Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  At the end of the month I rode to Ctesiphon to see Orodes. I took Spartacus and Scarab with me as well as Peroz, who provided an escort of a hundred of his Carmanians. The whole of the empire’s western border from Dura north to Hatra and Gordyene was very quiet, though I had received letters from Byrd at Palmyra telling me that his sources reported that the Armenians were still being reinforced with mercenaries from Galatia, Cilicia, Cappadocia and Pontus. And Sarmatia, no doubt. Like us the Armenians were awaiting the arrival of Crassus before opening hostilities.

  Orodes and Axsen had made the massive, ramshackle palace complex their official home now that he was king of kings and the empire’s treasury was once again located there.

  A vast, sprawling edifice filled with several palaces, Ctesiphon’s walls were covered with wooden scaffolding when we rode through the main gates. Banners showing the horned bull of Babylon and the symbol of Susiana – an eagle clutching a snake in its talons – hung from the gatehouse and from flagpoles along the central avenue leading to a second gatehouse that gave access to the walled grounds of the complex’s main royal enclosure. In between these walls and the outer perimeter were barracks, stable blocks, granaries, storerooms, temples to Shamash, Ishtar and half a dozen other deities, and spacious ornamental gardens.

  We left our escort to be shown to their barracks and made our way through the second gatehouse and into Ctesiphon’s inner sanctum of palaces, gardens, ornamental pools and stucco statues. We trotted along the paved road that led to the courtyard fronting a huge open-ended vaulted reception hall. Before this Demaratus and four of his Babylonian officers were standing. Dressed in scale armour cuirasses of overlapping silver scales, they wore purple long-sleeved shirts and baggy purple leggings. As I slid off Remus’ back and a stable hand took his reins, Demaratus walked over and bowed his head.

  ‘Greetings, majesty, welcome to Ctesiphon.’

  I had been here before, once when Sinatruces had lured me here in an effort to steal Gallia from me, other times when Phraates had been high king, and none of those visits was particularly rewarding. I found it a nest of vipers and intrigue that dripped with treachery. Hopefully it would change now Orodes was high king.

  ‘I see the defences are being strengthened,’ I said.

  ‘The walls have been much neglected, majesty. It will take at least a year to finish the restoration work.’

  I hoped we had that long before Roman sandals were tramping across the Mesopotamian desert. I held out a palm to Peroz.

  ‘This is Prince Peroz from Carmania who has brought horsemen to fight by my side.’

  Peroz smiled at Demaratus who stood to attention and bowed his head. ‘Highness.’

  I unstrapped my helmet and took it off as Demaratus escorted us into the reception hall towards the great red doors that led to the main throne room. Babylonian guards armed with short spears and shields stood either side of these doors and others stood along the walls.

  ‘The walls of Seleucia are also being repaired, majesty,’ remarked Demaratus, ‘though it will take years to restore them to their former strength.’

  Spartacus and Scarab followed behind in silence and behind them walked Demaratus’ officers. The guards opened the doors to allow us to enter as we walked towards the dais at the far end of the hall where Orodes and Axsen awaited us. White marble tiles and white-painted walls and ceiling made the chamber look cavernous and the sound of our boots on the tiles echoed around the room.

  I halted before my friends and bowed my head while Peroz, Spartacus and Scarab went down on one knee before Parthia’s king of kings and his wife. Near the walls stood nobles and their wives dressed in rich robes, the ladies adorned with fine jewellery. Around the dais itself were stewards and scribes, and dressed in red robes bearded priests from the Temple of Marduk in Babylon. Axsen had obviously brought her nobles and spiritual advisors from her city to Ctesiphon. Demaratus bowed to them both and then took his place beside the dais on Orodes’ right side.

  ‘Welcome, King Pacorus,’ said Orodes formally, ‘Lord High General of Parthia and victor of many battles.’

  There was polite applause at his declaration.

  ‘Welcome Prince Peroz, son of King Phriapatius and our valuable ally, please rise.’

  Peroz rose to his feet, leaving Spartacus and Scarab kneeling with heads bowed.

  ‘Rise all of you,’ commanded Orodes.

  ‘We are glad to see you, Pacorus,’ said Axsen who was wearing a rich purple robe with gold edging, a jewel-encrusted crown on her head and a gold necklace at her throat.

  ‘And I you, highness,’ I replied, causing her to smile.

  The formalities out of the way, Orodes dismissed everyone in the throne room and asked to see me in his study in the palace’s private quarters to the rear of this chamber. Axsen asked Peroz, Spartacus and Scarab to escort her on a tour of the palace while I walked with Orodes along a corridor with walls decorated with paintings of animal hunts.

  ‘Axsen does not like it here,’ he complained. ‘She would rather be at Babylon.’

  I could understand that. Babylon was where she grew up and its palace was just as splendid as Ctesiphon’s, perhaps more so.

  ‘Do you have to live here?’

  He frowned. ‘The high king of the empire should live in its capital, inconvenient though it may be. Besides I am having it renovated, at considerable cost I may add.’

  ‘I noticed,’ I replied.

  We arrived at his study, a slightly austere room with pigeonholes along one wall filled with old documents. I had visited it many years ago just prior to the Battle of Surkh when I had helped to defeat Narses, and afterwards had been rewarded with a great quantity of gold by a grateful Phraates. The large desk was in exactly the same position in front of wood panelling that was decorated with a beautifully painted map of the Parthian Empire. Orodes sank into the ornate chair behind the desk and pointed at another in front of it, in which I sat.

  Orodes looked deflated as slaves offered us wine, pastries, wafers, fruit and yogurt. He took a rhyton of wine but waved away the offer of food. I helped myself to both wine and food as he ran a finger around the rim of his rhyton and then dismissed the slaves and ordered the two guards in the corridor to close the door.

  ‘The Armenians have refused my overtures to extend the peace treaty,’ he muttered.

  ‘Hardly a surprise,’ I replied, taking a mouthful of what was excellent wine. ‘Crassus and his army will be arriving soon. Artavasdes no doubt sees little merit in peace with the prospect of conquest dangling before his eyes. But he will not make any hostile moves before Crassus arrives.’

  He looked up at me. ‘Perhaps we might think of striking at the Armenians before he does so.’

  I rose from the chair and walked over to the map of the empire on the wall behind him.

  ‘Unfortunately, geography does not favour such a move.’ I pointed at Nisibus, which was occupied by the Armenians. ‘If we muster our forces at Hatra for a strike against Nisibus it will take around a month before the troops of Dura, Babylon, Media, Hatra, Mesene and Atropaiene are gathered together. Before that happens the Armenians will themselves muster over one hundred thousand troops and march them south to seize the city of Assur and the crossing point over the Tigris. If they hold that place then they can prevent troops from Media and Atropaiene to the east from reinforcing us.’

  He too rose and stood next to me, tracing a finger from Nisibus down to Assur. ‘There is nothing to prevent them doing so now, Pacorus.’

  I smiled. ‘I have reinforced Assur’s garrison with Silaces and seven thousand horse archers. The Armenians have no siege engines and so it is too hard a nut for them to crack.’

  ‘How many soldiers can be raised to fight the Armenians and Crassus?’ he asked.

  ‘Just over one hundred thousand in total, not including Surena’s forces in Gordyene.’

  He raised an eyebrow at this.

  ‘To call upon Surena will leave Gordyene exposed
to another Armenian invasion,’ I said.

  ‘A pity, Pacorus, he is an excellent commander.’

  ‘He is,’ I agreed, ‘but at the start of the war we need him in the north to stop Gordyene falling and then, after we have hopefully dealt with Crassus, reinforcing our efforts against the Armenians.

  ‘We are fortunate that Artavasdes is the Armenian king and not his father. He would not have waited until Crassus arrived before striking south.’

  ‘It was a greater stroke of luck the Romans diverting their attention to Egypt when they did,’ added Orodes, who retook his seat and gestured for me to do the same.

  ‘I have to tell you, my friend,’ I said, ‘that even if we manage to defeat Crassus there is no guarantee that we can also stop the Armenians. I have heard reports that they are recruiting great numbers of mercenaries to swell their army. You may wish to consider relocating your court to Esfahan or another eastern city.’

  He looked aghast at my suggestion. ‘To do so would in an instant destroy any authority I might have. The king of kings of the empire does not flee from his enemies, Pacorus.’

  ‘At least consider moving to Babylon, then,’ I suggested. ‘Its walls are at least strong and sit behind a moat. The defences here are derisory.’

  ‘I have every confidence in you, Pacorus,’ he smiled, ‘to prevent the enemy reaching these parts.’

  Unfortunately I did not share his confidence though I did not tell him so. The army of Hatra had formerly been the western shield of the empire, a highly trained force of professionals who were the envy of other kings. But now that army had suffered great losses at the Battle of Susa and subsequently at Nisibus and north of Hatra. It had lost its commander, my father, and its morale was low. Of the armies of the other kingdoms that would be called upon to fight Crassus, Media and Babylon had lost many sons at Susa and the soldiers of Atropaiene were average at best. That left only Nergal’s horse archers from Mesene and my own army as a match for the Romans but they would be heavily outnumbered. How I wished my father was still alive.

  I looked round the room and saw the empty chairs and thought of another time when I was in this study.

  ‘Is something troubling you, Pacorus?’

  ‘I was just thinking of when I was in this study with your father, just before the Battle of Surkh where we defeated Narses. He was sitting where you are now. Across the table were my father, Gotarzes, Vardan and that snake Chosroes, and myself of course. Of all of them I am the only one left alive. It seems an age ago.’

  He looked at me with sympathetic eyes.

  ‘You know,’ I continued, ‘when I escaped from Italy I thought that life would be so simple. I would marry Gallia, inherit my father’s throne and live out the rest of my life as the King of Hatra.’

  Orodes nodded thoughtfully. ‘The gods had other plans for you. They decided that you should be a great Parthian warlord.’

  ‘The next few months may make you re-evaluate that assessment,’ I replied.

  The next day we rode back to Dura.

  With Byrd’s network of informers in Syria and Cilicia I would know the moment Crassus arrived at Antioch, which would give me time to gather together the armies of Dura, Hatra, Babylon, Media, Atropaiene and Mesene. Garrisons would be left at Hatra and Assur, reinforced by sizeable numbers of horse archers to attack the Armenians should they advance south from Nisibus. Artavasdes would attack Hatra, of course, and I hoped he would because I knew that he would be unable to breach the city’s walls and would be compelled to besiege it. But there were no water supplies near the city and so he would be forced to send detachments to the Tigris sixty miles to the west. There Silaces and his horse archers riding from Assur would assault them. While the Armenians rotted in front of Hatra I would fight an outnumbered Crassus and at least stop him in his tracks. And afterwards I would march east and engage the Armenians before the walls of Hatra and destroy them – a fitting tribute to the memory of my father.

  As we rode across the pontoon bridge over the Euphrates towards Dura’s Palmyrene Gate I began to whistle to myself. With luck and the help of the gods we would be able to resist the Roman invasion and throw the Armenians out of my brother’s kingdom. But as I trotted up the city’s main road to the Citadel I was unaware that the death of a young woman would throw my carefully prepared plans into chaos.

  The first intimation of the event that was to plunge the empire into turmoil was when I rode through the Citadel’s gates into the courtyard and saw Gallia surrounded by the Amazons at the foot of the palace steps. Many were in tears and others were comforting each other and I felt my stomach tighten. I dismounted, gave Remus’ reins to a stable hand and walked to my wife’s side. She looked pale and shaken and I saw she was clutching a letter in her hand. A disconcerting silence filled the courtyard and I saw that Gallia’s eyes were misting with tears.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  She did not answer but held out the letter to me. She had been holding it so tightly that the words were difficult to read but I straightened it out as the eyes of the Amazons bore down on me. It was from Silaces at Assur, who had been informed by Surena that Viper had died giving birth to his son, who had been delivered stillborn. I closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would welcome them both into heaven. I opened them to find the eyes of my wife’s bodyguard still looking at me. What could I say to assuage their grief? Nothing. I remembered the woman who had looked like a girl, my young squire who had fallen in love with her and who had made her his queen and felt immensely sad.

  ‘I am sorry,’ was all I could say.

  I was also sorry for Surena for now he was alone in his cold, grey palace with nothing to do but brood over his loss. I decided that I would write to Atrax to ask him to visit Surena. They were close friends and the King of Media’s cheerful disposition would hopefully stop Surena sinking into the pit of despair.

  ‘How little you know him, son of Hatra,’ remarked Dobbai as I sat alone with her that evening on the palace terrace after our daughters had been taken to their bedrooms. Gallia and the Amazons had locked themselves in the banqueting hall where they were holding a farewell meal for Viper and her child. It was a strictly all-female affair and so I was left to reflect on her death alone.

  ‘I have known him as a boy from the great southern marshes, as a squire, as an officer in my army and as a king,’ I snapped at her. ‘I think I know him very well.’

  ‘You know part of him. He was a wild creature that you took out of its environment and you sought to tame him like a horse. But a beast that has been taught to perform and dressed in fine clothes is still wild underneath.’

  I held my head in my hands in despair. ‘Surena is not a beast; he is a man who has just lost his wife and child.’

  She waved a hand at me dismissively. ‘Have it your own way. But I tell you that he will lash out like an enraged demon because of this, disregarding the consequences. You should prepare.’

  ‘Prepare for what?’

  ‘The unexpected.’

  Knowing that Dobbai’s warnings were not to be dismissed lightly during the next few days there was a permanent knot in my stomach as I expected bad news to arrive at Dura. Perhaps Crassus had speeded up his journey, or maybe Artavasdes had decided to start the war without waiting for the Romans to arrive. But after a week nothing had happened and so I began to relax. The army was up to full strength and ready to march. The cataphracts had received their new swords and production of the new arrows for the horse archers was almost completed. All was quiet along the border with Roman Syria and Haytham’s kingdom was not being troubled.

  I visited the Agraci king a week after my return to Dura and took Spartacus and Scarab along with me. As usual the road to Palmyra was thronged with traffic going east and west and the desert oasis itself was filled with caravans. Haytham gave a great feast the night we arrived and I kept a close eye on my nephew and Rasha, but though they exchanged pleasantries and spent some time in each other’s company th
ere was no show of affection between the two, for which I heaved a sigh of relief. Her father had almost certainly earmarked a potential husband for his daughter and it would not be a Parthian, even if he was a prince.

  Between the courses of roasted lamb stuffed with rice, nuts and raisins, and dates; platters heaped high with succulent mutton; and great quantities of unleavened bread, Byrd informed me that thus far there was no sign of Crassus but his arrival was eagerly awaited in Antioch.

  ‘He has boasted that he will conquer all Parthia and reduce its kings to servants of Rome.’

  ‘Servants?’ I said, scooping up a slice of lamb covered with cooked onion. ‘I think “slaves” is more appropriate. What do you hear of Alexander Maccabeus in Judea?’

  Byrd screwed up his face. ‘He still fight but is more the hunted than the hunter. Romani tighten their grip on Judea and Egypt.’

  I thought of the thousands of weapons that I had supplied to the Jewish rebels and the high hopes of their leader. ‘Still, at least he is still resisting. Are the Armenians still recruiting mercenaries?’

  He nodded. ‘Artavasdes has sworn to make Hatra an Armenian city just like Nisibus. Rumour tell of a great map he has commissioned that shows Kingdoms of Hatra, Gordyene, Media and Atropaiene as provinces of Armenian Empire.’

  I nearly choked on my piece of lamb. ‘What?’

  ‘He thinks he is the new Tigranes,’ said Byrd.

  I took a gulp of water. ‘We will have to disabuse him of that notion.’

  The next day I spoke with Haytham and told him that everything was in place with regards to dealing with Crassus and the Armenians.