Parthian Dawn (59 page)

I rode over to Atrax. ‘My apologies, lord prince.’

‘Apologies?’

‘I promised your wife that I would keep you safe. I have failed in that promise.’

‘Much as I love my wife, I would not be anywhere else at this moment. It has been an honour serving with you, Pacorus.’

Honour. How much blood had been spilt in name of that word? It had seemed so simple when I returned from Italy. I had always carped on to Spartacus and anyone else who would listen in his army that the only life worth living was an honourable one. He had smiled wryly and I thought that he was mocking me, but I now knew that he was much wiser than me and realised that in their hearts most men are corrupt and greedy. They talk of honour when it suits them and then ignore it when it is an inconvenience. But then, it was easy for me when I was riding with Spartacus. I had no kingdom to protect and I did not have to deal with other kings, whose ideas concerning how to conduct diplomacy were very different from mine. I had tried to be true to my beliefs and myself. At the end, that is all that matters.

The sound of horn blasts further down the canyon brought me back to reality. The Roman cavalry was deploying into line. I could see a forest of spear points and a great line of green shields that spanned the canyon. They were in no hurry to charge us. There was no need; we were few and they were many. They would take their time. Though we matched their line in length we could only muster a paltry three ranks.

I turned to Vagharsh. ‘Unfurl the standard, Vagharsh. Let them see it.’

He slipped off the waxed sleeve that protected the banner and then held it proudly on his right side. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the material but was not enough to display it fully. Orodes likewise commanded that the standard of Susa be unfurled. Ahead of us the Roman horsemen at last began to move forward. They were around half a mile distant. I looked around. Beside me Surena was placing an arrow in his bowstring, while Orodes was cutting the air with his sword and Atrax was sharing a joke with his men. I could see why his people liked him. He had an amiable manner and quiet courage that never faltered no matter how dire the circumstances. These qualities did not falter now.

‘Surena, it probably does not matter now, but I want you to know that you are no longer a squire. You are a cataphract.’

He smiled with delight. ‘Thank you, lord.’

He looked round and grinned at the men behind. Those within earshot raised their weapons in salute.

‘I’m sorry that it has ended this way.’

He suddenly looked serious. ‘It does not mater. I was, am, a poor boy from the marshes. But because of you I have seen great cities and rubbed shoulders with mighty warriors, kings and queens. Why should I regret that I have experienced such things? Besides, everyone has to die sometime, lord.’

In that moment he was ridiculously proud and sat ten-foot tall in his saddle. At least he would die happy. I rode forward to place myself in front of the men; Orodes and Atrax did the same. I drew my sword and held it aloft. The men raised their bows and began cheering, and then, coming from behind our ranks, I heard a low rumbling noise that began to shake the earth. The cheering died away as men turned in their saddles to peer behind them. I rode back and through our thin line to get a better look. Had more Romans swept around us? I halted and saw a great mass of horsemen filling the canyon and riding towards us. There were hundreds of them; no, thousands. Some riders were hitting the skins of great kettledrums with thick drumsticks, others were blowing horns, and above the approaching mass flew the sun banners of Margiana and the Caspian Tiger standards of Hyrcania. The armies of Khosrou and Musa had come.

Momentarily stunned by this gift from the gods, I rode up and down our line shouting like a mad man.

‘Let them pass, let them pass. Move aside.’

My men did so as a great block of cataphracts swept past us and then halted a hundred paces or so in front of where we had previously been positioned, men and horses in scale armour, rank upon rank of them as far as the eye could see. Khosrou and Musa galloped up, while in front of us the Roman cavalry had halted upon seeing the horde that they now faced.

I bowed my head to the two kings. ‘Majesties, I thank you for your timely arrival.’

Musa, his big round face encased in a helmet that had a black horsehair crest, smiled. ‘The King of Dura is a welcome guest in my lands.’ He jerked a finger down the canyon. ‘Romans are not.’

Khosrou’s narrow eyes regarded me and then my horse. ‘Well, young Pacorus, it would appear that you have had a long campaign. I think you and your men deserve a rest.’

Musa waved his hand at one of his officers, who galloped to the head of the great mass of horsemen and gave the signal to advance. I sat in awe as the thunder of thousands of hooves reverberated around the canyon and hundreds of cataphracts moved forward as one. Seeing this tidal wave of men and horseflesh approaching, the Romans beat a hasty retreat, pursued by a torrent of Parthian cavalry.

The camp of the two kings was located five miles due east of the canyon, on a large grassy plain that was crisscrossed by small streams. The camp was a sprawling collection of brightly coloured tents of varying shapes and sizes, the largest being the two royal pavilions that stood side by side in the centre. Behind them was a vast fenced-off area that housed the horses of the royal bodyguards, a myriad of wood and canvas windbreaks forming stalls and stables for the animals. A host of squires and servants scurried around like an army of ants, tending to their masters and the horses, digging latrines, cooking food, feeding and mucking out horses, and repairing armour and sharpening weapons. The armies’ other horses were corralled in fence-off areas beside the tents of their owners, men and horseflesh as far as the eye could see. And beyond the tents parties of horse archers established a screen of scouts ten or more miles away in all directions from the centre of the camp. It was as if a great tent city had suddenly sprung from the earth.

We spent several days as the guests of the two kings, during which time both we and our horses rested and consumed great quantities of food. We burned our threadbare clothes and were given new robes, in my case a fine pair of leather boots, baggy red leggings and a purple shirt with gold trimmings. I was offered a new helmet but asked if my own could be repaired instead. I gave it to one of Musa’s chief armourers, a squat, stocky man with forearms as thick as tree trunks and a neck to match. He examined my helmet with its dents, broken cheekguards and battered crest.

‘You’d be better getting yourself a new one.’

‘It was a gift from a friend,’ I said, ‘and I would prefer to keep it.’

He ran his fingers on the inside of the helmet and then held it at arm’s length.

‘It’s a nice piece, I’ll grant you that. I suppose I can fix it. Won’t be cheap, mind.’

‘I will give you gold to repair it.’

This obviously discarded any doubts he may have had about the task. He placed the helmet down on his anvil and rubbed his hands.

‘Well, then, I’ll get started. A gift, you say? Mmm, doesn’t look Parthian. Persian, perhaps?’

‘No,’ I replied, ‘it is Roman.’

‘Weren’t those the lot that we chased off a few days back?’

‘Indeed they were,’ I replied.

He nodded. ‘Come back in two days.’

On the sixth day I was invited to a meal by the two kings. They had already been generous hosts, giving us new saddles, horse furniture and replacing our arrows as well as our clothes. The men’s spirits soared when they learned that our Roman pursuers had been tracked down, engaged in battle and defeated. A great many had been killed and the rest had been captured. No doubt the meal that was being prepared was in celebration of this victory.

The heavy cavalry of Musa wore scale armour like my own cataphracts, but the armoured horsemen of Khosrou wore bands of hardened leather laced together for protection or suits of black horn scales. They also wore leather armour on their arms and thighs. They carried long spears that were lighter than the
kontus
and on their heads they wore helmets fashioned from thick hide. Each man also carried a bow and quiver, plus a sword and dagger. Their horses were smaller than our own mounts but they were swift and hardy beasts, born and bred on the endless northern steppes. Only the men of Khosrou’s royal bodyguard wore metal scale armour and helmets. What struck me was the sheer number of Khosrou’s men — there were swarms of them.

I made my way to partake of the kings’ hospitality but was taken aback when I arrived outside Musa’s pavilion. Khosrou and Musa were seated cross-legged on top of a large square, wooden platform made up of two layers of thick planks lashed together. Carpets and cushions had been piled on top of the platform, and a procession of servants stood around its edge with platters heaped with food and jugs holding drink. But my eyes were drawn to what was underneath the platform, for I could see feet protruding from beneath the planks, and then I spotted the top of a head between the feet, and then another and another. With horror I realised that the platform was resting upon a host of bodies.

‘Pacorus, welcome,’ Musa, dressed in a flowing white robe edge with red and gold, rose and beckoned me over. Khosrou was dressed in a simple white shirt and black leggings. He bowed his head and said nothing, but noticed my startled reaction.

‘Welcome. Sit, sit, enjoy my hospitality,’ said Musa, as though feasting on top of dead men was the most natural thing in the world. As I stepped onto the platform I thought I heard a groan from underneath.

I sat next to Musa and opposite Khosrou. A servant offered me a small silver eating bowl, others brought cooked lamb and hare. My appetite had greatly diminished.

‘Thank you, lord,’ I said. ‘Your hospitality is most generous.’

He nodded and smiled. ‘It is not often that we have a hero of Parthia in these parts, isn’t that right, Khosrou?’

I heard another groan and put down my bowl. I beckoned over a servant proffering a cup, and then ordered a second to fill it with wine. Another groan. I took a large gulp.

‘Pacorus does not approve of our eating arrangements, I think,’ said Khosrou, a small grin creasing his lean face.

Musa pushed a handful of meat into his mouth. ‘In their haste to catch up with you, the Romans gave no thought to the lands they were crossing. I cannot have armed bands roaming freely in my kingdom. What sort of king would that make me?’

‘A weak one,’ said Khosrou, his eyes still on me.

‘Exactly,’ retorted Musa, eating more meat. ‘And I deal harshly with bandits in my kingdom, as I’m sure you do in yours.’

‘Margiana and Hyrcania have an alliance,’ said Khosrou, ‘so I was more than glad to lend my friend Musa assistance.’

‘To cut a long story short,’ continued Musa, ‘my men scattered the Romans and took some prisoners. They lie underneath us. And I have sent a message to Rome that I will not tolerate any incursions into my kingdom.’

My appetite did not return, though I warmed to their company. Musa was gruff and plain speaking, while Khosrou was more measured in his talk. He had eyes like a hawk and missed nothing. As we talked at least the groaning beneath me ceased.

‘I must apologise for my unannounced entry into your kingdom, lord,’ I said to Musa. ‘I meant no offence.’

‘And none was take,’ replied Musa.

‘Though we did wonder why you were so far from home,’ added Khosrou.

So I told them about my promise to Farhad and my expedition into Gordyene. Of how we had battled the Romans and then had been pursued by them.

‘I believed that the Roman garrison in Gordyene was smaller than it was. I was wrong,’ I said.

‘We have heard that the Romans have been reinforcing their forces in Gordyene,’ said Khosrou, ‘not reducing them as they promised Phraates.’

‘So you know about the agreement between Phraates and the Romans,’ I said.

Musa nodded. ‘Of course, we are well aware of the machinations at Ctesiphon.’

Khosrou pointed a finger at me. ‘You should have killed Mithridates and Narses when you had the chance. It will harder for you to do so now.’

I also told them about the agreement between my father and Narses concerning the latter giving up his claim to be King of Kings in exchange for the crown of Sakastan. Even Khosrou smiled at this.

‘Clever, very clever. At a stroke Narses becomes ruler of the largest kingdom in the empire.’

‘That is what I told my father,’ I replied, ‘but he would not listen.’

‘He had no choice,’ mused Khosrou, ‘not with the Romans at his throat and Narses and his army nearby. How’s your woman?’

The mood suddenly changed as I told them about Gallia and my new daughter, of how she had defended Dura against the Romans while I had been away from the city.

Musa interrupted me. ‘We heard that you used her and your child as bait for the Romans to take.’

‘No, lord, that is untrue. I told her to seek refuge in Hatra but she ignored me.’

‘Your reputation increased greatly when the story spread. Pacorus the Pitiless is your name in these parts,’ said Khosrou with approval.

‘And what will you do now?’ asked Musa, holding out his cup for a servant to fill.

‘Go to Ctesiphon,’ I replied, ‘so that I may hear from Phraates himself of the agreement he made with the Romans.’

Khosrou exchanged glances with Musa. ‘We are coming with you. Affairs in the empire need settling.’

The two kings did not take their armies south to Ctesiphon, their royal bodyguards, their wagons and spare horses sufficing as escorts. The combined royal retinues still numbered over four thousand men, plus my own party of five hundred, now refreshed and re-equipped. My helmet had been repaired and once again it sported a crest of white goose feathers. Remus had a new saddle and iron shoes and his constitution had benefited greatly from a plentiful supply of good fodder. I rode beside Khosrou and Musa, with Atrax and Orodes immediately behind, followed by the royal standards. Musa sent couriers ahead requesting passage through Atropaiene, which was freely given by Aschek. Indeed, he himself insisted that we journey via his capital. He was a much-changed man since the last time I had seen him, with dark-rimmed eyes and sunken cheeks. He looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The defeat at the hands of the Romans had obviously shaken him to the core, but he seemed genuinely glad to see us and even smiled when Musa informed him that he would fight to preserve the territorial integrity of his own kingdom and that of Atropaiene. And when Khosrou said that he too would lend Atropaiene assistance if required, Aschek was temporarily relieved of his black mood. But gloom and despondency hung over his palace like low cloud, and I could tell that the fight had been knocked out of him.