The Cursed Kingdom

by Peter Darman

‘Present!’ bellowed Hovik.

  As one the hundred soldiers drew their swords to salute the royal guests. Gallia and Diana smiled at a beaming Rasha, and Gafarn and Prince Pacorus were also grinning as they walked towards the King and Queen of Gordyene. But King Pacorus walked over to the King’s Guard to examine the swords they held vertically more closely. The soldiers looked magnificent, notwithstanding they were usually on horseback. In common with other soldiers of Gordyene they wore red tunics and black leggings. But instead of scale armour consisting of rows of overlapping iron scales riveted on thick hide and reinforced with scale-armour shoulder guards, these men wore rows of polished steel scales that sparkled in the summer sun. Pacorus was uninterested in their armour or round shields faced with red-painted hide and embossed with a white lion’s head. His stare was fixed on the black sword blades with their strange swirling patterns.

  ‘Are you coming, Pacorus?’ called Gafarn.

  Pacorus walked up to Hovik.

  ‘Your men are a credit to their king.’

  ‘Thank you, majesty.’

  After the royal guests had rested and refreshed themselves they were treated to a banquet in the palace where they feasted on venison and boar hunted and killed a few days earlier. Throughout the evening Spartacus was aware of his uncle’s eyes on him and was glad when the meal came to an end and the nobles and their wives took their leave. Hovik and the senior officers of the army also departed, to leave the royal family and their guests alone in the sombre chamber.

  Spartacus took a large gulp of wine. ‘You have something to say, uncle?’

  Pacorus picked over a piece of bread now hard. ‘Has Gordyene recently opened a gold mine?’

  ‘There is no gold in Gordyene,’ said Spartacus.

  ‘And yet in the courtyard earlier I saw your soldiers armed with ukku blades. I know from experience they do not come cheap.’

  Spartacus shrugged. ‘Gordyene is not a rich kingdom but it is also a frontier kingdom that has to be ever vigilant to guard itself, and Parthia, from external enemies.’

  ‘Such as the Armenians,’ said Pacorus.

  ‘The Armenians are the enemies of Parthia,’ agreed Spartacus, ‘as are the Romans.’

  ‘Is that why you invaded their homeland?’ quizzed Gafarn.

  ‘Having beforehand looted one of their temples,’ added Pacorus.

  ‘And afterwards destroyed their army in battle,’ said Gafarn.

  Spartacus drank more wine. ‘I did what I had to do to safeguard my kingdom. There now exists a barrier between Gordyene and Armenia, which means the Armenians can no longer launch raids into my kingdom. I do not regret my actions.’

  ‘That much is certain,’ said Pacorus.

  Diana was upset. ‘You should not have plundered the temple, my son. You will anger the gods and it is not the action of civilised people.’

  Prince Pacorus was also frowning. ‘You should respect the gods, brother.’

  ‘I respect Shamash and the Horsemen,’ came the answer, ‘none other.’

  ‘You have given the city of Van to your Aorsi allies, I believe,’ said Pacorus.

  ‘What of it?’ came the prickly answer. ‘The Aorsi have been good friends to Gordyene, as they have always been to its rulers.’

  Gallia beside her husband moved the piece of bread he had been toying with out of his reach.

  ‘You can be really annoying at times,’ she told him.

  The King of Dura stood and began pacing, stopping to point at his nephew.

  ‘I have to say I was initially surprised when I heard that the King of Gordyene and his army had invaded Armenia, the more so since the Armenians had not provoked such an aggressive move.’

  ‘That is debatable,’ said Spartacus.

  Pacorus smiled at his nephew. ‘Your victory over a superior foe…’

  ‘Superior?’ growled Spartacus.

  ‘Numerically superior,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘Your victory,’ continued Pacorus, ‘was an indication that your education at Hatra had not been wasted, nor your time at Dura. You have clearly moulded your army into a formidable weapon.’

  ‘That is a compliment indeed,’ smiled Rasha.

  Pacorus sighed. ‘Be that as it may, your actions have upset the balance of power on the empire’s northern border. Did you know, for example, that Mark Antony has overrun the whole of Armenia, has garrisoned its major towns and cities and has captured Artavasdes and his family?’

  ‘I receive regular reports from Prince Spadines,’ answered Spartacus.

  Gafarn raised a finger. ‘Prince Spadines?’

  ‘Prince Spadines of Van,’ proclaimed Rasha proudly, ‘so created after his valuable service at the battle of the same name.’

  ‘Did the Vipers fight there?’ asked Gallia.

  Rasha flashed a smile. ‘They did and they honoured the memory of the one they were named after.’

  ‘I would have liked to have seen them in action,’ cooed Gallia.

  ‘Hopefully, aunt, they and the Amazons will one day fight side by side once more,’ smiled Spartacus.

  ‘When the Romans invade the empire,’ said an angry Pacorus, ‘that day may arrive sooner than anyone thinks.’

  Spartacus waved a dismissive hand at his uncle. ‘The Armenians are weak and my reports tell me Mark Antony invaded Artavasdes’ kingdom with a mere twenty thousand men. So much for the might of Rome.’

  ‘The empire does not want another war with Rome, Spartacus,’ warned Pacorus.

  ‘The empire or you?’ he shot back.

  ‘Spartacus, show more respect to your uncle,’ Diana scolded him.

  ‘What do you want, Spartacus?’ asked Pacorus.

  ‘What do I want? I will tell you. I want Gordyene to be respected among the kings of the empire,’ he replied. ‘I do not want its king to be insulted as the son of a slave or its queen to be sneered at for being Agraci. I do not wish to see my people murdered by raiding parties from Media because the ruler of that kingdom regards those from Gordyene as inferior.’

  ‘You are respected, Spartacus,’ Pacorus told him.

  ‘We love you, son,’ said Diana.

  Spartacus drank more wine. ‘My wife gifted the high king two Roman eagles, yet where is the thanks of Ctesiphon for humbling Armenia and securing his northern border? Where is the invitation for me and Rasha to see those eagles in his palace? He thinks we are ignorant hill men not fit for polite society. One day the king of kings will come crawling to me for my assistance.’

  Pacorus looked in alarm at his brother but Gafarn gave him a reassuring shake of the head.

  ‘Phraates has other things to occupy his mind, son, such as the Kushan threat.’

  ‘Which is why he does not need another threat to the north and nor does Parthia,’ said Pacorus. ‘It would be wise to withdraw your garrison from Van.’

  ‘I have no garrison in Van,’ replied Spartacus.

  ‘It is a Sarmatian city,’ added Rasha.

  Pacorus retook his seat and looked Spartacus in the eye.

  ‘Phraates asked me and your father to come here to convey his displeasure regarding your activities in Armenia.’

  ‘He felt, and I agree, the request would be more favourably received it if came via us,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘Recall Spadines from Van,’ requested Pacorus.

  ‘It will be for the best, brother,’ said his namesake.

  ‘Better for whom?’ snapped Spartacus. ‘Certainly not Gordyene, which will once again be threatened by Armenian raiding parties.’

  Pacorus smashed his fist on the table, causing everyone to jump.

  ‘Do not take us for fools, Spartacus. We all know it is you and your Aorsi friends who are doing the raiding. We will not allow you to drag us into a war with Armenia or the Romans.’

  ‘You will support Phraates against me?’ queried Spartacus.

  ‘Not against you, no,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘But neither will we support you in your rash adventures,’ added P
acorus.

  ‘In that case, perhaps you could convey a message to the high king from me,’ said Spartacus.

  ‘Which is?’ asked his mother.

  ‘That I would rather live like a lion for a day than spend a lifetime as a sheep.’

  Gallia laughed, Rasha beamed with pride and Pacorus held his head in his hands.

  *****

  ‘What’s happening?’

  Fear was etched on Artaxias’ face as he beheld the horrifying spectacle unfolding before him. Geghard next to him was calmer but even he realised the battle was going against them.

  The prince had made good his escape from the capital and with the gold was able to purchase a horse to journey south to the lands of the Sunik clan, Geghard’s people. There he told his tale of woe to the disgraced general, who realised he must put aside his wounded honour to rally the other Armenian clans before the Romans overran the whole kingdom. They had already taken the west and most of the north but in the name of the crown prince he issued a call to arms. It was an ancient rallying cry to muster to the avag sepuh, the name for the one who would replace the king after his death. Artavasdes had been taken into Roman custody and word soon spread he and his family had been taken out of Armenia. To all intents and purposes they were dead, so Artaxias was proclaimed king by the clans when they rallied to his banner.

  The ancient clans of Armenia – the Vahevuni, Mehnuni, Artzruni, Rshtuni, Mokats, Aravelians and Sunik – sent thousands of their warriors to the avag sepuh. Artaxias was delighted to see such numbers and dreamed of not only expelling the Romans from his homeland but also liberating Van and conquering Gordyene. The prince’s army presented a blaze of colour, the clans marching in a myriad of different coloured tunics and behind their ancient banners: the six-pointed star, the Tree of Life, the Wheel of Eternity, red lions on yellow and blue backgrounds, two eagles with the symbol of the sun in the middle and mountain rams on white and purple backgrounds. And at their head fluttered the banner of the Artaxiad Dynasty.

  Geghard knew the army was deficient in horsemen, only five thousand in total, but he also knew the Roman army that had invaded Armenia was small, a mere twenty thousand men. His foot soldiers alone totalled forty thousand. Granted the majority were hill men with no armour and few weapons, the cream of the kingdom’s foot having fallen at Van, but he pegged his hopes on sheer weight of numbers being able to overwhelm the Romans. His optimism increased markedly when his scouts informed him a mere two legions and a small number of horsemen were heading his way.

  The great Armenian host struck camp and headed east to give battle, the leaders of the clans boosting the morale of their followers with promises of an easy victory against a foe inferior in every respect. Artaxias, riding with Geghard and his bodyguard of cataphracts, equipped in a bronze cuirass and carrying a sword gifted him by the general, was in an ebullient mood. His family may have gone but he was now king of Armenia. When word reached the army that the Romans were deployed in a long line on the western bank of the River Kura his spirits soared.

  The Kura, a tributary of the Araxes, was usually deep but it was the height of summer and the level had dropped substantially, allowing the Armenians to wade across to attack the paltry two understrength legions. Geghard would have liked to reconnoitre the ground more closely and draw up formal battle lines, but his troops were ill-discipline clansmen and without waiting they began fording the river, just as word reached him Roman horsemen were on his right flank. With foot soldiers wading leisurely through the water, thousands more waiting on the eastern bank to join them, Geghard despatched his horsemen to the right to counter the Romans. They achieved instant success, routing the enemy riders and pursuing them back to the ford they had used to cross the river.

  Alas for the Armenians, they ran straight into a force of legionaries, slingers and archers that raked their ranks with arrows and lead shots. Then the Roman horsemen about-faced and launched an assault, whereupon the Armenians turned and fled, galloping away from the enemy. Straight into the tightly packed ranks of their clansmen. For good measure the Roman cohorts on the other side of the river suddenly charged to mete out death to the Armenians emerging from the water. From his vantage point atop the small hill around a quarter of a mile from the Kura, Geghard had a bird’s eye view of the disaster unfolding before him.

  ‘We are losing,’ came the reply to Artaxias’ question.

  More and more Roman legionaries were appearing on the right, having crossed the ford, Mark Antony’s horsemen already among his riders and foot soldiers, going to work with great efficiency with their lances and swords. On the left many Armenians were fleeing from the battlefield, but the bulk was standing around their clan leaders, waiting for orders. Hundreds were dead, having been either ridden down by their own horsemen or succumbing to Roman weapons.

  The clatter of weapons striking each other and men shouting and screaming competed with each other as the Roman horsemen inflicted great damage upon their counterparts. But then the enemy horsemen disengaged and fell back, cantering away from the mass of intermingled Armenian horse and foot.

  ‘Ha, you see, general,’ exclaimed the prince, ‘they are falling back.’

  Geghard said nothing as he watched the now fully formed legion advance, preceded by a blast of trumpets that heralded his army’s doom. To their credit the clan leaders rode through the throng of their men and led them in a wild, disorganised charge against the immaculately dressed ranks of the legion. But it was stopped in its tracks by the slingers and archers interspersed between the front-line cohorts. The missile troops were left behind as the Romans commenced a steady advance against the now-stationary mass of Armenians, who instinctively huddled together to receive the enemy charge.

  Geghard stared with unblinking eyes as the cohorts halted, unleashed a storm of javelins and then gave a mighty roar as the legionaries charged with swords drawn. And then they were among the Armenians, stabbing hard and upwards into the unprotected bellies of clansmen, or thrusting over the top rims of shields to stab at eyes, throats and faces. Short thrusts, no wild swings to endanger legionaries on either side fighting shoulder-to-shoulder. Like a giant saw the legion slowly chewed its way through the Armenians, who suddenly gave way and fled for their lives.

  The cataphracts behind Geghard groaned as the Armenian line dissolved to turn into a mass of leaderless, defeated men. The best-trained, equipped and motivated clansmen had been in the front ranks with their leaders. But they had died in the legion’s initial charge and with them perished Geghard’s army. The general turned his horse and barked a command to the commander of his bodyguard to follow him.

  ‘You are leaving? Artaxias was incredulous.

  Geghard grabbed the prince’s reins. ‘So are you, lord. You are the last of your line, at least the last one currently not in captivity. If you fall or are captured Armenia will speedily become just another Roman province. But while you live the flame of Armenian freedom still burns.’

  They left the camp and the baggage train to the Romans, who would stop to plunder its contents. Or so Geghard hoped. They rode past fleeing men who had dropped their shields and spears, reaching the general’s estate with their horses blown and the cataphracts near to exhaustion in their scale armour. Geghard’s rasping voice filled the air as he ordered fresh horses to be brought from the stables and carts to be loaded for his family.

  The villa was large and sat in lush, rolling terrain filled with forests and open grassland. The general stood in front of his home and issued orders to the steward of the household, who barked at worried-looking slaves and labourers.

  ‘Everyone will be coming with us,’ he said. He pointed at Artaxias who was in a daze of confusion. ‘Get off that horse.’

  The new king did as he was told, around him cataphracts taking off their scale armour to dump it in the back of carts. A tearful middle-aged woman wearing gold jewellery rushed up to Geghard and fell into his arms.

  ‘We must leave immediately,’ he told her
, brushing a tear from her cheek. ‘Get the slaves to collect your belongings.’

  A man in his twenties with the general’s sharp cheekbones and heavy brow led the woman away. He had been wearing cataphract armour and his face was flushed, his hair matted with sweat.

  ‘Come, mother.’

  A tall, slender girl with chestnut curls ran from the house to support the woman, her daughter he assumed. The air crackled with trepidation as food, clothes, tents, weapons and tools were hurriedly loaded on the carts, stable hands hitching fresh horses to them. It took over an hour for the carts to be readied and the general’s wife and daughter to be loaded on a covered wagon pulled by two horses. Then the general, leading his horse on foot, gave the signal to depart and headed the column of carts, dismounted cataphracts, slaves and farm workers. Artaxias instinctively hauled himself into the saddle. Though he had not done any walking his limbs ached and he felt tired.

  ‘Walk like the rest of us,’ Geghard told him, ‘if your horse collapses we will have to leave it.’

  Artaxias sheepishly dismounted and walked alongside his horse. He kept glancing back at the villa and the track they had used to reach it.

  Geghard chuckled. ‘Looking for our Roman friends, majesty? Don’t worry, they will soon be arriving, though not for a few hours yet.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’ there was a nervousness in the young king’s voice.

  ‘They are methodical. They will kill as many of our foot soldiers as possible before conducting a wider sweep of the land.’

  It was now mid-afternoon and very warm, the column trudging along at a slow pace to save the horses that had spent the entire morning carrying cataphracts in full armour. Everyone was walking with heads down, there was no conversation and ominously vultures were circling above.

  Artaxias suddenly realised he had no idea where they were heading.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We cannot go east because the Caspian Sea bars our way, the Romans occupy the land to the west and north, so that just leaves south. We travel to the Araxes and cross it to enter Parthia.’

  ‘Parthia!’ Artaxias was stunned. ‘We are at war with Parthia.’