Parthian Dawn (23 page)

I was pacing the palace terrace as these thoughts coursed through my head. Perhaps they would insist that their sons should stay with them, and then I would have even less cavalry.

Gallia shook her head at me. ‘Why do you torture yourself so? What will be, will be.’

‘Indeed it shall, child,’ said Dobbai, shuffling onto the terrace and seating herself next to my wife on a large wicker chair stuffed with cushions. I really wasn’t in the mood for one of her lectures.

‘They will come, have no fear.’

I was looking across the river, at a large camel caravan about to cross the pontoon bridge. ‘Who?’

‘Your lords, of course. That is why you pace like a caged lion, is it not?’

She reached over and grabbed Gallia’s hand. ‘I hope he is less predicable on the battlefield.’

‘How do you know, have you talked to them?’

‘Such a petulant outburst. You should have more faith in your talents. They have sent their sons, their most precious possession, to serve with you. Why then do you not think they would send other mothers’ sons to fight and die beside you? They will come.’

And she was right. Three days later my men returned and their fathers with them. They had obviously discussed the matter between themselves because each lord brought a hundred horse archers. Thus did I gain another two thousand cavalry.

We had a feast in the banqueting hall that night, a happy gathering of the lords of Dura, their sons and my Companions. It was the first time that the lords had met those who had fought in Italy and they were intrigued by their strange accents and appearance, but everyone got on well enough. Two women stole the evening — Gallia, whose beauty lit up even the darkest of rooms, and Dobbai, whose ugliness was in stark contrast but who had a powerful presence nevertheless. The lords had certainly heard of her and thought it very auspicious that she had come to Dura. And behind where I and my queen sat at the top table hung her griffin banner, the same banner that Dobbai had sent me all those months ago. They knew this, too, and one by one they came up to the table and asked permission to touch it, believing it to have magical powers. Men are superstitious beasts no matter how great their fame or grand their titles, and they put great store in relics, charms and artefacts that they believe will protect them and give them supernatural powers. None more so than warriors who want to go into battle with magical protection. Dobbai looked in amusement as these hardened frontier warlords gingerly extended their hands and held the corner of the banner for a few seconds, before turning sharply, bowing to me and then regaining their seats.

None had seen Gallia before but their sons must have told them about her, this blonde-haired, blue-eyed vision who was Dura’s queen. She never wore much jewellery or make-up; she did not have to. That said, tonight she wore a pale-blue gown that reached down to the floor. Her lithe arms were bare and adorned with gold bracelets and she wore slivers of gold in her hair that caught the light and made her blonde locks glint. Her earrings were also gold inlaid with small diamonds and on her fingers she wore gold rings. At the start of the feast the lords had bowed their heads to me, but they had gone down on one knee to Gallia. When the first man did so I gestured for her to extend her hand, which she did, whereupon he took it gently and kissed it. Gallia smiled with amusement, but every one of them, and their sons, insisted on the same ritual. Thus did Gallia once again conquer with her charm and beauty.

Dobbai, sitting on the other side of Gallia, was watching me as a steady line of individuals approached the banner to lay their hands upon it.

‘You are not going to hold the standard, son of Hatra?’

‘It would be unseemly for a king to prostrate himself before a piece of cloth,’ I answered stiffly.

She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Of course.’

But in a private moment, when there were no eyes to see, I had already knelt before my banner and grasped it with both hands and prayed to Shamash that it would bring me luck and bless my kingdom and all those who lived in it. I knew this and Dobbai knew this, and I knew that she knew. She looked knowingly at me but said no more on the matter.

As the evening wore on and the wine flowed freely, some of the lords wanted Dobbai to touch their sword blades for luck, asking my permission for her to do so, because the penalty for drawing a sword in the presence of your king was death. I consented, and so the keen edges of their blades were held before her to touch. I don’t know what they thought this would achieve, but they each looked at their swords in awe after she had touched them and as they returned them to their scabbards. I was surprised to see Domitus offer his
gladius
to her, though when I cornered him afterwards he thought nothing of it.

‘Any bit of luck is welcome before you set off on campaign, especially if you’re in a tight spot.’

‘You think we will be in a tight spot, Domitus?’

He looked unconcerned. ‘You know how it is, when the fighting starts there’s always a few nasty surprises, and there’s always some young warrior on the other side who wants to make a name for himself by spilling the guts of a great warlord.’

‘I had no idea you thought of yourself as a great warlord, Domitus.’

He grunted. ‘I don’t, I was talking of you.’

I slapped him on the shoulders and returned to my wife. But his words had been prophetic, for not half an hour later a courier appeared at the doors of the hall, his face smeared with dirt and his clothes covered in dust. He wore a worried expression, and as a guard escorted him to the top table the babble of voices began to ebb as others caught sight of him. By the time he had reached my table and bowed there was silence. All eyes were upon him as he reached inside his tunic, pulled out a letter and handed it to me. I cut the wax seal with my dagger and opened it. I recognised my father’s handwriting. I finished reading it and gave it to Gallia, then looked at the host of expectant faces.

‘King Gotarzes of Elymais has been defeated outside his capital by Narses. What is left of his army has taken refuge with him in the city. Some of the rebels have ringed it, the rest, the majority, are marching west.’

There was a murmur of concerned voices. I held up my hands. Silence returned.

‘We march to link up with my father in two days.’

Chapter 9

T
he following day brought worse news when a rider arrived at Dura with another message from my father that a Roman army had invaded Armenia and Gordyene, and that Balas had been killed in a great battle near Tigranocerta in Armenia. I was stunned by this thunderbolt. It was true the Romans had been fighting the Armenians led by King Tigranes and Mithridates of Pontus, the kingdom to the west of Armenia, for years. But these disputes had nothing to do with Parthia. Now, a Roman army had invaded Parthian territory and had seized one of the empire’s kingdoms.

I read the letter to an ashen-faced Gallia, who had grown very fond of Balas since their first meeting at our wedding. It related that Tigranes had called upon Balas for his help when the Romans had invaded his kingdom, and Balas had agreed to offer aid. But Tigranes and Balas had been soundly beaten and Balas killed. Tigranes had escaped, though what forces he could still muster was unknown. But now my father was forced to send more of his army north to reinforce Vata at Nisibus, for the Romans were now on Hatra’s northern border.

‘That lovely man,’ was all Gallia could say.

‘What are you going to do now, son of Hatra?’

Dobbai was beginning to annoy me. She was like an old crow sitting on a post, cawing away to no purpose.

‘Whatever I shall do will be no business of yours,’ I snapped.

We were on the palace terrace, overlooking the river, and Dobbai rose from her chair to stand leaning on the stone balustrade, looking south.

‘Of course an old woman has no business telling a king what to do, though perhaps in this instance you might like to listen to my advice.’

I handed Gallia the letter and she began reading it, perhaps thinking that if she saw the words they would tell a different tale.

‘What advice?’ I said coolly.

‘The Romans are settling scores with their old enemies, Armenia and Pontus. They have no quarrel with Parthia. Yet.’ She raised her arm and pointed towards the south. ‘That is where the greatest immediate danger lies.’

I waved my hand at her. ‘The greatest danger lies to the east. Narses has Ctesiphon surrounded. That is why we are marching to its aid. I do not need a lecture on strategy.’

Dobbai smiled at me. ‘Perhaps Narses is marching upon you, son of Hatra.’

I was just about to order her from my presence when a guard walked on to the terrace and bowed.

‘Messenger in the throne room, majesty.’

I followed him, and moments later was confronted by a tired and frightened soldier who had obviously ridden hard to get to Dura. His face was caked in dirt and his shirt soaked in sweat. He was panting hard and barely able to speak, so I ordered that a chair be brought for him and water to relieve his thirst.

‘Calm yourself,’ I said. ‘You are no use to anyone if you collapse and die.’

He drank greedily from the cup, which was refilled from a jug held by one of my guards. He sat with his hands on his legs for a few moments, then rose and bowed his head.

‘Thank you, majesty,’ he said as I sat down in my chair on the dais, Gallia and Dobbai joining me. The latter had her own chair beside mine, now that she had appointed herself my official adviser. The messenger looked admiringly at Gallia, who wore a mask of solemnity, and alarmingly at Dobbai.

I leaned forward. ‘Please continue.’

‘I was sent by King Vardan, majesty.’

‘King Vardan is marching north?’ I asked him, suddenly feeling that things were not that bad, for if Babylon’s army was heading north then I and my father could link up with it and our combined forces could then march to the relief of Ctesiphon.

‘No, majesty,’ replied the messenger. ‘Part of the army of Narses has marched south towards Babylon. King Vardan will not be able to aid you until he has defeated this force.’

‘I see,’ this was news that I had not wished to hear. Still, the army of Hatra and Dura combined would still be a force to be reckoned with.

‘There is something more, majesty.’

I had a feeling that I was not going to find what he was going to say agreeable. ‘Continue.’

‘There is another army marching north to Dura.’

I stood up in alarm. ‘What army?’

‘The army of King Porus of Sakastan, majesty.’

I immediately sent riders to the lords summoning them to Dura. After they arrived I convened a council of war. Before he had left us, the soldier from Babylon had told me that Porus was just over a hundred miles from Dura, marching along the eastern bank of the Euphrates.

‘Ten days’ march from us then, give or take,’ said Domitus, his arms folded across his chest as he looked at the map of the Parthian Empire on the wall of the antechamber. Sitting around the table were Rsan, Godarz, Nergal, Domitus, Gallia and Dobbai, while the score of Dura’s lords stood around the walls. I had my back to the map, while Malik and Byrd were standing beside the door. If any of the lords had an objection to Malik being present none said so, though the looming threat of Porus probably diminished any prejudice any of them felt towards him. From the map all could see that Sakastan was on the eastern borders of the empire, north of Carmania and to the east of Persis.

‘How many in Porus’ army, majesty?’ asked one of them, a man in his forties with a scarred face and pale grey eyes.

‘Vardan’s man estimated around thirty thousand.’

A murmur went round the room then all eyes were upon me. I stood up.

‘It seems we have two choices. We can either stay here and wait for Hatra’s army to reinforce us.’

‘By which time Porus might be banging at Dura’s gates,’ said Dobbai.

I ignored her. ‘Or we can march south and fight Porus before he reaches us here.’

‘You will be outnumbered four to one,’ said Godarz, rubbing his chin. ‘Tough odds.’

There was silence. I saw that several of the lords were looking down at their feet, no doubt weighing up our chances in their minds. I caught Domitus’ eye, who smiled at me. I knew what he was thinking — fight a defensive battle and let the army of Porus break itself on the cohorts of his legion. But it had not yet been tested in battle, was it good enough? Then I remembered who had trained it. I nodded back at Domitus.

‘Very well,’ I said, ‘this is my decision. We will march south and fight King Porus. We leave at dawn.’

Byrd had recruited a handful of Malik’s people to act as scouts, and they and their prince left the city while it was still dark, galloping across the pontoon bridge and then south towards our enemy. I watched them go for I managed to sleep only a couple of hours that night. I shared breakfast with a withdrawn Gallia dressed in mail shirt, leggings and leather boots on her feet, her dagger tucked into her right boot. Her sword lay in its scabbard on the table where we picked at bread and fruit. I would have preferred her to stay in the city with Godarz, but arguing would avail me nothing so I did not try. In any case I needed her hundred Amazon archers, and I knew that she would never agree to them going without her at their head. I kept going over the numbers in my mind — five thousand legionaries, two hundred cataphracts and around two thousand two hundred horse archers against thirty thousand. Long odds indeed.

Gallia stood, buckled her sword belt and picked up her helmet.

‘Time to go.’

Her Amazons were waiting in the courtyard, mounted and fully armed with bows and swords. Praxima held the reins of Epona as Gallia embraced Dobbai and then mounted her horse. My cataphracts did not wear their armour and neither did their mounts, for a long march would serve only to tire both man and beast. Instead they carried lances, round wooden shields covered in leather sporting a red griffin and wore their full-face helmets. I wore my Roman helmet, cuirass and
spatha
. I mounted Remus and nodded to Godarz, Rsan and Dobbai standing on the palace steps, then trotted from the Citadel. Vagharsh was carrying my standard behind me. The city’s streets were beginning to stir with activity as we rode under the stone griffin at the Palmyrene Gate and wheeled right to take the road that went over the pontoon bridge. Already the legion was snaking south along the road that ran parallel to the eastern bank of the River Euphrates.