The Parthian (3 page)

‘It’s a Roman eagle, Gafarn.’

‘Looks expensive, should fetch a nice tidy sum at market.’

I was aghast. ‘It’s not for selling; this is a great treasure.’

‘If it’s a great treasure, then you’re a fool for not selling it.’

‘And you’re a servant who talks too much. How is she?’

Gafarn stroked Sura’s head gently. ‘She’s beautiful, highness, that’s what she is, and she’s fine. Next time you should try to stay on her.’ He held a bucket of water to her mouth so she could drink.

I walked over to my horse and patted her neck. ‘She is that. No warrior could find a better horse.’

The army’s horse surgeons had now arrived on the field, attending to those mounts that had been wounded. Some, too badly injured to be treated, were mercifully dispatched to join the immortal wild herd of horses that belonged to Shamash, the Sun God whom we worshipped and whose victory this was. Ahead of me I saw a large group of Roman soldiers seated on the ground in front of their wagon park. Many were staring at the eagle I was holding. I walked over to Vata.

‘Take this,’ I handed him the eagle.

‘Where are you going?’

I pointed at the Romans. ‘To talk to them.’

‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘One of them might have a weapon concealed.’

But my curiosity was too great. I had been taught Latin and Greek as a child and I wanted to speak with these men of the Tiber that I had heard so much about but, until today, I had never met. As I got near, one got to his feet and squared up to me. Two guards levelled their lances at him but I waved them away. He was shorter than me by about six inches, but stockier with broad shoulders. He short-cropped hair was encrusted with dirt and blood from a wound to his forehead. The blood had already congealed to form a black patch above his right eye. Though he wore no armour or weapons he was still an imposing figure. He looked straight at me.

‘You’re the one who took our eagle,’ his words were laced with venom.

‘Took?’ I rose to the challenge. ‘I found it lying in the dirt.’

‘You speak passable Latin, foreigner.’

‘I was taught it as a child,’ I replied. ‘I find it a vulgar language.’

‘It is good that you have learned it.’

‘Why is that,’ I enquired.

‘Because when we have conquered your land you will be able to understand what your masters are saying.’

I could feel my temper rise within me. ‘This is Parthian land, Roman, not some weak province.’

He laughed. ‘The whole world is a Roman province, Parthian. You have beaten one legion, but it will be different when many cross your border. And that day is coming, and sooner than you think.’

I decided that it was futile to indulge him further. ‘We will be waiting, Roman.’

With that I turned away from him and walked back to where Vata and his father were standing. The prisoners were being sorted into groups, each one being tethered with rope. The Romans fought with helmets on their heads and mail shirts over their tunics, which ended just above their knees, and curved oblong shields that protected their entire torsos and thighs. Their weapons and armour were now being loaded onto carts.

Bozan was chewing on a piece of bread. ‘That lot will fetch a tidy price in the slave markets. They’ll end up in the eastern part of the empire somewhere, well away from here so it won’t be worth them making any trouble.’

‘Will they ever see Rome again?’ I asked

Bozan shrugged. ‘I doubt it. It’s the fate of beaten soldiers never to see their homes again. Still, better them than us.’

At that moment the air was filled with the blaring of horns, and I turned to see my father riding towards us escorted by Vistaspa and his bodyguard. The cavalrymen looked resplendent in their brightly polished armour, white-plumed helmets and lances flying white pennants. Behind my father fluttered his scarlet banner sporting a white horse’s head, the cloth edged with silver braid. My father wore a silver, open-faced helmet topped with a gold crown. His horse was draped with a richly adorned white coat edged with silver, with the mounts of the other riders protected by scale armour. On his right rode Vistaspa, glancing right and left like a hawk searching for prey. The group halted a few feet from where I stood and my father immediately jumped down and marched over to me. The others and I knelt before him with heads bowed, but he clasped my shoulders, picked me up and embraced me. There were tears in his eyes as he stepped back to look at me.

‘My son, you have proved yourself a worthy son of Hatra. This day will be remembered by future generations of our people.’

I felt ten foot tall. I stretched out my arm and clicked my fingers. Vata gave the eagle to Gafarn, who rushed up and passed it to me. ‘My gift to you, father.’

He took the standard and admired it, then addressed all those knelt around him. ‘Rise, rise all of you, and bear witness to this great victory and the man, my son, who made it possible.’

The assembly rose and broke into applause. Bozan and Vata walked over to my father, and after they both bowed, Bozan grinned broadly at my father and the two embraced. My father congratulated Vata, for he too had covered himself in glory this day.

‘This will send a message to Rome, father.’

‘The loss of a legion will be a great dishonour to them, the more so because we, or rather you, have taken its precious eagle.’ He paused for a moment and a momentary look of concern spread over his face. Then he turned to me. ‘They will be back, Pacorus, rest assured.’

Flush with victory, I actually welcomed the opportunity to smash more Roman legions. ‘Let them come,’ I boasted. ‘We will beat them once more.’

My father smiled. ‘Perhaps we will. Though let us hope it is not for many years.’

But I didn’t want to hear of peace. I had become a man and had taken a Roman eagle. My thoughts were filled with more military glory, which would spread my name far and wide. I was so preoccupied that I did not hear the commotion behind me. I barely noticed the guards screaming as I turned slowly to see one of the prisoners running towards me with a spear in his hand. Then I saw that it was the man I had been talking to. Transfixed and rooted to the spot, I saw him bring the spear up to his shoulder, ready to throw it. Like a hare caught in the cold stare of a cobra, I could do nothing except watch and wait for the spear to slam into me. The Roman, wild-eyed, had a triumphant look on his face in the second before he threw his weapon, which suddenly turned to an expression of surprise, then disappointment and finally acute pain. The arrow had hit him squarely in the chest, stopping him in his tracks. He slowed and then fell to his knees, then keeled over to collapse onto the ground. I snapped out of my daze and marched over to where the Roman lay. I knelt over him, the arrow sticking out of his back and blood oozing from his mouth. As life ebbed from him, he tried to look up at me but his strength was draining away fast. I leaned closer to hear his words, which were faint, barely audible. He coughed, causing more blood to pump from his mouth. The only words I heard were: ‘We will return, Parthian.’ Then he died.

I stood and saw Vistaspa sat astride his horse with a bow in his left hand. He was the one who had saved me. I nodded at him in acknowledgement; his only response was a thin smile, which I swore turned into a sneer.

‘Keep those prisoners under control,’ screamed Bozan to the guards.

Vistaspa rode up. ‘Never turn your back on your enemies, even if you think they are unarmed. Next time I might not be around to save you.’

He kicked his horse and rode away to attend my father, who was shaking his head at me.

The next day we burned the dead, as is our custom. It took most of the morning for the prisoners to dig two pits, one for our men the other for the Romans. The one for the latter was far bigger for they had lost over a thousand dead. Normally we would have left the enemy dead to rot, but my father did not want their carcasses to pollute the soil of Hatra. We piled the wooden shields in first, all five thousand of them, coated the top layer with naphtha and then tipped the dead legionaries on top. Our own dead numbered less than four hundred, though an equal number had been wounded, along with three hundred horses killed. Most of the horse archers and foot, plus the Roman prisoners, servants and supply camels, headed south back to Hatra. Most of the cataphracts also headed for Hatra, accompanied by Bozan and Vata, who also took a rich haul with them: the twelve chests of legionary gold. The prisoners would be sold at Hatra, probably to another Parthian king, though we would only sell them to a king who ruled in the eastern part of the empire. This would make it very difficult for any to escape back to Roman territory, having to cross hundreds of miles of barren desert. This being the case, they would more readily accept their new position in life. Better a slave than dead.

I escorted my father on the journey to the city of Zeugma, along with his bodyguard and two hundred horse archers. Though I was loathe to let it out of my sight, the eagle was also sent to Hatra. We had won a great victory, and already riders were being dispatched to the four corners of the empire to announce the good tidings. And yet my father was troubled. The morning we set off for Zeugma he hardly spoke at all. Behind us two long columns of black smoke spiralled into the blue sky — the funeral pyres of our own soldiers and those of our enemies. Zeugma lay thirty miles to the north, and we made our way leisurely along the road, which was nothing more than a dirt track. We had scouts riding ahead and covering our flanks, but for hours we saw no other signs of life.

‘Strange, Vistaspa, don’t you think?’ asked my father.

Like most of us, Vistaspa had been lulled into a relaxed state by the heat and the gentle ride. ‘My liege?’

‘Only a day’s hard ride from Zeugma and not a scout in site. Where is the garrison? I would have thought that a Roman legion marching towards the city would have prompted some response.’

‘I have no answers, my lord,’ replied Vistaspa, unconcerned. ‘Not all kingdoms in the empire have our eyes and ears.’

He was right. The Parthian Empire was made up of eighteen separate but aligned kingdoms. These were Gordyene, Hatra, Atropaiene, Babylon, Susiana, Hyrcania, Carmania, Sakastan, Drangiana, Aria, Anauon, Yueh-Chih, Margiana, Elymais, Mesene, Persis, Zeugma and the oldest kingdom of all, Parthia. The empire stretched from the Indus in the east, north to the Caspian Sea and the border with the Uzbeks, and west to the frontiers of Pontus and Syria and south to the clear blue waters of the Persian Gulf and Arabian Sea. All of these lands were ruled by the ‘king of kings’, Sinatruces, who sat in the ancient city of Ctesiphon. Hatra was, I liked to think, the strongest of the kingdoms. Sandwiched between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, its western side extended all the way to the border with the Roman province of Syria, though Sinatruces controlled a thin strip of land on the western bank of the Euphrates that was administered by the frontier city of Dura Europus. Hatra was rich and getting richer, and as such was looked on jealously by outside enemies and even other Parthian kings. So my father had created and maintained a large army and garrisons throughout his kingdom, especially the towns to the north of Hatra — Singara and Nisibus — and Batnae in the northwest. But he had also raised a large contingent of scouts who covered every inch of our kingdom, ever vigilant for threats. It was the scouts who had ridden hard to alert my father that the Roman legion had crossed the border. The city of Zeugma had its own garrison, but we had heard nor seen nothing of it since we had ridden north.

‘Perhaps not all kingdoms still want to be a part of the empire.’

‘Father?’ I admit that I had no idea what he was suggesting.

‘Nothing,’ he mused. ‘We will know more presently.’

The next day we reached Zeugma. Two hours after dawn we were approached by a patrol of cavalry, their commander’s lack of surprise about our presence explained by the courier my father had sent to the city immediately after our battle. The twenty riders were all light horseman wearing no armour and carrying swords and shields. They had a passable appearance, though I noted that their shields were battered and their uniforms scruffy. We wore no armour, which was packed and carried on the camel train that accompanied us. My father, his bodyguard and I wore white silk tunics, baggy leggings and loosely fitting cotton caps. Swords hung in scabbards from our leather belts and our shields, which we didn’t carry when wearing scale armour, were slung on our backs. Fastened to our saddles were our bows in their leather cases, with a quiver full of arrows attached to a leather strap that ran over our right shoulder and across our chest, with the quiver itself sitting at our left hip. Our horse archers formed a mounted phalanx behind the king’s bodyguard, followed by the supply camels and a rearguard of more horse archers. Our lances were similarly strapped to the camels, which spent each day spitting, belching and breaking wind. They were truly disgusting creatures, and absolutely essential to the Parthian war machine.

The commander of the Zeugma cavalry saluted my father. ‘Greetings, highness. King Darius is eagerly awaiting your presence at his palace. Already news of your victory is spreading throughout the empire.’

My father said nothing but merely nodded at the young officer, while Vistaspa also fixed him with a cool stare. The silence was most oppressive and if I was feeling uncomfortable then the officer must have been feeling worse, as sweat began to trickle down his face.

My father nudged his horse forward, past the young officer. ‘Give my greetings to my friend, King Darius. Tell him we will pay our respects at his palace this afternoon.’

With that my father’s horse idled past the static riders, as did Vistaspa and I. Their commander, unsure what to do, eventually gave the signal to his men, who turned around and galloped back to the city, their horses kicking up a cloud of dust as they did so.

‘You are angry, father?’

‘You saw the state of them,’ he replied. ‘Darius sends a bunch of beggars to escort us into his city. We’re lucky they didn’t try to rob us.’ This prompted a rare smile from Vistaspa. ‘I’m not having my soldiers sullied by having to ride with them. I’d rather ride a camel.’