by Peter Darman
It took a further week for the Babylonians to arrive: five hundred cataphracts of Orodes’ bodyguard, a further five hundred horsemen of Axsen’s Royal Guard, seven thousand horse archers and five thousand spearmen on foot. There were in addition a further three thousand foot soldiers from the Kingdom of Susiana, Orodes’ homeland that had been the location of the battle where we had finally defeated and killed Narses. Unfortunately for Susiana its troops had been on the losing side that day and had suffered accordingly. Still, it was fitting that a small number had marched with their king to represent him and their kingdom. I was delighted to discover that he had also brought Demaratus with him as his second-in-command.
The Babylonians made camp across the Euphrates opposite the Citadel, a sprawling collection of different sized and coloured tents pitched in ever widening circles around the purple marquee of Orodes, which though rectangular and larger than the rest was not as grand as the great pavilion used by his predecessor, King Vardan, while on campaign.
‘And there are no half-naked slave girls to serve you wine,’ he informed me as I settled into a plush chair in the central area of his marquee.
‘That is a shame. I always looked forward to seeing their oiled bodies when I visited Vardan on campaign.’
In order to leave us alone he dismissed the four officers from the Royal Guard in their gleaming dragon skin armour. He slumped into a chair opposite. He looked as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
‘Axsen has gone back to Babylon,’ he said. ‘She would not stay at Ctesiphon alone and when I am away she likes to have Nabu and Afrand close by her.’
Nabu was the high priest at the Temple of Marduk in Babylon, a dour, imposing individual who exerted great control over the city’s population. Afrand was high priestess at the Temple of Ishtar, a beautiful seductress who wore few clothes to cover her voluptuous body.
He sighed. ‘So we march again, my friend. It appears to be our destiny to spend our lives living in tents and tramping to war.’
‘The gods have willed it so.’
‘I sometimes wonder if they are any gods,’ he said bitterly, ‘or if there are why we waste our lives worshipping them and building great temples in their honour.’
‘You sound just like Surena.’
His brow furrowed. ‘What are we to do with him? I made him King of Gordyene as a reward for liberating the province but it seems I have created a monster that is out of control.’
‘He is still a good commander,’ I said, ‘but the deaths of his wife and child have unhinged him.’
He looked at me sympathetically. ‘As a man I cannot blame him for his anguish but as high king I must rebuke him for his recklessness when I next see him. Unless the Armenians kill him and defeat his army, that is.’
I thought of the training that Surena had received at Dura and that day when I had inspected his army.
‘I do not think you need worry about his battlefield prowess, Orodes.’
My friend’s mood was lifted later when I gave a great feast in the palace and invited all my senior officers and those of Mesene, Babylon and those with Peroz, the banners of these kingdoms hanging on the wall. The chamber was filled with laughter and chatter as the wine and beer flowed and men reaffirmed friendships and forged new ones. Thumelicus insisted on arm wrestling a great hairy brute from the Zagros Mountains who served in the ranks of the Susianans and we were stunned when he failed to beat him with ease. The bout ended in a draw and with the two of them, both very drunk, embracing each other and weeping like small children. It was a most curious spectacle.
Orodes was seated on the top table in the place of honour flanked by Nergal and me, with our wives beside us. Next to Gallia sat Domitus with Miriam beside him. She was uncomfortable with the rowdiness going on a few feet in front of her. She picked at her food and engaged in polite conversation but appeared horrified at the behaviour of some of her husband’s officers.
‘It is good that they can indulge themselves,’ he told her, ‘some of them won’t be coming back.’
Matter-of-fact as usual, his words did nothing to brighten her mood.
Gallia, once again in the company of her former second-in-command Praxima, displayed no such concern. She and the Amazons were eager to get to grips with the Armenians and the Romans, particularly the Romans. Much about Rome I admired, especially their military methods and just as Spartacus had copied them in Italy so had I adopted them for Dura’s army, but Gallia hated the Romans. She hated them all for enslaving her, for invading Dura when we had returned to Parthia and, strangely, for reducing the Gauls to a subject people, despite the fact that she derided her own race for their passivity.
I was still worried about Peroz’s welfare and was debating whether to leave him and his men behind at Dura. But the affront to his honour would have been great and in any case I needed all the soldiers I could muster, especially with Nergal’s shortfall, and so he would be coming with us. In any case he and his men had been doing a lot of work on the training fields working with Vagises and his horse archers, so to leave him behind would be most unprofessional on my part.
Regarding the Babylonians, their foot had fought beside the legions at Susa and their horsemen had likewise battled the army of Narses and Mithridates. The purple-clad foot soldiers had suffered heavy casualties and had crumpled during the battle but at least they were professional soldiers, unlike those from Susiana who had been recruited from farmers and hill men judging by their threadbare appearance. I would have preferred it if Orodes had left them in his homeland but for political reasons he had felt compelled to bring them.
Dura’s army, marching twenty miles a day, could reach Hatra in under ten days, but Babylon’s foot soldiers were not as physically fit as Domitus’ men and so the rate of march our combined forces achieved was fifteen miles a day. Fifteen miles tramping across hard-packed dirt under a hot sun with the air thick with dust kicked up by thousands of feet and tens of thousands of animals. The assembled army numbered fifteen hundred cataphracts plus their squires and camels, five hundred men of Babylon’s Royal Guard, twenty thousand horse archers, eighteen thousand foot soldiers and their hundreds of wagons and mules, and the camel trains of Dura and Mesene – two thousand beasts in all.
And because there were no water holes between the Euphrates and Hatra water was strictly rationed. So we marched with parched throats, sweating bodies and dust-covered clothes. The luckiest ones were the scouts: companies of horse archers who provided an immediate screen around the army and, further out, Byrd and Malik’s ghost riders riding far and wide to ensure we not surprised by bands of Armenian raiders. If the enemy was mustering at Nisibus it was highly likely that they would send parties of horse south to gather intelligence as to our movements.
‘There is no point in them sending out scouting parties,’ said Domitus sweating in his helmet under a spring sun. ‘All they need to do is talk with the drivers and guards of the caravans to learn what is going on.’
‘One of the disadvantages of so many caravans traversing the empire,’ I said. ‘The Silk Road carries gossip as well as goods.’
Apart from the scouts on patrol all the other horsemen were on foot leading their horses. There was no point in sitting in the saddle tiring our horses while we marched at the rate of a legionary on foot carrying his furca – a four-foot long pole with a crossbar at the top, to which was strapped a rolled-up leather bag holding his stash of personal equipment, which could weigh up to sixty pounds. Then there were of course the oxen pulling wagons loaded with Marcus’ siege engines. So Gallia, Peroz, Nergal, Praxima, Orodes and myself led our horses as Domitus left his position in front of the colour party of the Durans carrying their golden griffin standard to join us.
He looked at Orodes. ‘Shouldn’t you be on your horse, being king of kings and all that? I bet your brother never walked while on campaign.’
‘First of all,’ said Orodes, ‘he was my stepbrother. Secondly, I do not intend to chang
e my habits just because I am high king.’
Domitus turned to Peroz. ‘What about you, young prince? Do you think King of Kings Orodes should be on his horse?’
Peroz, clearly awed by being in Orodes’ presence, was reticent to say anything, smiling awkwardly and then bowing his head when Orodes looked at him.
‘Leave him alone, Domitus,’ said Gallia. ‘Orodes has always been down to earth and will not change despite being high king.’
Orodes smiled at her. ‘Exactly.’
‘What is more remarkable?’ I asked. ‘That Orodes is king of kings, that Nergal and Praxima are regarded as gods in Mesene, or that Domitus managed to find a woman who would agree to be his wife.’
Everyone laughed and Nergal slapped Domitus on the back. It was just like the old times when we had all been together and Orodes had been a mere exiled prince. How things had changed since then.
For five days we made steady progress in a northeasterly direction towards Hatra. Each night we erected a large camp with an earth rampart, ditch and palisade toped by stakes that contained all the men and animals. It was a giant square in the middle of the barren landscape, each side measuring twelve hundred yards with four gates at each point of the compass. The men of Dura and Mesene slept in oiled leather tents; the officers of Babylon in round, voluminous tents and the foot soldiers of Babylon and Susiana in the open with only a blanket for warmth. I thought it most unprofessional but Demaratus informed me that the royal treasury did not have the money to purchase tents for its foot soldiers.
‘But it has enough money to provide the men of the Royal Guard with great canvas lodgings when on campaign,’ I remarked one night as I walked round the camp with him and saw the sorry sight of his foot soldiers sleeping on the ground, huddled together in their threadbare blankets.
‘They are lords and the sons of lords, majesty. Men of quality who live in fine houses and enjoy rich living.’
‘They are soldiers, Demaratus, just like these men lying on the ground.’
He looked in puzzlement at me and then at his foot soldiers. ‘These men are not nobles, majesty, they are merely poor villagers or homeless city dwellers who joined the army because it gives then regular pay and food.’
‘But you expect each one of them to lay down his life if called upon.’
‘Of course, it is their duty.’
‘And what of your duty?’ I asked him.
‘My duty is to serve my king and queen, majesty.’
‘Of course, but what of your duty to your men?’
He looked at me as though I was trying to trick him. ‘I do not understand, majesty.’
‘Every man in my army is clothed, fed, housed and treated the same regardless of whether he is the highest-ranking cataphract or the lowliest legionary. Each soldier in Dura’s army knows that his weapons and armour are the best that money can buy, and he also knows that his commanders, right up to the king, will never waste his life needlessly.’
‘But everyone knows that Dura’s army is…’ he stopped himself from saying any more.
‘Speak freely.’ I ordered him.
‘Forgive me, majesty, but it is common knowledge that Dura’s king is beloved of the gods and that its army is protected by the spells of his, that is your, sorceress. That is why it is invincible.’
I laughed aloud. ‘If it is invincible then it is because it is well trained and well armed and every one of its soldiers is proud to be a part of it. It is the small things, Demaratus, that make the most difference.’ I put an arm round his shoulder. ‘For example, if you provide your foot soldiers with tents they will fight better for you.’
He looked at me and then at the thousands of men sleeping on the ground in front of us in bewilderment.
‘Truly,’ I said.
He obviously found it hard to believe me but it was hardly surprising. Parthian nobles were born into privilege and viewed those beneath them with contempt, especially lowly foot soldiers who could not even afford a horse. It was convenient for them to believe that Dura’s army was so effective not because of its lowly foot soldiers but rather because it had the favour of the gods and its very own sorceress.
On the sixth day, roughly halfway between Dura and Hatra, Byrd and Malik came galloping back to the army with a score of Hatran horse archers. It was two hours before midday and their horses were sweating and breathing heavily as they were brought to where the kings were once again walking with their own horses. As Byrd and Malik raised their hands to us their commander slid off the back of his horse and went down on one knee in front of me.
‘Urgent message from the King of Hatra, majesty.’
He reached into a small leather bag slung over his shoulder, pulled out a folded parchment and handed it up to me.
I held out a hand to Orodes. ‘Get up. This is King of Kings Orodes. His eyes should read it first.’
The officer, mortified, looked wide eyed at Orodes and went down on his knee again.
‘Forgive me, highness.’
Orodes took the letter, broke the wax seal and read the contents. He shook his head, sighed and handed it to me. Peroz, Nergal, Gallia and Praxima looked with interest at the document I was reading. I finished and pointed at the officer.
‘You and your men report to the quartermaster and get those horses watered. They look as though they are about to drop, and get up.’
He rose to his feet. ‘I am ordered to return with an answer as quickly as possible.’
Behind us the great column of men, wagons and animals continued to march northwest towards Hatra as Orodes took off his floppy hat and wiped his brow with a cloth. He looked at the others.
‘It was from Gafarn. A great Armenian army is approaching Hatra and he urgently requests our presence in the city.’
‘It will take us another seven days to reach Gafarn,’ I said as the Hatrans followed Byrd to find Strabo. Malik dismounted from his horse and joined our little group.
‘The horsemen could be there in three days,’ suggested Orodes.
I heard footsteps and turned to see Domitus and Chrestus running towards us.
‘Problems?’ asked a concerned Domitus.
‘A large Armenian army is approaching Hatra,’ I said. ‘Our presence there is urgently requested.’
Domitus shrugged. ‘So they close the gates and let the Armenians waste themselves in a useless siege. They will retreat in a few days anyway when they learn of our approach.’
‘Gafarn has sent an urgent appeal,’ said Orodes gravely, ‘we must answer his request. It would be best for the horsemen to ride to Hatra as quickly as possible.’
Domitus looked at me in alarm. ‘I would strongly advise against dividing the army.’
Orodes looked most concerned. ‘Ordinarily, Domitus, I would agree with you. But these are not ordinary circumstances. Hatra is one of the largest cities in the empire. If it falls it would do irreparable harm to our cause and would embolden the Armenians further, to say nothing of the Romans.’
Domitus took off his helmet and ran a cloth over his sweaty crown. ‘Why would Hatra fall? Have Armenian siege engines suddenly sprung from the earth?’
Orodes frowned at his levity. ‘I intend to ride forthwith to Hatra with my horsemen. I will not command you to do the same Pacorus and Nergal, but as friends I ask you to do this for me.’
What could we say? Domitus was correct in what he said but Orodes only saw Hatra in danger and believed that he had the means to save it. Above all he believed that the office of high king demanded that he put the interests of the empire foremost in all things. Gafarn, shaken by his earlier defeats, had obviously panicked but Orodes could not refuse an appeal for assistance from another king in need.
‘My horsemen are at your disposal,’ I said.
‘As are mine,’ added Nergal.
‘And mine,’ said Peroz loudly before blushing.
Domitus stood with his hands on his hips shaking his head as Orodes laid a hand on Peroz’s shoulder.
‘I have heard that there was courage in Carmania and now I have seen it with my own eyes.’
Peroz puffed out his chest with pride as Domitus replaced his helmet on his head.
‘You and Byrd and your scouts will remain with us,’ he told Malik, ‘otherwise we will be blind.’
‘I will stay with the foot,’ I announced. ‘It would be wrong for all the kings to desert them.’
Orodes and Nergal nodded. Nergal used to be my second-in-command and was used to leading horse archers in battle while Orodes had formally commanded Dura’s cataphracts, so I had every confidence that they would reach Hatra safely.
An hour later fifteen hundred cataphracts and their squires, five hundred Babylonian Royal Guards and twenty thousand horse archers were riding into the distance and kicking up a great cloud of dust in the process. Gallia had decided that she and her Amazons would also remain with the army to assist Byrd and Malik’s scouts.
‘Has anyone thought that another Armenian army might be heading south towards us?’ she asked as she stretched out her lithesome legs in my command tent that evening.
‘Have seen no enemy,’ remarked Byrd as he chewed on a hard biscuit and sipped at a cup of warm water.
‘Gafarn needs to get a grip on his imagination,’ said Domitus, pointing at me. ‘If you were king of Hatra, which you should be, you would relish the prospect of luring the Armenians into a siege knowing that a relief army was only a few days away.’
I held up a hand to him. ‘Don’t start all that again.’
Later, as Spartacus and Scarab were cleaning my own and their swords, my nephew casually mentioned that he had spoken to a woman earlier.
‘Woman?’
He slid my sword back in its scabbard and picked up his own.
‘Yes, she was standing by my horse while I was grooming him.’
I looked at Gallia in confusion. ‘There are no women in Dura’s army aside from the Amazons.’
Spartacus shrugged. ‘She was not one of the Amazons. Perhaps she was attached to the Babylonians.’
‘I doubt it,’ I replied. ‘Are you sure you haven’t been suffering from sunstroke?’