Sons Of the Citadel, page 32
part #6 of Parthian Chronicles Series
‘Who is Caesar?’ asked Valak.
‘A great Roman general, talented politician and friend of Mark Antony,’ I replied, ‘who was planning an invasion of Parthia, or so Byrd informed me. By all accounts he was a master of the battlefield and for a time the ruler of Rome and its empire. Fortunately for Parthia he was assassinated by a group of Roman senators.’
‘Not so talented, then,’ remarked Gafarn.
‘You will have to forgive Pacorus, Valak,’ said Gallia, ‘he has always had a starry eyed view of Rome and the Romans. I blame it on him having visited the city once, which obviously bewitched him.’
Valak was stunned. ‘You have been to Rome, majesty?’
I wiped my mouth on a cloth. ‘It was a long time ago. I was invited there by a nobleman.’
‘Marcus Licinius Crassus,’ said Gafarn, ‘the richest man in Rome.’
‘In the whole world, I heard,’ added Diana.
‘What was it like, Rome I mean?’ asked Valak.
I took a moment to remember. ‘Big, noisy, bustling and full of marble. I have heard it is populated by a million people and having seen it I can well believe it.’
‘You see,’ said Gallia, ‘bewitched.’
Claudia smiled at her intended. ‘Dobbai told me once the fate of my father, the empire and the Romans would always be entwined. She said he respected and admired the Romans so much that when he left them he could not bear to sever all ties with them, which is why he recreated the Roman legions at Dura.’
‘Your sorceress was very astute,’ said Gafarn.
‘It is true I have two legions modelled on those of Rome,’ I answered, ‘but only because their foot soldiers are the most efficient in the whole world.’
Gallia raised her eyebrows. ‘You see, blind admiration.’
‘And now you have defeated the Romans once again, majesty,’ said Valak admiringly.
‘We have given them a bloody nose and now they will limp back to Armenia, hopefully never to return,’ I said, ‘but they have not been defeated.’
‘Rubbish,’ snapped Gallia. ‘They came here to seize Media and use it as a base for further conquests in Parthia and now their plans lie in tatters. Thousands more of them will die in the days ahead before they reach Armenia.’
Diana reached over to grip her friend’s forearm and Gafarn smiled.
‘Fierce creatures, these Gauls.’
Gallia stuck out her tongue at him and everyone laughed. But stopped when we heard a commotion outside and saw a flustered guard enter half a minute later.
‘Forgive me, majesty, Prince Alexander is outside and is demanding an audience.’
‘This should be interesting,’ smiled Gafarn.
‘Send him in,’ I commanded.
Seconds later the Satrap of Persis, his leather armour cuirass cut and battered, his eyes filled with rage, was standing before us.
‘Take a seat, prince,’ I said, ‘have some wine and hot food.’
But Alexander was in no mood for social niceties, or indeed courtesies.
‘A third of my men are dead,’ he barked.
‘My condolences.’
‘If pressure had been maintained against all four sides of the Roman square then we could have broken it. But instead you allowed the soldiers of Media and Persis to bleed for no result.’
I stood. ‘It is considered good manners to acknowledge your superiors when you meet them, prince. But since manners appear to be in short supply in Persis allow me to explain to you why you are wholly wrong.’
I took a sip of wine. ‘If a third of your men are dead then it is the commander who led them who should be brought to account. I gave no command to attack the Romans. On the contrary, having much experience of fighting them I foresaw the folly of launching frontal assaults against disciplined legionaries supported by slingers and archers.’
‘It is the duty of every Parthian to kill the enemy invaders,’ Alexander shot back.
‘But you have sacrificed thousands of Parthians for little gain, nephew,’ I sighed, ‘and in doing so handed the initiative back to the enemy.’
‘There are still many days of campaigning left, Alexander,’ Gafarn told him.
‘You are wrong,’ said Alexander, ‘for tomorrow we attack again and this time the Romans will not survive.’
Claudia laughed at him, causing Alexander to glare at her.
‘Have a care, princess, you are not in Dura now.’
Gallia jumped up. ‘You have a care, foolish boy. Any one of my Amazons could have commanded your troops better than you this day. You should go back to Persepolis where you can play at being a king.’
‘You are making a fool of yourself, Alexander,’ I told him, ‘go back to your camp and get some food and rest. You will see things clearer in the morning.’
‘Run along,’ Claudia chided him.
He rounded on her. ‘You dare to speak to me in such a way?’
‘I do,’ she replied.
‘It is well known Dura is a haven for whores and witches.’
Diana gasped and Valak sprang to his feet.
‘You will withdraw your words immediately, lord.’
Alexander smirked. ‘Who is this?’
‘The man I am going to marry,’ Claudia told him.
‘My commiserations,’ sneered Alexander.
‘How dare you,’ shouted Valak.
‘Guards,’ I shouted.
I pointed at Alexander as two soldiers entered the tent.
‘Escort Prince Alexander back to his horse and see he leaves camp immediately.’
They gripped his arms but he shook himself free.
‘You dare to lay your hands on me. I will have your heads.’
‘Get him out,’ I ordered.
‘You have made an enemy of Persis and its satrap,’ threatened Alexander.
‘We are quaking in our boots,’ said Claudia scornfully.
Alexander pointed at her. ‘You will live to regret your words.’
Gallia and Gafarn laughed, Alexander fumed as he was led away and I retook my seat. I had lost my appetite.
‘I apologise for my behaviour, majesty,’ said Valak.
I waved away his contrition. ‘You have nothing to apologise for, commander.’
‘Quite right,’ smiled Claudia.
‘Unlike my daughter,’ I said, ‘who must learn to control her tongue.’
‘Your nephew is an ass,’ sneered Gallia.
‘I agree,’ added Gafarn, ‘what was Phraates thinking making him the ruler of Persis.’
‘I doubt he was thinking anything,’ I replied, ‘aside from stopping the harping of my sister.’
Gafarn finished his wine. ‘I doubt if there will be any assault tomorrow, the army needs rest.’
But Gafarn was wrong and the next day, snow still on the ground after a heavy fall during the night, I was summoned to Phraates’ pavilion an hour after dawn to attend a council of war. I took Talib with me because he had entered my tent just before the courier from the high king had arrived, and what he had observed was pertinent to the council meeting. Gafarn also rode with us.
Slaves were sweeping away snow from the royal enclosure when we arrived, the journey being short because the high king’s camp was only five miles from my own. Frozen stable hands, their lips blue from the cold due to their inadequate clothing, took our horses when we dismounted at the entrance to the royal pavilion. A steward, similarly inadequately attired and shivering, bowed his head and showed us into the great tent. Inside it was warm, braziers burning in every chamber and the canvas corridors linking them all together.
We were shown into the reception area where Phraates, wrapped in a huge fur-lined cloak, sat on his throne and toyed with his gold arrow. Next to the dais a soldier held the vexillum he had taken the previous day. Behind him, like crows waiting to pick over carrion, stood Ashleen and Timo. Already in attendance were the angry Alexander and the haughty Darius, both looking down their noses at Talib and making it obvious they were ignoring me. Spartacus and Aschek followed me and the last to arrive were Nergal and Silaces.
‘After consultation with King Darius and Satrap Alexander I have decided to renew hostilities against the Romans,’ Phraates announced.
A slave girl, goose bumps on her bare arms, offered me warm milk in a gold rhyton carried on a silver tray. I took it. She offered the tray to Talib, to the angry mutterings of Alexander, who smiled and thanked her. The milk tasted good.
‘The Romans are no longer where they were,’ I told everyone, ‘having conducted a night march.’
‘Where are they?’ asked Phraates.
I turned to Talib. ‘This is my chief scout who has been tracking them throughout the night.’
‘That would account for his bedraggled appearance,’ said Alexander.
‘I recognise him,’ said Darius, ‘he was the messenger the high king sent into Phraaspa.’
Phraates looked at Talib in confusion.
‘I have never seen this man before. No, wait, yesterday I saw him. But not before.’
‘Talib is in fact my man,’ I told Darius, ‘but you should hear what he has to say.’
‘The Romans did not make camp after the battle but marched through the night,’ said Talib.
‘In the snow?’ Phraates was astounded.
‘In the snow, majesty, yes. They are around ten miles northwest of the battle site.’
‘We should pursue and attack them, they will be tired and weak,’ said Alexander.
‘I agree. If we pursue and harry them we can inflict many casualties on them before they reach the Araxes,’ I said.
‘Why do you talk only of pestering the enemy instead of annihilating them?’ asked Alexander. ‘Are you so frightened of the Romans you do not believe we can defeat them?’
Angry murmurs greeted his words.
‘Watch your mouth, boy,’ warned Aschek, ‘Pacorus has fought the Romans more times than you’ve bedded women.’
‘How many men did you lose yesterday, prince?’ asked Silaces.
‘I would have thought the experience would have made you more respectful of the Romans,’ added Nergal, ‘though perhaps you need to lose a few thousand more before you realise fighting Romans is not the same as beating a defenceless slave girl.’
‘Enough,’ ordered Phraates. ‘We are all allies here, or should be, for the only ones who will benefit from our division will be the Romans. They cannot be allowed to retreat unhindered back to Armenia. Therefore, I order our forces to assault them again today.’
Alexander and Darius looked smug and the others resigned. Ashleen whispered something into Phraates’ ear and the high king looked at Talib.
‘King Pacorus, do not bring any more Agraci into our presence. You are well aware of my directives concerning Parthian purity.’
Alexander sniggered while Darius sneered at my chief scout.
Phraates rose. ‘We will march at once to intercept and destroy the Romans.’
We bowed our heads and he retired to his private compartment, taking his captured standard, Chief of Court Ashleen and High Priest Timo with him. I looked at Aschek who shook his head, a gesture repeated by the others. Alexander and Darius passed us without a word, though Spartacus could not resist one last taunt.
‘Would you like a wager, prince?’
Alexander stopped. ‘Wager?’
‘I’ll wager a talent of gold you manage to lose even more men today than you did yesterday.’
Silaces roared with laughter, Nergal smiled but Alexander was incandescent.
‘A new age is coming, so-called King of Gordyene, an era where slaves and the sons of slaves have no place among the kings of the empire.’
‘You will not live to see it,’ said Spartacus slowly, ‘of that you can be certain.’
The atmosphere was deteriorating rapidly so Silaces bundled Spartacus away, followed by Gafarn and Nergal. Alexander gave me a hateful look and left with his brother.
‘The only reason I’m still here,’ Aschek said to me, ‘is because the Romans are still in my kingdom, otherwise I would have left this den of intrigue and vice.’
‘The campaign will soon be over, lord,’ I said, ‘and then we can all return to our palaces.’
I had expected the Romans to be far away by the time the various camps had been dismantled and the soldiers of the kings were on the march, but in fact Mark Antony had only travelled around fifteen miles since the day before. Faced with the blinding snow and driving sleet blasting him and us alike after a clear morning, he had little choice but to make camp and see out the storm. We, having packed up our tents and stowed them on the backs of camels, had no choice but to march north, men and horses alike with heads bowed as they headed into the whiteout. The snowstorm lasted for two hours, after which the clouds overhead continued their journey south and left a white landscape bathed in late autumn sun. The better conditions allowed us to pick up the pace and by late afternoon Talib and his scouts had located the Romans, in a valley flanked by tree-covered mountain slopes around fifty miles from the Araxes itself.
It wasn’t hard to follow the path the Romans had taken, even in the storm. Their route was littered with dead mules and discarded carts, serving as signposts for those following. We even saw dead auxiliaries along the way. Raised in Syria or Judea, they were inadequately clothed for a winter campaign in northern Media and were now dying of exposure.
Gallia stared at one unlucky slinger, curled up into a ball in a pathetic defence against the biting cold.
‘I wonder how many of those from Persis will suffer the same fate?’
The army of Persis, what was left of it, lost five hundred foot soldiers during the march in the snowstorm. It was indicative of Alexander’s complete disregard for the welfare of his men he insisted those on foot kept pace with his horsemen so as to not lose face at being the last king to arrive. That honour belonged to Phraates who, being concerned over the welfare of his female slaves, eunuchs, priests and boy servants who attended him, insisted they were adequately clothed for the journey. As a result there was only three hours of daylight left when he and his Babylonian guards, all wrapped in thick cloaks, padded tunics beneath their armour and sturdy leather boots, appeared on the battlefield.
The terrain was stark indeed: a long valley carpeted with snow and flanked by snow-covered slopes leading up to white-capped trees on the upper slopes. Much snow had fallen during the morning and early afternoon, which made movement difficult for horses and men on foot. In the distance stood the Roman army, a black mass to the north, around five hundred paces away. The banners of the kings fluttered in the icy breeze and our eyes watered as we stared at the enemy ahead.
‘Horsemen cannot operate efficiently in these conditions,’ complained Nergal. ‘Our horse archers are most effective when launching fast attacks and rapid withdrawals.’
‘Hold it straight,’ commanded Phraates to the soldier holding his captured Roman banner.
Nergal looked at me when he realised Phraates was taking no notice of what he was saying.
‘We should make camp for the night before we freeze to death,’ said Aschek, clearly in some distress and shivering from the cold.
‘The best we can do is shadow the Romans back to the Araxes,’ suggested Gafarn, ‘combined with the inclement weather our harassing attacks may inflict substantial losses on an enemy already weakened.’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Silaces.
Alexander and Darius on the other side of Phraates made no comment but the high king was whistling and clearly uninterested in the opinions of his kings. He looked into the sky, at the pale sun sinking in the west.
‘An archer is still an archer regardless of whether he is on a horse or not,’ he said. ‘Satrap Alexander, how far away are your foot soldiers?’
‘They are already here, highness, having made a forced march through the snow.’
Phraates nodded. ‘Then they will have the honour of attacking the Romans, with dismounted horse archers providing missile support.’
‘Yes, highness,’ beamed Alexander.
‘I will give you my horse archers,’ said Phraates, ‘and I am sure your brother will be just as generous.’
‘He will,’ stated Darius.
Phraates looked at the rest of us.
‘What of my other kings? Will you share in the coming glory?’
‘You’ve got no chance,’ replied Aschek gruffly.
‘I must protest, majesty,’ I said. ‘It is folly in the extreme to attack the enemy while the snow lies thick on the ground, to say nothing of expecting men who have already made a forced-march through the snow to get here to launch an attack.’
‘I think I know my men better than you, King Pacorus,’ sneered Alexander.
‘The whole world knows about the soldiers of Persis,’ said Spartacus.
‘Silence,’ ordered Phraates. ‘If you will not commit any soldiers to the attack, King Spartacus, then you forfeit the right to say anything at all. Have no concerns about losses, Alexander, I will ensure Babylon and Susiana will make good any dead you suffer during this campaign.’
Phraates looked at the other kings.
‘You may leave us.’
‘Majesty, I beg you not to attack the Romans today,’ I pleaded, ‘as your lord high general…’
‘As my lord high general,’ he interrupted me, ‘you are supposed to destroy the enemies of the empire.’
He pointed angrily at the Romans. ‘And yet there they are, resting at will, unconcerned about us being close. I thought I was appointing the lion of Carrhae but I see now the years of peace have made you soft and reluctant to wage war to the death.’
I thought about replying, pointing out he would likely have no crown if I had not raised an army to come to the relief of Phraaspa, and he would not be king of kings had it not been for me lobbying hard on his behalf. But to what end? It was naïve to expect any gratitude from a young man who had known nothing but indulgence and being treated like a god. I therefore gently tugged on Tegha’s reins to turn him and walked him away from Phraates. In silence the others followed, their horses making crunching sounds as they plodded through the snow.
The attack was a disaster.
