer from the horse archers arrived, holding his helmet in the crook of his arm and bowing his head.

  ‘Did your men bring back the statues?’ I asked him, cutting off a slice of watermelon with my dagger.

  ‘No, majesty, there were no statues.’

  The others stopped their eating and looked at him.

  ‘Are you sure?’ questioned Vagises.

  ‘Quite sure, sir,’ he replied, ‘there were only…’

  He glanced at Vagises and then at me.

  ‘Go on,’ I ordered.

  ‘We found only six sets of scratch marks in the ground by the waters’ edge.’

  Domitus raised an eyebrow. ‘Scratch marks?’

  ‘More like deep gouge marks, sir, as though someone had been hacking at the earth with an entrenching tool.’

  Chapter 3

  Three days later Gallia and the children were allowed to return to the palace. Dobbai had confined herself to her bedroom and had asked not to be disturbed, saying that the ritual had exhausted her and she needed time and isolation to recuperate. The children were disappointed but I explained to them that she was now an old woman who needed lots of rest. Claudia was not fooled, though, and said that Dobbai had told her before she had left the palace that she was going to use strong magic. I shuddered to think what else she had imparted to my daughter over the years.

  ‘And did it work?’ asked Gallia as she brushed her hair in our bedroom that evening, a slight wind ruffling the net curtains at the entrance to the balcony.

  I smiled. ‘Well, as far as I know the Romans and Armenians have not disappeared.’

  She turned and frowned at me. ‘Don’t be flippant, it does not suit you.’

  I rose from the bed and stood behind her to kiss her on top of her head. I told her about the clay statues, the cold mist that came from nowhere, the chilling growls and howls that filled the air and the disappearance of the statues the next morning. I did not tell her that all those who had taken part might be in danger of divine retribution.

  She placed her brush on the table and looked up at me. ‘I hope you are wearing a charm to ward off evil.’

  ‘Evil?’

  She stood and ran a finger down my scarred cheek. ‘I am not a fool, Pacorus. I know that Dobbai sent the children and me away because the spell she was going to weave was potentially dangerous to those taking part.’

  I reached inside my shirt and pulled out the lock of her hair I always wore round my neck. ‘This is the only charm I need. Besides, Dobbai called on the gods to protect the empire and since I fight to protect Parthia I don’t have anything to worry about.’

  She looked at me with her beautiful blue eyes. ‘Perhaps. Let us hope the gods see things the way you do.’

  ‘We should have held the ceremony weeks ago. Perhaps then Vata might still be alive and the Armenians would not hold half of my brother’s kingdom.’

  She shook her head. ‘Vata took the decision to fight the Armenians, no one else.’

  I turned away from her and walked to the balcony entrance, parting the curtains to stare at the night sky.

  ‘It is my fault he is dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When the kings faced the Armenians all those months ago I urged my father to attack them. I knew we could have beaten them that day but he declined to fight. When they returned Vata must have believed that he alone could defeat them.’

  She walked over and placed her arms round me. ‘Then he was a fool and paid for his foolishness with his life.’

  ‘And half my father’s kingdom,’ I added.

  Orodes and Nergal arrived at Dura five days later with their combined forces, their men pitching tents on the east bank of the Euphrates, directly opposite the Citadel. It was the first time Orodes had been back to the city since his coronation as king of kings and he received a rapturous reception from the citizens. He had always been a popular figure and now was even more so. People believed that the empire was in a pair of safe and just hands after the tyranny of Mithridates. Gallia and I rode out to greet him, Nergal and Praxima and escorted them through the city to the Citadel, along a route thronged with cheering crowds.

  ‘If they only knew the peril the empire faced,’ Orodes said to me, smiling and waving at the people as young girls tossed rose petals at him.

  ‘Sometimes it is better to live in ignorance, my friend.’

  That night we gave a great feast in the banqueting hall to celebrate the arrival of our friends and their senior officers. It was an opportunity for old friends to meet again for Orodes and his bodyguard had once lived in the city and had fought as part of Dura’s army. He insisted on ignoring protocol and sat with Alcaeus, Domitus, Kronos, Vagises and other senior officers from my army, men he had shared many dangers with. Gallia and I occupied the top table with Nergal, Praxima and Dobbai, who seemed to have regained her old vigour and appeared to be pleased that we were all together again.

  I was especially delighted to have Nergal and Praxima back at Dura. Nergal had been my second-in-command in Italy when we had fought for Spartacus and although Vagises was an excellent leader it had been Nergal who had forged my horse archers into a fearsome weapon. I had no regrets about making them rulers of their own kingdom but sometimes I yearned for the old times when we had been all together.

  Dobbai must have noticed that I was in a reflective mood as she remained beside me when Nergal left the table to speak with some of the men he used to command.

  ‘The years pass and yet we do not notice until it is too late,’ she said.

  ‘I did not know you were a philosopher,’ I replied.

  I pointed at Nergal who was in fits of laughter among a group of Duran horse archers. ‘Nineteen years ago Nergal and I were captured by the Romans and taken to Italy. It seems like yesterday and yet it is also another world. So much has happened since that time, and yet here we are on the verge of another campaign. After Susa I just yearned for peace and yet that is the one thing that seems to elude me.’

  I looked at her haggard face. ‘Will I ever know peace?’

  ‘Alas, son of Hatra, it is both your fate and doom to be a great warlord. You cannot stray from the path the gods have chosen for you. You cannot change your destiny.’

  Her words gave me scant comfort but the company of my friends made it an enjoyable evening and the next day I rode with Orodes and Nergal to the legionary camp. Domitus and Kronos arranged a parade of the Durans and Exiles to honour our royal guests and afterwards we retired to Domitus’ command tent. Orodes was still the same amiable character I had known for years but I noticed that there were now some worry lines on his face. I suspected the onerous office of king of kings was already taking its toll.

  ‘Axsen refuses to stay at Ctesiphon when I am not there,’ he told us, ‘she dislikes its atmosphere and associates it with Mithridates. She has moved back to Bab
ylon.’

  ‘Babylon is her home,’ I said. ‘Besides, it is only a short distance from Ctesiphon.’

  ‘Who is in charge of the royal treasury?’ asked Domitus.

  A wry smile crept over Orodes’ face. ‘Alas it is not as full as it should be. Mithridates took a sizeable quantity of gold with him when he fled to Syria.’ He smiled at me. ‘There were also a number of kingdoms who refused to pay the annual tribute. What gold remains is under the protection of Mardonius who provides troops from Seleucia to garrison Ctesiphon.’

  ‘You will use it to rebuild Babylonia?’ asked Nergal.

  Orodes nodded. ‘I promised Axsen that I would assist in the rebuilding of her kingdom, which suffered grievously at the hands of Narses and Mithridates. So you see, my friends, I am an impoverished high king.’

  Poor Orodes. He had once been banished by his stepbrother Mithridates because of his support for me and had spent years at Dura as a landless prince. Now he ruled an empire that was exhausted by civil strife and beset by foreign invaders.

  Horses’ hooves on the baked earth outside the tent interrupted our musings and seconds later a dust-covered Byrd and Malik stepped inside the tent.

  ‘So,’ beamed Malik to Orodes, ‘this is where you’re skulking.’

  Orodes rose from his chair and the two of them embraced, dust coming from Malik’s robes as they did so.

  ‘It is good to see you, old friend,’ said Orodes, as he hugged Malik again. He then embraced Byrd.

  ‘And you too, Byrd.’

  ‘Help yourself to some water,’ I said to the pair as the others greeted them, ‘you look as though you have had a hard ride.’

  ‘Bring news of Romani,’ said Byrd, taking a cup of water from Malik and sinking into a chair.

  ‘My contacts in Antioch report Romani legion moving to Zeugma. Governor and Mithridates go with it.’

  Zeugma was a former Parthian city that was ruled by the aged King Darius, a child molester who had defected to Rome nearly twenty years ago. Built on the banks of the northern Euphrates, a hostile Zeugma meant enemy troops could pour into northwest Hatra.

  ‘So the Romans intend to link up with the Armenians and march south to put my stepbrother back on Ctesiphon’s throne,’ remarked Orodes bitterly.

  ‘The other Roman legion is still licking its wounds at Emesa,’ added Malik. He looked at me. ‘Surely one legion can be dealt with easily enough?’

  ‘One legion, yes,’ I replied. ‘But one legion plus one hundred thousand Armenians is another matter. Our only hope is to link up with Gafarn at Hatra and meet the enemy north of the city with our combined forces.’

  ‘How many men do you think we can field against the Armenians, Pacorus?’ asked Orodes.

  ‘After combining our forces with those at Hatra, perhaps fifty thousand men,’ I answered.

  Orodes looked concerned. ‘So few? I thought Hatra alone could muster over sixty thousand men.’

  ‘That was before Vata’s defeat and the loss of the north. The towns in the northwestern part of the kingdom are still holding out as far as I know and Lord Herneus remains in charge at Assur in the east, but the loss of Nisibus and the surrounding lands is a heavy blow.’

  ‘And remember Hatra’s army also suffered losses at Susa,’ added Domitus.

  ‘We all suffered losses in that battle,’ remarked Orodes grimly.

  I tried to raise their morale. ‘Gafarn will wait until we arrive and then we can launch a counterattack against the Armenians. Thus far they have tasted only victory and will be over-confident, expecting an unopposed march to the walls of Hatra. In adversity the seeds of our triumph may have been planted.’

  I was not sure whom I was trying to convince, myself or them, but I knew that we stood a chance of at least halting the Armenians if Gafarn waited for us to arrive at Hatra.

  Except that he did not wait and the next day a courier arrived from Hatra telling of a battle with the Armenians fifty miles north of the city in which Gafarn had been soundly beaten and his forces scattered. He himself had escaped back to the city with the remnants of his army, but Tigranes had now inflicted two major defeats on Hatra’s army in a matter of weeks and the kingdom stood on the brink of calamity.

  I showed the letter to Orodes who read it and passed it to Nergal. We stood on the palace terrace in stunned silence as Gallia and Praxima also digested the grim news.

  ‘Why?’ I heard myself saying. ‘Why would he give battle before we arrived?’

  I sat down and stared at the floor. Tigranes would surely now lay siege to Hatra itself. He was probably only one or two days’ march from the city. It was now imperative to get to Hatra as quickly as possible. I looked at Orodes and knew he was thinking the same.

  ‘We leave at dawn tomorrow,’ he said.

  I saw Dobbai wander onto the terrace and walk over to her chair. She smiled at Orodes and ignored the rest of us before easing herself into her nest of cushions. She looked at our glum faces.

  ‘Did you all eat something disagreeable at breakfast?’

  ‘We have received ill tidings from Hatra,’ I snapped. ‘Gafarn gave battle to Tigranes and lost.’

  ‘Naturally,’ she said casually. ‘They do not call the Armenian king “great” for nothing, and who is Gafarn but a low-born slave who has gained a throne by chance?’

  I was fuming at her casual attitude to this fresh calamity that had beset the empire and stomped over to face her.

  ‘I hope that ritual we all took part in was not in vain,’ I seethed.

  Her eyes blazed with fury. ‘Do not blame the gods for the vanity of Vata or the idiocy of your brother.’

  Orodes and the others looked at us in confusion as Dobbai rose from her chair and pointed at Orodes.

  ‘You must beware of your brother, high king, for your failure to kill him at Susa will return to haunt you err long.’

  ‘Mithridates is with the Romans in northern Hatra,’ he replied.

  ‘He has left them,’ she replied with conviction.

  ‘Where is he?’ I asked.

  She looked indifferent. ‘How should I know? But I would advise you to find him quickly.’

  She sat back down in her chair and closed her eyes. I was still fuming and Orodes was shaking his head in confusion.

  We left Dura at dawn the next morning; horse archers, cataphracts, squires and camels carrying spare arrows in a great column heading east to Hatra. Domitus and the two legions were left behind with the lords and their men in case the Romans at Emesa and their fat ally decided to try another assault against Palmyra. To this end I sent a message to Haytham with Malik who went back to Palmyra with Byrd, that he was to summon Domitus immediately if the enemy left Emesa, but asked him not to initiate hostilities until my men had reinforced him.

  Gallia and Praxima rode together at the head of the Amazons whose numbers had once more been restored to one hundred women following their losses at Susa. The number of my cataphracts had also been made up to a thousand by promoting the eldest among the squires and inducting youngsters to take their places. The horse archers were once more up to three thousand by undertaking a recruiting drive within the kingdom.

  We covered at least thirty-five miles each day so that it took us just over four days to reach Hatra. Mercifully, though it was still hot, the fierce heat of high summer was behind us. That said it was still very warm and so riders and horses sweated as we travelled across the sun-blasted sandy ground. The thousands of animals kicked up a huge dust cloud that was our faithful companion each day, covering us in a fine layer of grime that stuck to our clothes and sweaty flesh. It also made us cough as the particles entered our mouths and nostrils until we were forced to cover our faces like the Agraci do.

  At the end of the fourth day we camped ten miles southwest of the city and Orodes sent a company of horse archers ahead to make contact with the garrison. I prayed that the city of my ancestors had not already fallen to Tigranes as I watched them disappear with the sun on their backs as
it dropped into the western sky. Around me exhausted men and boys unsaddled their horses and let them drink from waterskins before they were corralled in temporary stables made from poles and canvas sheets, while the camels spat and growled as they were relieved of their heavy cargoes.

  There were no campfires that night as the sky was devoid of clouds and the glow of any flames would be seen from afar, especially by any Armenian patrols that might be near. As a precaution we posted a heavy guard in all directions and enforced strict noise discipline.

  The Durans arranged their eight-man oilskin tents in neat rows as they had done many times before on exercise and on campaign. The horse archers of Mesene did likewise. Only the horsemen from Babylon and Susiana pitched their tents in ever-widening circles around the canopy of the king of kings.

  I sat on the ground in front of the tent I would share with Gallia as Scarab cleaned my helmet and cuirass a few paces away. After he had pitched our tent he smeared cedar oil around its base to repel any snakes that might be lurking nearby, while we all scoured the ground to kill any insects in an effort to deter camel spiders approaching us. Though they were not poisonous these giant eight-legged monsters could inflict a nasty bite that could easily become infected in the heat of the day.

  Gallia watched Scarab go about his duties.

  ‘I hope you are not treating him like a slave.’

  I was most hurt. ‘Of course not! He knows he is a free man and is with me of his own volition.’

  ‘He must be the oldest squire in the army.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘but he joined us under exceptional circumstances and will just have to catch up.’

  Scarab came over and bowed deeply. ‘Would you like me to clean your sword, divinity?’

  Gallia burst out laughing. ‘Divinity? You should put a stop to that nonsense straight away!’

  I ignored her chiding. ‘Thank you, Scarab, but I like to clean it myself.’

  Gallia whipped the dagger from her boot and stabbed it down to impale a large scorpion that was scuttling past her. She held up the wriggling creature on the end of her blade.