by Peter Darman
‘Shields, shields!’ screamed Domitus as he grabbed Kronos’ right arm and began to haul him away from the walls. I took his other arm and we pulled him across the ground as a century of men rushed forward and formed a wall of shields around us.
Blood was spurting from the arrow wound as Kronos looked up at me and tried to smile.
‘Don’t talk, keep still,’ I told him.
A medical orderly knelt beside him, took a bandage from his bag and applied it to the wound in an effort to staunch the flow of blood, but the arrow had penetrated too deeply into his neck and Kronos was dead within seconds. The fountain of blood subsided as life left the commander of the Exiles and I stared in disbelief at my dead comrade. This was the man who had marched all the way from Pontus when that kingdom had fallen to the Romans; who had helped me raise a legion of his exiled countrymen and forged them into an élite fighting formation. He had fought beside me at Dura, the Tigris, Babylon, Makhmur and Susa and had not suffered a scratch. And now a single archer had killed him.
Domitus commanded the orderly to remove the arrow from the wound and then had the body covered with a white cloak and taken to the rear where it would be cremated alongside Drenis when the fighting was over. They would burn with Mardonius, whose body I had ordered to be removed from the walls. My hatred for Mithridates burned with a white-hot intensity for what he had been responsible for at this place. I vowed to hunt him down even if it meant going to the end of the world to find him.
The ram arrived shortly after we lost Kronos and its iron head was soon smashing in the two gates. The soldiers in the gatehouse above tried to halt its progress by hurling spears and rocks against it but Marcus had also brought his smaller ballistae with him and they shot iron and stone balls to splinter the wooden shutters, and then dismounted companies of Vagises’ horse archers poured volley after volley of arrows at the firing positions. Very soon no missiles were coming from the gatehouse.
Like most of Seleucia’s defences the palace gates had not been maintained and though they looked impressive they were very old, over two hundred years at least, and when they were subjected to a fierce pounding they gave way easily enough. The defenders had had no time to reinforce them with braces or rubble and so, after twenty minutes of being battered, they were forced open.
The same orderly who had tried to save Kronos re-bandaged my wounded arm as the first of the Exiles forced their way through the gates and into the palace compound. Domitus had wanted to lead them but I had forbidden him to do so – I did not want to lose any more friends this day. So as the first shards of light appeared in the east we stood and watched as century after century raced into the palace to exact revenge for the death of their commander. Most of the Thracians and Cilicians were butchered without mercy whether they threw down their weapons and tried to surrender or not. A few Sarmatian horsemen attempted to mount their horses and cut their way through the mass of Exiles who flooded into the palace, but their horses panicked in the face of the dense ranks of the legionaries and their riders were soon dragged from their saddles and stabbed to death.
After the brief, violent battle was over I walked with Vagises and Domitus, escorted by a century of Exiles and a hundred horse archers, through the smashed gates and into the palace compound. The ground was sprinkled with enemy dead all around, mostly Thracians and Sarmatians but a few bodies attired in short-sleeved red tunics marking them out as Cilicians. There were some shouts and screams coming from inside the palace but most of the fighting was over. The gatehouse and all the towers had been cleared of enemy soldiers and groups of Exiles were standing guard on the walls, at the gatehouse and at the entrance to the palace itself.
We stood in the middle of the square in front of the palace as parties of Exiles began dumping enemy swords, bows, spears and armour in separate piles that would be examined by Marcus to see if any could be salvaged for further use. All the weapons and armour for Dura’s army were produced in Arsam’s armouries to ensure their quality, but captured stocks could always be sold on to third parties such as Alexander’s Jewish insurgents. His fighters had originally been armed with weapons produced at Dura but since then he had suffered a series of crushing defeats and he had used up all of his gold reserves. Perhaps I would send him the weapons that were being stockpiled in front of me free of charge. They would, after all, be used to kill Romans and the fewer Romans there were in the world would be of benefit to the empire.
Marcus sauntered over to where we stood and raised his right arm in a Roman salute. Dressed in simple beige tunic, sandals, leather belt and wide-brimmed hat, he looked like a gardener rather than a quartermaster. But he had one of the keenest minds in the empire and his organisational skills were second to none.
‘Terrible business about Drenis and Kronos,’ he said. ‘My commiserations.’
I nodded and Domitus stood by impassively.
‘Your engines did good work, Marcus,’ I told him.
‘Seleucia’s walls will need rebuilding and strengthening,’ he replied.
‘That is not our concern,’ I replied. ‘Once Mithridates has been captured Orodes can rebuild them at his leisure for there will no longer be any traitors to hide behind them.’
But a thorough search of the palace revealed that, just as I had feared, he had fled the city before we entered it. Some prisoners were taken, however, when a group of the enemy had barricaded themselves on the veranda in the north wing of the palace. They had shouted to the legionaries who were battering down the doors that they were men of importance who would command a great ransom and were known to the King of Dura. The latter declaration probably saved their lives as they were ordered to open the doors and surrender themselves immediately.
There were five of them: two Thracians, a bearded Sarmatian officer dressed in a magnificent scale armour cuirass, an unconscious and pale Nicetas whose shoulder wound had been bandaged but who had obviously lost much blood, and an individual whom I had met before.
‘Udall,’ I said to the man with the scruffy long hair who stood before me.
I had first encountered him when he had been a junior officer in a force of foot soldiers sent by Narses to intercept my army near Seleucia. Vagises’ horse archers had destroyed most of that force and Udall had been taken prisoner. I had let him and the rest of those men who had surrendered with him march away, after which he had spun a tale to his king about how he had slowed down Dura’s army. As a reward he had been made governor of Seleucia and was in that post when I had stormed the city as part of an alliance of kings led by my father determined to remove Mithridates and replace him with Orodes. After the city had fallen I had once again let Udall go free, and now here he was before me a prisoner for a third time.
‘I submit to your mercy, majesty,’ he said, bowing deeply, his hands bound behind his back like the others standing in a line in front of me.
I said nothing to him as I moved to stand before the Sarmatian. These people spoke Scythian, a coarse, harsh language that was spoken by the savage nomadic peoples who occupied the great northern steppes. As part of my boyhood education I had been tutored to speak and write it but had not spoken it in an age.
‘You are far from your homeland, Sarmatian.’
‘I go where there is work,’ he replied indifferently.
‘Where is Mithridates?’
‘Long gone,’ he smiled. ‘He has escaped you.’
I moved along the line to look at the Cilicians, both of whom were swarthy wretches who looked at me with hateful eyes.
‘What is your story?’ I asked one of them, to which he replied by spitting in my face.
Domitus standing beside me drew his gladius and thrust it through the man’s neck, after which my face was once more showered with gore as blood spurted from the wound. The Cilician collapsed as Domitus stepped over his body and rammed his sword into the side of his comrade, driving the blade up under the man’s rib cage to pierce his heart. He too collapsed to the ground. Domitus pointed at Ud
all.
‘This is the consequence of letting people go free instead of killing them, a mistake that Mithridates would not have made.’
I ordered the surviving prisoners to be taken back to the palace until I decided their fate and walked over to a water trough to wash my face. Domitus followed me.
‘What are you going to do with them?’ he asked.
I rubbed the stubble on my chin and saw that blood was seeping through the fresh bandage on my arm.
‘You cannot let them live,’ he continued before I could answer. I could tell that he was seething with rage over the deaths of Kronos and Drenis.
‘You are right,’ I said, ‘but first we have to attend to our dead.’
That afternoon, after Alcaeus had dressed my arm again and I had changed into a fresh tunic, most of the army was drawn up on parade to the west of the city wall. Two cohorts, one from the Durans, one from the Exiles, were left in the city to man what was left of the walls, guard the palace and the bridge over the Tigris and patrol Seleucia. The rest, including the squires, farriers, armourers, veterinaries, physicians and civilian drivers, plus the legions’ golden griffin and silver eagle standards, were drawn up to witness the cremation of our dead. We had lost only a hundred and fifty killed during the capture of Seleucia but it did not feel like a great victory, not with the bodies of Drenis and Kronos lying on their funeral pyres.
The shields of the Cilicians and Thracians had been collected to make individual pyres that had been soaked in oil, and now they were lit to consume the bodies on top of them. Thumelicus, tears streaming down his face, lit the pyre of Drenis while Domitus did the same for that of Kronos. I held a torch and lit the heaped shields beneath the body of Mardonius and then watched as the flames took hold and black smoke ascended into a clear blue sky as the souls of our comrades were welcomed into heaven.
Afterwards we marched back to camp to ponder our next move. The spirits of the army were downcast as both Drenis and Kronos had been popular figures. Nergal and Praxima were similarly dejected as they had both known Drenis from our time in Italy. Our mood was not improved when Byrd and Malik rode into camp just before sunset to report that an army was on the other side of the Tigris and was heading for Seleucia.
‘Our scouts ran into its vanguard earlier,’ reported Malik as we relaxed in my tent.
‘They come from the direction of Susa,’ added Byrd.
‘Did you see any banners?’ I asked.
Malik shook his head. ‘Only horse archers who shot at us from a distance.’
‘Does Mithridates have another army?’ queried Nergal.
‘Perhaps the eastern kings have renounced Orodes and are marching to put his stepbrother back on the throne of Ctesiphon,’ added a concerned Praxima.
I tried to allay their fears. ‘The eastern kings are as weary of war as we are. In any case we would have heard something from Khosrou if the eastern kingdoms were rebelling against Orodes.’
Their stern-looking faces told me that I had failed to reassure them and in truth I too was full of doubts. Why would they plunge the empire into another civil war, especially as both the Armenians and the Romans threatened Parthia? But then, the western kingdoms, my own included, had slaughtered many of their men over the past few years. Perhaps their only desire was revenge.
‘The only way to end our doubts,’ said Domitus, ‘is to march east to meet this new army and defeat it. I suggest we all get some rest. Tomorrow might be a long day.’
With that he rose, nodded to everyone and then took his leave of us. Looking at the tired faces and puffy eyes around me I realised he was right. We had not slept for two days and I suddenly felt very tired. I yawned and stretched out my arms, wincing as pain shot through my left arm.
‘Does it hurt?’ asked Gallia.
‘No,’ I lied, though at least the wound had finally stopped bleeding.
Nergal and Praxima rose and embraced us before they too left and rode back to their camp with their escort. Gallia kissed me and withdrew to the sleeping area, leaving me alone with Scarab who was clearing the table of cups and jugs.
‘You were victorious today, highness,’ he said, flashing a row of white teeth at me.
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘though victory was bought at a heavy price.’
He looked concerned. ‘You lost many men, highness?’
‘Our casualties were light, but among them were two men for whom I would swap all my victories to have back.’
‘They were your friends, highness?’
‘Yes, they were my friends.’
‘Perhaps you will meet them again, highness, in the next life.’
I looked at him. ‘You believe that we all go on to another life?’
He stopped his cleaning and pondered for a moment. ‘When you are a slave, highness, the only thing that gets you through each day of torment is the thought that there is a better life after this one.’
I rose from my chair and picked up my sword that was leaning against it.
‘Let us hope you are right, Scarab.’
Chapter 5
The army marched two hours after dawn. I left Marcus and his machines behind and appointed him temporary governor of Seleucia in our absence, leaving him two cohorts of Durans to back up his authority. Nergal and his horse archers had left earlier with Malik, Byrd and their scouts, crossing the Tigris and striking southeast to intercept the army that had mysteriously appeared seemingly from nowhere. Vagises then led Dura’s horse archers across the bridge over the river followed by the legions. Finally the cataphracts in their scale armour, followed by their squires, the camel train carrying spare arrows, and wagons filled with supplies crossed the bridge.
It was another glorious day and many of Seleucia’s citizens had turned out to line the streets to see the army pass through their city. The legionaries marching six abreast and the cataphracts fully encased in their armour presented a magnificent sight, griffin pennants fluttering from every kontus and white plumes fixed to every legionary’s helmet. It was at times like these that I realised what a formidable machine Dura’s army was and it filled me with hope that we would be able to defeat the new threat that had appeared in the east.
After leaving the city and crossing the Tigris we headed in a southeasterly direction, following the churned-up ground made by the thousands of Nergal’s riders. Three hours later the King of Mesene returned with his horsemen in the company of Byrd and Malik and I halted the army.
‘It is Phriapatius and the army of Carmania,’ said Nergal.
‘So the mystery is solved,’ I replied. ‘How many men does he bring with him?’
‘Thirty thousand, perhaps more,’ said Byrd.
‘All horsemen,’ added Malik.
We marched towards Phriapatius for another hour and then deployed into battle order, the legions in the centre and the horse archers on the wings. Nergal’s men formed our right flank and Vagises’ men deployed on the left. In between the legions and Dura’s horse archers were my cataphracts arrayed in two ranks. To give the illusion of strength the legions were deployed in two lines, while on both flanks the horse archers were drawn up in their companies side by side. In this way our battle line had a width of over five miles. The camels carrying the spare arrows were deployed immediately behind the horse archers and the wagons holding spare shields, armour, helmets and javelins were sited to the rear of the legions.
I rode with Gallia, Vagharsh and the Amazons to the centre of the line, a hundred paces in front of the legions, and there we waited for Nergal and Praxima. Gallia and Praxima were dressed for battle like the Amazons: mail shirts, helmets with closed cheekguards and full quivers slung over their shoulders. The banner of Mesene fluttered behind Nergal and Praxima as Mesene’s king halted beside me. His wife took up her position next to Gallia. The Amazons raised their bows to salute their former second-in-command, now a god in Uruk.
The stoical Vagharsh held my griffin banner behind me as ahead a group of horsemen galloped toward
s us, their mounts kicking up a great cloud of dust as they hurtled across the parched earth. I looked into the cloudless sky and felt a trickle of sweat run down my neck. It was going to be another hot and bloody day.
‘It would appear that Byrd and Malik have found the enemy judging by the way they are riding.’ I looked down to see Domitus standing beside Remus, vine cane in his hand.
He nodded towards the black-clad riders who suddenly veered to the right while two of their number continued to head towards us, slowing their horses as they got nearer.
‘You and your scouts didn’t fancy fighting them, then?’ shouted Domitus.
Malik raised his hand in recognition of his friend while Byrd ignored him as they both pulled up their horses in front of me.
Byrd turned in the saddle and pointed ahead. ‘Phriapatius and his army draw near.’
‘About half an hour away,’ added Malik.
‘Will you attack first or fight a defensive battle?’ Domitus asked me.
‘We are not here to fight, Domitus,’ I told him.
He looked at me wryly. ‘Has anyone told the Carmanians?’
Nergal smiled at him nervously though none of us knew what the intentions of Phriapatius were. Nestled in the southeast corner of the empire, Carmania had been untouched by the recent civil war and though its army had been forced to retreat after it had invaded Nergal’s kingdom as part of the alliance of Narses and Mithridates, Phriapatius could still muster a substantial number of soldiers. Perhaps he desired no less than the high crown itself and sought to take advantage of our difficulties with the Romans and Armenians to seize Ctesiphon and Seleucia. I smiled to myself. Soon Seleucia would be nothing but a pile of rubble if it had to endure any more assaults.
Byrd and Malik stayed with us as their scouts went to the rear of the army to rest themselves and their mounts. I saw Byrd put a hand on his lower back and rub it.