Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (74 page)

Nergal and Praxima joined us at Uruk along with a bodyguard of fifty horse archers. They also brought an abundance of food and fodder from the city’s warehouses to supplement our own rations.

I now had Nergal’s long legs above me as I pulled on my oar as Athineos steered us towards Charax. Sitting next to him was Malik, with Orodes and Yasser above them.

‘This is most bracing,’ said Orodes as he heaved at his oar.

‘I tell you what, prince,’ shouted Drenis directly behind him, ‘to make you feel at home we’ll shave your head, shackle your leg to the hull so you have to relieve yourself where you sit, feed you watery slop twice a day and lash your back at regular intervals.’

Orodes ignored his sarcastic comment but those soldiers around him burst into laughter. A few of them, now highly trained soldiers in my army, had been former galley slaves and bore lash marks on their backs. But those backs were now broad and strong as they pulled on the oars that propelled our aged ship towards Charax.

It was the beginning of autumn now but still fiercely hot and though on deck there was a welcome wind, in the hold it was airless. So we sat in our loincloths only, our weapons and armour stacked on deck where the archers kept watch for enemy vessels.

Surena had returned from his reconnaissance mission with news that a mud-brick wall that had round towers at regular intervals along its length encompassed Charax, but reported no defences on the seaward side. That was because in all its history it had never been assaulted from the Persian Gulf. That was about to change.

Athineos steered our top-heavy and leaking ship into a shallow bay a few miles from Charax on the evening before our assault, the rowers taking the opportunity to escape the foetid hold and sleep beneath the palm trees beyond the sandy beach. I forbade the lighting of fires lest the garrison or any fishing vessels observed their glow, not that there was any need for warmth. The temperature decreased slightly during the night but it was still very mild. Guards were posted but Surena assured me that the only people who inhabited this area were either mad or fleeing from justice. It was too close to Charax for the Ma’adan to establish settlements, the Greek inhabitants of the city having a hostile attitude to the people of the marshlands.

I sat with Gallia, Nergal and Praxima on the beach as the sun disappeared in the west and a pale grey moon appeared in a starlit sky. Durans sat around sharpening their swords and horse archers checked their quivers and bowstrings. Praxima and Gallia were chatting away like a pair of young girls, remembering their exploits in Italy and their subsequent time together in Parthia before Praxima had become the Queen of Mesene. Nergal, though, appeared withdrawn.

‘Something troubles you, my friend?’ I said.

His gangly legs were drawn up so his chin was resting on his knees.

‘Narses can send soldiers to attack Charax at any time, Pacorus.’

He turned and tilted his head to where Surena, Viper, Cleon and Hippo sat in a group on the sand, engaging in jovial conversation.

‘They will be in danger.’

‘Cleon raised a small army in Ephesus,’ I told him, ‘right under the noses of the Romans. Narses made a mistake killing Tiraios and his family and installing one of his men as ruler of Charax. That will have alienated the people, or so I hope.’

‘You took a great risk going to Ephesus, Pacorus.’

‘You are right,’ I agreed, ‘but I had to go to see if Burebista still lived.’

He nodded. ‘And the gods smiled on your curiosity. What was it like being back in a Roman city?’

I thought for a moment. ‘Like I did not belong. They are still as cruel and pompous as when we were fighting in Italy. Nothing changes as far as Rome is concerned.’

‘Nothing except the extent of the territory they control,’ he said grimly. ‘Burebista should have returned with you to Parthia.’

‘He wanted to be among his own race. He had a Dacian wife and his countrymen were preparing for another war with Rome, together with their Thracian allies. At the end of the day we all must choose our own destiny.’

‘And those we wish to die among,’ he remarked sombrely.

‘Do not worry about what Narses might or not do regarding Charax,’ I said. ‘When civil war resumes in the empire his hands will be full dealing with events elsewhere.’

‘When will that be, Pacorus?’ asked Praxima, who had been listening to our conversation.

‘Soon, I hope,’ I said. ‘My army is itching to get to Ctesiphon.’

‘Mesene will stand with you,’ said Nergal.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know that, my friend.’

We all turned on hearing raucous laughter behind us.

Praxima tilted her head towards Surena. ‘Gallia told me he covered himself in glory at Ephesus.’

‘He did,’ I agreed. ‘Dobbai says that he is destined for great things.’

‘If he manages to stay alive,’ said Gallia. ‘His recklessness is breath-taking at times.’

‘The gods favour the bold,’ I said.

At least I hoped they did for I was relying on their help to assist me in the assault on Charax. I had learned that to succeed war plans needed to be as simple as possible because when implemented they had an alarming tendency to fall to pieces within the first few minutes. So the idea was to sail into Charax’s harbour, destroy the soldiers sent by Narses and install Cleon and Hippo as the city’s new rulers. Simple.

We would be assaulting a city that I knew nothing about but fortunately Athineos, in his sober moments, had thought of this and had purchased a papyrus map of the layout of Charax. He now laid it out on the small table in the cabin, which in truth smelt almost as bad as the hold. I stood with Gallia, Nergal and Praxima plus the four centurions, including Drenis and Arminius, and the commanders of the horse archers crowded round the table. It was just after dawn and the temperature was rising rapidly.

Athineos picked his nose and pointed at the map.

‘Straightforward layout, as you all can see. The harbour leads to all the public buildings that are in the centre of the city, surrounded by streets and side streets crossing each other at right angles.’

I pointed at the area containing the public buildings. ‘So what is here?’

Athineos screwed up his face. ‘Temples, squares, shops and the theatre, like the one at Ephesus.’

‘Where is the citadel, the fort that houses the garrison?’ asked Nergal.

‘There isn’t one,’ replied Athineos. ‘I heard there is a palace of some sort near the temples but most of the garrison are housed in the towers along the wall.’

‘And what size is the garrison?’ I probed.

He shrugged. ‘No idea.’

‘Once ashore we will seize the
agora
,’ I told them all. ‘Tell your men not to damage any buildings or harm any civilians.’

‘If they get in the way that might not be possible, majesty,’ remarked a tall, athletic centurion.

‘Once the fighting starts the civilians will scatter like frightened sheep,’ I told them. ‘All we will have to do is wait for the enemy to show their faces.’

They showed no concern, and with good reason. They knew, as did I, that many Parthian kings regarded foot soldiers as little more than expendable slaves. Palace guards protected a ruler and his family in his capital and when he went to war he did so accompanied by cataphracts and horse archers, the latter raised from among the kingdom’s farmers and city dwellers. The aristocracy and their sons provided a kingdom’s cataphracts, but only a few kingdoms, the wealthiest, could afford to have large numbers of full-time cataphracts and horse archers. Hatra was one and Dura was another. But I knew that Narses would have sent only foot soldiers to garrison Charax, poorly trained and equipped troops who were expendable, more suited to terrorising civilians than fighting the foot soldiers of Dura.

We sat at our oars in the cloying heat and rowed slowly. Today we wore our uniforms: every legionary in his tunic, mail shirt, sword belt, sandals and helmet. The leather vests had been left at Dura. The shields were stacked in the passageway next to the rowing stations ready to be used once the journey was over. There was no jovial banter today, no well-intentioned ribbing or raucous laughter. Every man was focused on his task. But it was hot, so mercilessly hot as we sat, sweated and pulled on the oars. Fortunately there was a fair wind that filled the sails and hastened us towards our destination, though we did not feel the benefit of it below deck. The Amazons and dismounted horse archers above checked their quivers and bowstrings. They had three of the former and two of the latter, each quiver holding thirty arrows. The missiles had three-winged bronze heads and three flight feathers – eighteen thousand arrows in total. Nergal’s fifty archers were also equipped with three full quivers, Praxima informing me that they had been chosen because they were the best bowmen in the whole of Mesene.

‘Not as good as me, of course,’ their queen had told me, ‘but above average shots.’

The spirits of the Amazons were very high now that their former commander was back with them, Gallia also filled with a steely determination to get the task done. All I wanted to do was get out of this infernal hull as rivulets of sweat ran down the side of my face onto my neck. Orodes, dressed in his magnificent silver scale cuirass, must have been close to passing out as the first hour at the oars passed. At least my black leather cuirass was relatively light. I slipped into a sort of semi-conscious daze as I pulled on my oar, everyone around me similarly immersed in befuddlement. This is what it must be like for galley slaves: worked like dogs day in, day out, rowing for hours at a time with no hope of relief or rescue. The others must have felt the same as me: battle would be welcome compared to this living hell.

‘Charax in sight.’

The deep voice of Athineos shook us out of our semi-consciousness. Suddenly the air crackled with a palpable sense of anticipation laced with excitement. At once the oar strokes were crisper as men gripped the wood more firmly. I heard shuffling on deck and the patter of boots coming down steps as archers carrying ladles of water sated the thirst of those on the benches. Today the legionaries would be carrying no
furca
, no water bottle and no javelins. They would be going into Charax light, as would the archers. The
gladius
and the bow were our weapons but speed and surprise would be our allies.

I drank from the ladle held at my mouth by Gallia, whose hair was tied in a long plait hanging down the back of her neck beneath her helmet, the cheek guards of the latter hiding her features. Other Amazons stood behind me to give succour to Orodes, Malik and the others. Malik was wrapped in his black Agraci robes, as was Yasser, the latter relishing the coming fight. This was immediately imminent as a sailor descended the steps and shouted the captain’s orders.

‘Captain says we will dock in a quarter of an hour. So gentle strokes only.’

The pace maker at the stern, a pot-bellied jowly man with a cruel leer, reduced the number of strokes per minute on the hide surface of his kettledrum. Our instinct was to quicken our strokes to get to the target more speedily, but he gave us evil stares as he banged his drum with what seemed like very long intervals between each strike. The archers disappeared back on deck as the minutes passed and then another order reached our ears.

‘Stop rowing. Pull in the oars.’

We shipped the oars, the pace maker stopped banging his drum and we all stood as the ship glided towards the wharf. Because it was a warship and as we were not unloading anything, or at least that is what the port authorities believed, we approached the docks prow first. We carried no markings aside from the two eyes painted on the sides of the hull at the prow. The garrison, alerted that an unidentified warship was docking, would send soldiers to assemble on the wharf before we had docked but that was fine: the more we killed at the docks the less to fight later.

Men wished each other good luck and clutched their lucky talismans before securing their helmet straps, drawing their swords and gripping the handles of their shields. Drenis, Arminius and the other two centurions had whistles around their necks.

‘You all know your orders,’ said Drenis, the senior centurion present, ‘so listen for the commands and keep formation. You’ve fought the soldiers of Mithridates and Narses before and know how soft they are. But resist the temptation to chase after them when they flee.’

Confident laughter filled the hold as the ship came to a halt. I slapped Arminius on the arm and walked to the steps, Orodes, Nergal, Malik and Yasser following. Stepping on deck was most refreshing, a gentle wind blowing in from the sea and the air, though warm, markedly better than the stench of the hold. I turned to nod at Athineos manning the rudders at the stern and walked towards the prow where two sailors had thrown ropes to waiting dockers who secured them to wooden posts. Other sailors pushed two gangplanks from either side of the prow towards the wooden wharf.

‘State your business,’ shouted the man I assumed to be the commander of ten of Narses’ men, the soldiers behind him wearing baggy yellow leggings and red tunics, leather caps and armed with thrusting spears. Our old enemies from Sakastan. The commander had a sword at his hip and wore a leather scale cuirass and helmet. The ox hide shields of his men were painted with the bird-god, symbol of their master. How I hated that motif.