The Parthian (10 page)

‘Parthia is strong, father,’ I said, though partly to reassure myself as well as him, for the image of an all-powerful Rome did little to fortify my courage.

He slapped me on the shoulders. ‘If we keep it that way, then the Romans will think twice before they try to conquer us. But always remember, Pacorus, the old saying, “it is better to die on your feet than live on your knees”. For even the richest ally of Rome is in reality no more than a slave dressed in fine clothes.’

We left the city at dawn on the seventh day. Two columns of horsemen, one heading west into the Arabian desert, the other going north back towards Zeugma, though we would swing sharply west before we reached Darius’ kingdom. I wondered if the bodies of those we had slain were still lying where they fell. I dismissed such trivia from my mind. Before we left I had gone to see my friend Vata. I found him in the royal stables. He grinned when he saw me. He was always smiling, that was one of the reasons I liked him, that and his loyalty to his friends. He would be riding with my father into Syria.

‘Why can’t we take our own horses?’ he asked.

I knew the reason, of course: heavy cavalry horses were too valuable to be risked on raiding parties. That was the reason I could not take Sura with me. I felt bad about lying to Vata.

‘I know not, my friend.’ I walked over to him as Gafarn entered the stables.

‘We are ready to ride, highness.’

‘Thank you, Gafarn. Meet me outside.’

I walked over to Vata and embraced him. ‘Keep safe, my friend.’

‘You mean try not to fall off my horse.’

‘No, I mean. It doesn’t matter. Just return safely.’ This could be the last time I saw him, and I wanted to tell him so but could not.

‘You’re getting too soft, my friend,’ he said, slapping me on the back. ‘That’s what happens when you spend too long in the palace dreaming about Babylonian princesses.’

I left him and walked to the waiting Gafarn, who was mounted on a horse and held the reins of mine. We trotted from the stables.

‘Do you feel bad, highness?’

‘What?’

‘About lying to your friend, I could see it in your face.’

‘Shut up. What do you know?’

‘I know nothing, highness, he said, ‘except that you were not telling the truth to him and it must have hurt lying to your friend.’

‘Be quiet.’

‘To lie to a friend can be unpleasant, I agree.’

I drew up my horse sharply. ‘I could have you flogged.’

He was unconcerned. ‘You could, but that would not make you feel any less remorseful.’

I kicked at my horse and he sprung forward. Gafarn was right, as usual, which made it even more irritating.

Three days out from Hatra we reached the town of Nisibus where we picked up extra provisions. These were loaded onto mules, along with our spears, enough to sustain us for a month, which would accompany us on our expedition. Each of us carried a sword, shield, bow and fifty arrows, while for protection we wore helmets only, no body armour. In Nisibus we also picked up a guide who said he knew Cappadocia intimately, though by the look of him I suspected he was more intimate with the town’s whores. He had a sullen look, with dark, brooding eyes and lank black hair. He was unclean, unshaven and dressed in what appeared to be rags.

‘Are we to trust this man?’ I asked Bozan.

‘The garrison commander says he was once a soldier in the army of Mithridates when he was a teenager, who fought the Romans in Cappadocia. If that’s true then he could be useful. Says he knows which roads the Romans use to send their supplies to Pontes. It could all be true.’

‘And if it isn’t?’ I asked.

Bozan shrugged. ‘Then I’ll slit his throat personally.’

‘He could be leading us into a trap.’

‘Listen, Pacorus,’ he said, ‘war is always a gamble. You never really know what the enemy is doing, what’s on the other side of the hill. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, as my old dad used to say.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘An Armenian skewered him with a lance in an ambush, poor bastard.’

I was filled with doubt, but then again the guide could be telling the truth. King Mithridates had been fighting the Romans for years. The ruler of Pontes, he had been gradually pushed back through Greece to his kingdom in the north. He was still fighting Rome, but now there were Roman legions on his borders. It was possible that this man had fought for him. Whatever the truth was, he led us north from Nisibus into the wild country that was Cappadocia. A barren, arid region, it was bordered to the north by the peaks of the Black Sea mountain range and in the south by the Taurus Mountains. We rode through gorges and canyons with steep sides, passed through valleys criss-crossed by streams and gazed at dazzling rock formations fashioned by wind and water. We saw few people, and I was beginning to think that the whole area was uninhabited when our guide suddenly pulled up his horse. I was riding beside Bozan when he galloped up to us.

‘We camp here tonight, lord,’ he said. ‘Fresh water nearby, lots of cover. Very safe.’

‘What about the Romans? I asked.

‘No Romani, lord.’

He rode away to show our scouts where we could camp for the night. I had to confess that the spot he chose was a good one: near fresh water and high in the hills, giving us excellent views of the surrounding terrain. If we were attacked there were also avenues of escape through the rock formations. So as not to advertise our presence, Bozan forbade the lighting of any fires that night. As the sun went down the temperature fell, but fortunately the wind that had been blowing all day disappeared as well. Gafarn and I fed and watered our horses before we ate our own meal. While we were attending to our mounts our guide ambled up to observe us, accompanied by two guards (it appeared Bozan didn’t trust him, either). Yet he appeared unconcerned by being almost a prisoner, no doubt content to have the first payment of gold in his saddlebag. He would get the rest at the end of our mission.

‘You Parthians love your horses,’ he said, smiling.

‘A Parthian without a horse is like a man without a right arm,’ replied Gafarn. I glowered at him, but he continued to engage the man in conversation. ‘We are busy,’ I snapped.

The man bowed. ‘Of course, lord. Did not mean to cause offence.’

I laid my horse’s saddle and saddlecloth on the ground, Gafarn watching me all the time. ‘What?’ I asked.

‘You do not like him?’

‘I do not
trust
him. There is a difference’

‘Why, because he does not wear fine clothes?’

‘No, because he takes gold.’

Gafarn laughed. ‘Why shouldn’t he? He has to put food in his belly. He does not have a fine palace to live in and servants to do his bidding.’

‘He could also be taking Roman gold, have you thought of that? He might be leading us into a trap.’

‘Or he might hate the Romans and want revenge on them for murdering his family.’

‘How do you know that?’ I asked.

‘I spent some time talking to him. You should try it sometime.’

‘I don’t have time for idle gossip, that’s for servants.’

‘Then you won’t be interested to hear about Merv.’

‘What about Merv?’

‘Burnt to the ground, I hear,’ he said, nonchalantly examining his scabbard.

‘You’re lying.’

He looked hurt. ‘Why should I lie?’

‘To annoy me,’ I replied. 

‘There are easier ways of doing that, believe me.’

‘Enough! Tell me what you know.’

‘When we were in Nisibus I was idly talking to a dispatch rider, who told me that a horde of Scythians had attacked the city and set fire to it. Didn’t that old woman at Ctesiphon say something about a burning city?’

‘I can’t remember,’ I lied.

‘Oh, I think you can. Makes you think, though.’

‘Enough, Gafarn. My ears are aching.’

‘Yes, highness,’ he said, smiling mischievously.

I hardly slept that night, thinking about what Gafarn had told me. He must have been mistaken. Towns and outposts were always being attacked along the empire’s eastern frontier, especially from the north, the land of the nomads of the steppes. But still…

The next day we were led across a wide, grass-covered plain, with the northern mountains capped with snow on our flank. The guide led us into a small wood, where we tethered the mules and left guards to watch over them, while the others checked their weapons, saddles and mounts. The guide, Bozan and I then made our way on foot to the other side of the wood, which looked out onto another, smaller plain bordered on the far side by a low-lying rock plateau. A dirt track ran across the plain. The sun was now at the midpoint in the sky, which was dotted with white puffy clouds. The air in the wood was still and humid; sweat formed on my brow and ran down my face. Bozan peered at the flat terrain in front of us.

‘You’re sure this is the way they come?’

‘Sure, lord,’ replied the guide, whose name Gafarn told me, was Byrd.

‘When?’

‘Two hours.’

Bozan turned to me. ‘Pacorus, he says there will be a Roman supply column coming through here, on its way to Pontus, so I intend to stop it here. Being so far from the fighting there should be only a light escort. Nevertheless, we hit them hard and then get away fast. No looting.’

‘Yes, lord,’ I replied. The thought of battle made my pulse race with excitement. 

We made our back to the men, which was a ten-minute walk through widely separated poplar trees. The passage through the trees would be easy enough for horsemen, but if we placed our cavalry too close to the edge of the wood, the enemy would see them. Bozan organised us into companies of just under a hundred men each, with a few men left behind at the camp to look after the food, spare weapons and the mules. I would lead one company, he another and the other three by appointed officers. The guide remained at the camp. He wanted to fight with us but Bozan said no. If he had betrayed us, the thought of having to fight hundreds of Roman infantry and cavalry cooled my passion somewhat. I told Gafarn to stay at the camp, though he wanted to ride beside me. He may have been a servant, but he was as skilled as I in the use of a bow, perhaps more so, and could also handle a sword if need be. Despite his protests I insisted that he remain behind. We were making our last equipment checks when a soldier ran up to Bozan with the news that the enemy had been spotted. 

Bozan gave the signal that the cavalry were to mount up, then he pointed at me and indicated that I should follow him as he and the guide ran towards the edge of the wood. Minutes later I was kneeling beside Bozan peering across the plain towards black shapes that had appeared in the distance. Bozan must have heard my heavy breathing.

‘Calm yourself, Pacorus, there’s plenty of time.’

As the minutes passed the shapes began to take on recognisable forms. Ahead and on the flanks of the column were horsemen, I estimated around a hundred, though there was probably more at the rear of the column. Then came a phalanx of infantry with their red rectangular shields, steel helmets and mail shirts, though some were carrying long spears and green, round shields — auxiliaries. At their head marched a figure with a transverse crest and a legionary carrying a red, square-shaped standard mounted atop a long pole. Then came the four-wheeled wagons, each one pulled by a pair of oxen. The pace of the column was slow, both men and beasts maintaining a leisurely pace. I estimated that they would be level with us in around twenty minutes, maybe less. It took us half that time to get back to our troops, issue orders to the columns and make our way back to the far side of wood. Byrd stayed with Gafarn and the reserve.

Myself, Bozan and three other officers sat at the head of our respective companies, all eyes on Bozan. The Roman flank horsemen were getting close now, though their riders were not really scouting, merely maintaining the regulation distance from the wagons. Bozan plucked an arrow from his quiver and placed the feathered end on the bowstring; everyone else did the same. Each of us held the bow with our left hand and the drawstring with our right. My heart was like a hammer pounding against my rib cage, waiting for the sign. Waiting, waiting. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional snort of a horse. Bozan’s gaze was fixed on the enemy. Then we charged.

Bozan gave a shout and kicked his horse into the attack; nearly five hundred horsemen followed. In any assault the first two or three minutes are crucial. The enemy is temporarily stunned, and even the best-trained soldiers in the world cannot react in the blink of an eye. But these were not the best-trained troops; they were a mixture of legionaries and auxiliaries, and they were strung out in a long line. Our five columns of horse archers lapped round the column like waves crashing against a spit of land. As my horse raced towards the rear of the column I saw one of the drivers stand up on his cart with a spear in his hand. I released my bow as I neared him, the arrow slicing through the air and hitting him in the stomach. He collapsed back into the cart as I galloped past him. The enemy outriders were already dead, pierced by arrows before they had a chance to react.

The air was filled with screams, curses and shouts as my company reached the end of the column, which consisted of two overloaded carts. Some of my men put arrows into the oxen as others fired at the auxiliaries protecting them. These men tried to form a shield wall, but their shields were round not oblong like those of the legionaries, and it was easy for us to shoot at exposed heads and torsos. Within seconds the line had broke. I fired an arrow that slammed into a man’s throat, sending him spinning backwards onto the ground. We kept moving around the column, for a man on a horse presents a large target to a spearman when he is stationary. I strung another arrow as I turned to make another pass at the column. Within minutes the ground was littered with dead and dying men and oxen. I could see no enemy cavalry at all; the survivors must have fled.

I wheeled to make another pass at the enemy and strung another arrow. Some archers had taken up position next to a cart in the middle of the column and were returning fire at our horsemen. But their bows had less range compared to ours and their arrows were falling short. I decided we had to destroy this threat.