Sons Of the Citadel, page 29
part #6 of Parthian Chronicles Series
After they had left Phraates rubbed his hands together.
‘We are in your hands, lord high general. How do we deal with these Romans?’
‘We harry them, cut off any stragglers and let the weather do our work for us,’ I answered.
Phraates looked bemused, confused and finally angry.
‘So we do nothing is what you are telling me.’
‘Unless favourable circumstances arise giving us the chance of an easy victory, yes.’
The gold arrow made a reappearance as Phraates began toying with it.
‘This will not do, King Pacorus, not at all.’
‘No, it will not.’
We all looked to the entrance where a tall figure with piercing eyes was regarding me with suspicion. Phraates smiled.
‘Welcome, Prince Darius, it cheers me to see you safe.’
Darius walked slowly into the chamber, Phraates ordering a couch to be brought for the new King of Media. My angry nephew stood like a stone statue with arms folded across his chest.
‘We are deciding strategy,’ Gafarn informed him.
‘Strategy?’ spat Darius, ‘is it what we now call cowardice?’
‘Have a care, boy,’ Silaces warned him, ‘it would be a shame to have survived a siege only to be killed by those who rescued you.’
I shook my head at Silaces as Spartacus rose from his couch and squared up to Darius.
‘I will kill any man who calls me a coward.’
‘See,’ grinned Silaces.
‘Sit down both of you,’ I ordered, ‘remember you are in the presence of the high king who could have your heads for such insolence.’
Phraates tried to summon up all his dignity and courage but only half succeeded. I stood and pointed at Darius.
‘How many men can you muster?’
Slaves positioned a couch with silver feet behind him and another offered him wine. He angrily grabbed the ornate rhyton and sat down.
‘Five and half thousand,’ he said.
‘All horse?’ I demanded to know.
‘Two thousand are foot,’ he replied.
‘It gives us a total of seventy-five thousand men, which means we are still outnumbered by the Romans. I do not intend to waste our men on futile attacks against locked shields.’
Darius sipped at his wine. ‘I grew up hearing stories about the famed King Pacorus and King Surena and their humiliation of the Romans at Carrhae. Are you the same man who fought at that battle? Perhaps you should let those who are younger and more able fight this war, uncle. I thought you were a friend of my father.’
‘I was a friend of your father,’ I retorted angrily, ‘and it is because of that friendship I assembled an alliance of kings who marched here to save your kingdom.’
I glared at Phraates. ‘That and the empire.’
‘We have every confidence in our lord high general,’ Phraates said sternly to Darius. ‘If we spend our time arguing and hurling accusations then the Romans will be able to slink back to Armenia where they can rebuild their army.’
I was amazed by his foresight. Perhaps he was growing into his role after all.
‘Be seated, King Pacorus,’ he continued, ‘this is a council of war not a debating chamber.’
I did as I was asked, the scowl on Darius’ face refusing to disappear as he continued to sip at his wine.
‘For the benefit of those who were not there,’ I said, ‘let me highlight the differences between our current situation and the one at Carrhae. Firstly, Mark Antony has brought many auxiliaries with him, no doubt as a direct consequence of what happened to the army of Crassus. My scouts inform me up to a third of his army are slingers, archers and javelin throwers, all recruited to nullify our horse archers and cataphracts. Secondly, Mark Antony also has ten thousand Roman horsemen, all well trained and lavishly equipped soldiers, whereas at Carrhae Crassus had negligible numbers of horsemen.
‘Besides, the Romans are retreating, they are short of supplies and the weather is worsening. I expect…’
‘Where is my brother?’ asked Darius.
‘Prince Alexander is marching from Persis,’ Phraates told him.
Darius tossed the empty rhyton at a slave who dropped it. He rose and bowed to Phraates.
‘When he arrives we will outnumber the enemy and then I will lead my men and those of my brother against the invaders.’
Then he was gone.
Aschek shook his head in disgust. ‘Atrax was a good man. How could his loins produce such a poisonous offspring?’
‘It takes two to make a person,’ I said.
‘Prince Darius is angry, that is understandable,’ said Phraates, ‘cooped up in Phraaspa surrounded by an enemy army would test the patience of any man.’
‘He’s not any man,’ interrupted Silaces, ‘he is King of Media and should act like it.’
Phraates was mortified. ‘I called him Prince Darius. Unforgivable. I hope he forgives me.’
‘He will forgive you, majesty,’ I said, ‘it is the least of our worries.’
‘But will his mother?’ queried Silaces.
Fortunately, Aliyeh and her newly liberated son remained in each other’s company as the rest of the kings dismantled their camps and shadowed the retreating Romans west. Mark Antony, determined to maximise the strengths of his own forces and minimise our horsemen, followed a path through the hills, his giant square defended by hordes of slingers and archers.
The next day the army of Persis arrived with great fanfare. Trumpeters and kettledrummers mounted on horses adorned with red and yellow tassels were in the vanguard of Prince Alexander’s soldiers. He brought with him twenty thousand men, though only eight thousand were horsemen. He was also attended by a large entourage of priests, courtiers, mystics, slaves and court officials from Persepolis, all suffering in the cold. The rear of his column was composed of hundreds of camels loaded with tents and supplies.
‘I hope he has brought food,’ grumbled Aschek as the kings sat on their horses behind Phraates to welcome the new addition to the army.
‘My kingdom groans under the responsibility of feeding this army,’ muttered the King of Atropaiene.
With the siege of Phraaspa abandoned by the Romans they and we were moving north through Atropaiene towards the Araxes River. If the Romans reached it unmolested, then Mark Antony would at least preserve his honour and the bulk of his army. Darius nudged his horse forward when his brother appeared before the high king. Alexander was flanked by a group of brightly dressed senior officers of his army. Behind him banner men carried the standard of Persis – a black-headed Simurgel on a yellow background. Alexander beamed with delight when he saw his brother and mother, Aliyeh leaving the knot of Median officers to be with her two sons. I had to admit it was a touching moment and I regretted the bad blood existing between us. The wind had dropped; the clouds had departed to allow the sun to bathe the land in autumn sunshine. The gods appeared to be smiling on Parthia. I looked at Gallia and then Claudia, her hair free, a smile on her face as she conversed with Valak.
‘Greetings, Prince Alexander,’ said Phraates, ‘we welcome you and your army. Join me, please.’
Alexander and his brother and mother manoeuvred their horses to sit beside the high king as the army of Persis marched passed Phraates and all of us.
‘Another parade, how marvellous,’ announced Gafarn drolly. ‘I envy those of our men who are shadowing the enemy.’
‘These men will slow us down,’ remarked Spartacus, nodding towards the soldiers of Persis.
As I watched the serried ranks of the soldiers of Persis file in front of the high king, I was taken back to a time when men who had worn the same uniforms had been my enemies. I suddenly saw the mocking face of Narses and shuddered as I remembered the Battle of Susa and my father’s death.
Alexander’s largest contingent was his eleven thousand spearmen. All on foot, their long spears were topped with leaf-shaped points, and though every man was equipped with a helmet and a large rectangular shield made of wicker covered with yellow-painted leather, only the officers wore leather body armour. They also carried swords but their men had only daggers in addition to their spears. But they did look colourful in their yellow tunics and blue leggings.
Alexander’s best troops were the thousand men of his palace guard, all attired in bronze helmets with large cheek guards, leather cuirasses, and carrying round wooden shields faced with bronze after the Greek fashion. Every one sported the image of the bird god. The men of the guard also carried spears with leaf-shaped blades but at least they also had swords as secondary weapons. They too wore yellow tunics and blue leggings.
The final contingent of the army of Persis was eight thousand horse archers who wore helmets, yellow shirts and red leggings. With their arrival the combined total of our army rose to over ninety thousand men, perhaps giving us parity with the Romans, perhaps not. This fact would also be known to Phraates and Darius and I wondered how long it would be before the high king was bending my ear about attacking the Romans.
‘I would speak to you, majesty.’
‘Mmm?’ I turned to see Kewab behind me.
He bowed his head to Gallia when she too turned to look at him.
‘Come to admire the army of Persis?’ I asked.
He glanced at the trotting horse archers riding past the high king, Aliyeh and her sons.
‘No, majesty, a more pressing matter.’
I turned Tegha and walked him back a few paces.
‘Go on.’
‘I have been scouting with Talib and his men,’ he began, ‘and have a discovered a river whose banks have been buttressed with a dyke.’
I shrugged. ‘And this is significant because?’
‘Because, majesty,’ he replied, ‘the Romans are marching parallel to the river, which lies above their position. If we were to destroy the dyke than it would flood the Romans’ route, forcing them to divert their army to lower ground.’
‘Where we might intercept them,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Yes, majesty, though even if we do not it will wear down the enemy further. They have already lost many mules; their carcasses being picked clean by ravens as we speak. We need to bring the enemy down from the hills, majesty.’
I did not give him my decision until the parade was over and the kings had dispersed, Phraates taking Aliyeh and her sons back to his pavilion for a lavish celebratory feast. Before he left for his own camp I spoke with Aschek and Ali, the old king’s face white from the cold. I informed him of Kewab’s proposal.
He wiped his nose. ‘The river is called the Amardus and before I had the dyke built it flooded every year and caused much damage and loss of life. And now you want me to tear down my own work and consign the people of the region to years of misery and death once more?’
‘Yes, majesty,’ answered Kewab flatly.
‘Easy for you to say,’ said Ali, ‘it is not your land being wrecked.’
‘You hold in with this, Pacorus?’ asked Aschek.
‘It is just a proposal, lord,’ I replied, ‘but this is your land and you will determine whether it is put in motion.’
‘It will solve many outstanding problems, majesty,’ pressed Kewab, ‘and safeguard the empire.’
I could see immediately Kewab had regretted his words but Aschek wanted to hear more.
‘What problems?’
Kewab looked at me.
‘Answer the king,’ I told him.
‘At the moment there is very little we can do to impede the Romans’ retreat back to Armenia,’ said Kewab. ‘We may harry them and inflict small damage but the bulk of Mark Antony’s army will reach the Araxes River. If we flood the land in front of him he will descend to lower ground where we may inflict more harm upon him.’
‘How?’ asked Ali. ‘He will still retain his large square formation, will he not?’
But Kewab was thinking ahead. ‘The arrival of the army of Persis is highly propitious. The Romans will think they can achieve an easy victory against its poorly equipped foot soldiers.’
Aschek chuckled. ‘You wish to sacrifice the lives of Prince Alexander’s men?’
‘To use them as part of a wider strategy to inflict damage on the Romans and thus safeguard the future of the empire,’ Kewab told him.
Aschek looked at me. ‘Ruthless bastard, isn’t he. Are you sure he’s on the right side?’
‘Kewab is a gifted commander,’ I said, ‘and has my trust.’
‘We must destroy the dyke now, majesty.’ Kewab pressed.
Aschek looked at his son. ‘What do you think?’
‘Dykes can be rebuilt, father.’
Aschek wiped his nose on his sleeve.
‘What other problems will it solve?’ he asked Kewab.
‘It will satisfy the high king’s appetite for battle, majesty,’ Kewab told him, ‘and reinforce the authority of the lord high general.’
Aschek’s forehead creased in confusion but he was too cold to debate further.
‘You have my permission,’ he told Kewab.
On the third day of his march back to Armenia Mark Antony was forced to divert his army south when the banks of the Amardus broke and the land to his front was flooded with ice-cold water.
The weather became colder, the wind from the north howling at night as winter approached. But at least there was no rain. On most days the sun made us squint in its brightness but provided no warmth. We thanked the gods for our cloaks and thick woollen tunics. As Mark Antony and his army were forced to make a diversion south I asked Phraates to assemble the kings for a council of war. We met in his great pavilion where slave girls served us warm milk and hot broth. From his demeanour I could tell Phraates was already bored with the campaign.
‘I hope you have a plan to bring this campaign to a speedy end, King Pacorus,’ he whined, ‘this land is too barren and cold for my liking.’
‘We don’t want to be living in tents when the winter comes,’ said Aschek, whose cough appeared to have worsened.
‘I’m getting too old for winter campaigning,’ agreed Silaces, who proceeded to shovel broth into his mouth, making Phraates grimace.
I rubbed my hands. ‘Then you will all be delighted to learn I propose we engage the Romans more closely now they are on their way down from the hills.’
I glanced at Prince Alexander seated on a couch next to his brother.
‘Now the army of Persis is here we can get to grips with the Romans and give them a bloody nose at least.’
Gafarn, Nergal and Spartacus exchanged glances and raised eyebrows but said nothing.
‘Excellent,’ exclaimed Phraates. ‘Let us hope I can add to my collection of eagles.’
Gafarn rolled his eyes and Aschek sneezed loudly.
‘I ask to lead the attack, high one,’ said Alexander to Phraates, ‘so I may personally present you with one of these Roman eagles.’
Phraates beamed with delight. ‘I accept your offer.’
He turned to me. ‘I hope the lord high general concurs with my agreement.’
I bowed my head. ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see the army of Persis leading our retribution against the Romans.’
‘The army of Media will be joining it,’ growled Darius, whose face was threating to sour the milk he was sipping at.
‘A most excellent idea,’ I beamed.
Atrax had forged Media’s army into a potent instrument, though how much of its fighting spirit remained following the death of its king, its mauling at the Araxes and the weeks of privations it had endured while cooped up in Phraaspa remained to be seen.
Darius gave Spartacus a derisory glance and curled his lip at Nergal. Clearly the policy of ‘Parthian purity’ was alive and well in Media.
I knew among his men Darius possessed cataphracts and professional foot soldiers, the latter having been specifically raised by Atrax to fight Roman legionaries. But that was a long time ago and I wondered how effective they would be. Still, despite the attitude of Darius, I was unwilling to sanction the sacrifice of what was left of my dead friend’s army.
‘Perhaps the army of Media might act as a reserve in the coming clash, lord king,’ I suggested.
‘I will fight beside my brother,’ insisted Darius.
‘It is only right the two sons of Atrax should be in the forefront of the fight to avenge their father,’ said Phraates.
Aschek wiped his nose and spilt his milk as he suffered a coughing fit. He really was not well. Phraates looked disgusted.
‘I hope your plan works, Pacorus,’ he said, wiping milk from his beard with his sleeve. ‘You’ve consigned those villagers near the Amardus to death this winter and I have stripped my kingdom of food and fodder to feed this army.’
He threw up his hands. ‘There’s nothing left. So after this battle I will be returning back to Urmia to prepare for the winter.’
Phraates’ mouth dropped open. ‘What do you mean there’s nothing left, King Aschek? This army is on a sacred mission.’
‘What about the other army?’ asked Aschek.
‘What other army?’ Phraates shot back.
‘Your army of whores, slaves, scribes, priests and assorted hangers-on you brought with you from Ctesiphon. They have to be fed as well, more’s the pity.’
Phraates jumped up. ‘How dare you speak about my loyal subjects in such a fashion. You will leave our presence immediately.’
‘With pleasure,’ hissed Aschek, brushing past me as he left the pavilion.
‘Get out all of you,’ raged Phraates, hurling his gold rhyton at a slave, ‘I will not be spoken to like a child.’
‘Even if you act like one,’ whispered Gafarn behind me as we rose from our couches, bowed and took our leave.
‘King Darius and Satrap Alexander will remain,’ commanded Phraates, Alexander giving me a look of triumph as I left the chamber with the others.
Outside, as we waited for slaves to bring us our horses, Silaces was downcast.
‘Aschek was right, we can’t stay in this barren land forever. My men are down to half-rations and our reserves of fodder are dwindling.’
‘I will order more supplies from Gordyene,’ smiled Spartacus.
‘Alas, my friend,’ said Silaces, ‘I fear just as Atropaiene is being bled white so too will your kingdom if this army and its hordes of non-combatants remain here.’
