Sons Of the Citadel, page 43
part #6 of Parthian Chronicles Series
‘On, on.’
Frantic calls behind me prompted me to regain my footing and keep climbing. I approached the top of the ladder, saw a leering man above holding a spear directed at me, the shaft being drawn back just prior to throwing and I knew I was dead. Like a rabbit hypnotised by a cobra I just stared at the point, time slowing and all sounds fading away, to be replaced by the sound of my heart thumping. Then there was an arrow in his eye socket, a brief look of anguish on his face and the spear falling harmlessly as he collapsed forward. Shaking myself out of my paralysis I grabbed the back of his tunic, hauled him over the battlements and scrambled over the wall. There was a thud on my shield. Our archers were still shooting! I crouched down and shifted right to allow the others to get onto the wall.
I drew my gladius to slash at the hamstring of a slinger who had just released a lead pellet. He collapsed in pain and fell silently as I plunged the sword into his chest. I took the shield off my back as a legionary shoved me forward.
‘Move, get off the wall.’
I heard the centurion’s whistle. At least he had made it. Men were now flooding over the walls, thirsting for vengeance for their dead comrades. One of Alexander’s palace guards, shield tight to his body, thrust his spear forward. I jumped aside but not before the blade had cut some links in my mail armour. I thrust my shield forward to catch the spear as he lunged again, the point glancing off the metal boss allowing me to spring forward and drive the point of my sword into his right thigh. He grimaced in pain and sprang back, hobbling somewhat as he and others retreated down the stone steps giving access to the battlements. I followed, using my shield to batter away his spear thrusts as he limped down the steps, blood staining his leggings.
Screams and shouts erupted behind me and I was nearly knocked over when the man behind me stumbled forward. I ceased my private duel to focus on keeping my balance and stepped back, grabbing the legionary who had an arrow lodged in his shoulder.
Hiss, hiss, hiss. More arrows flying at us.
‘Keep moving, down the steps.’
The centurion was bellowing orders as a line of enemy archers – bows over a yard in length, their owners wearing conical felt hats, yellow tunics and blue leggings – took pot shots at us to allow those who had been lining the walls to escape.
A man behind me hauled the wounded legionary back and I bounded down the steps, holding the shield in front of me. Two arrows slammed into it and then I was at the foot of the steps, the centurion beside me.
‘Are you hurt, majesty?’
His men clustered around him and formed into a testudo to shuffle forward.
‘No, I’m fine.’
The archers released another volley hitting shields as the century continued to move forward, either side of it other centuries also forming into testudo and walking forward. We had taken the walls.
The centurion and I pushed our way forward to reach the front rank and lead the advance, the enemy falling back into the town as legionaries continued to pour over the walls.
Then the enemy attacked. The archers stepped aside to allow the palace guard and town militia to rush at us. The guards came at us with spears levelled in a disciplined rush, round shields facing front. A point was shoved into my shield; I hacked down with the gladius and splintered the shaft. The guard released the haft, drew his sword and rammed it over the top of my scutum. I ducked so he cut only air before thrusting the gladius forward in the hope to split his face open. But he parried the stab with his own shield and slashed low with his blade, against my left leg, slightly forward. I dropped my shield but not quickly enough to prevent the point of his sword slicing my leggings and cutting flesh. These men were good. But perhaps I was getting old. I jabbed forward with a feint designed to draw his shield higher, succeeding and flicked the blade low to cut his own leg. Perhaps not that old.
Beside me and around me guards and legionaries, both maintaining their formations, hacked and slashed at each other in a grim dance of death. My adversary attempted a horizontal cut with his sword. I rammed my shield forward and forced the blade upwards, jabbing the gladius forward, the point piercing his armpit. He shouted, dropped his sword and grimaced in pain. I seized my chance and stabbed the sword into his chest, the point cutting through the leather cuirass and hitting bone. His eyes glazed over. I stabbed forward again and again, lacerating the leather. He collapsed to the ground and I stepped over him. Slowly, surely, we were winning. Then I saw him. In burnished helmet and glimmering silver-scale cuirass, Alexander was fighting a mere stone’s throw away from me. I saw him, he saw me and we both headed for each other.
But the tide of battle intervened as a surge of Durans forced him and his men back and away from me. I cried out in anguish and lunged and stabbed with frenzy and frustration at the man in front of me. I rammed my shield forward; the guardsman in front of me lost his footing and fell backwards. I jumped on him and stamped the heel of my boot into his face again and again, reducing his nose to a bloody mess. I left him to be stabbed to death by the Duran behind me and stepped forward.
Horns sounded, the enemy disengaged and fell back. We did not pursue. A raging thirst suddenly took hold of me and I was gasping for air.
‘Reform.’
The centurion was among his men, cajoling, encouraging and flattering those still alive. I made a quick head count. Twenty were missing, not all dead, some limping back to camp through the seized and open town gates, but it was still a substantial number.
‘Take a breather,’ he commanded.
I reached for my water bottle and took a few sips. It had been ingrained in us that even with a crushing thirst one should not gorge on the contents of a water bottle. The next drink might be many hours, perhaps days, away. Trumpets and whistles blew as the Durans were reorganised for the next stage: the assault on Estakhr’s citadel. I took the opportunity to take stock of the town, its neat and tidy stone-paved streets flanked by single-story mud-brick houses extending from the southern wall. Their occupants would be cowering inside their homes, hoping Dura’s soldiers had not come to rape and pillage.
‘General Chrestus requests your presence, majesty.’
The centurion was in front of me, his helmet battered and his transverse crest almost gone. I offered him my hand.
‘It has been a pleasure.’
His chiselled face cracked a smile.
‘That’s one word for it.’
I made my way to where Chrestus and a knot of his officers stood, turning to acknowledge the legionaries’ salute as they banged the flats of their swords against their shields. I felt exhausted and old and must have looked it because Chrestus commanded a medical orderly to bandage my leg and give me an examination.
‘I’m fine,’ I insisted, the orderly reaching into his bag to apply some aloe vera balm on my cut leg before binding it.
‘You don’t look fine,’ he said bluntly. ‘The town is ours, the walls and gates are secure and all that remains is to get inside the citadel.’
One of his subordinates shoved a man before me, a tall, bearded individual in fine robes and quality leather shoes on his feet.
‘This man is the head of Estakhr’s guild of traders, majesty,’ said Chrestus, ‘he surrendered himself to us immediately.’
‘Benham, majesty,’ the man announced, bowing theatrically to me.
I took another swig of water as the orderly tied off the bandage, bowed and left us to treat the more seriously wounded.
‘What do you want?’
‘To preserve Estakhr, majesty. Its fine buildings and people.’
‘And businesses,’ said Chrestus sarcastically as fresh cohorts marched past us from the gates to replace those who had stormed the walls.
‘Estakhr will not be destroyed, Benham,’ I reassured him. ‘As soon as we have got what we came for we will leave.’
Benham gave me a quizzical look. ‘What would that be, majesty?’
‘Prince Alexander,’ I replied.
‘Go back to your fellow businessmen and tell them to keep indoors and stay out of our way,’ Chrestus told him, waving him away.
Benham bowed to him and me as he backed away, smiling and glad to be still living as he hastily left our presence.
‘He should be thankful Kalet and his men aren’t in the town,’ remarked Chrestus, ‘they would wipe the smile off his face.’
I knew the Durans and Exiles would not pillage Estakhr, not until they were ordered to do so, so was unconcerned about the presence of thousands of legionaries in the town. I was more concerned when I saw Talib trotting towards us, a feeling of dread gripping my stomach as he slid off his horse and bowed.
‘What brings you into Estakhr?’ I asked.
His face told me before he spoke the words.
‘Phraates and his army are approaching the town, majesty.’
‘Where?’ demanded Chrestus.
‘Ten miles to the east, general. He will be here in less than an hour.’
I looked at Chrestus, both of us reading each other’s thoughts. It would take longer to regroup and batter our way into the citadel. The army was split into three parts: the legions in the town, the horsemen outside and Kalet and his lords in the north. There was only one sensible option.
I sighed. ‘Give the order to withdraw. Detail two cohorts to hold the western gates into the town and the walls either side of them.’
I looked at Talib. ‘Go and find Kalet and his men and tell them to get back here with all speed.’
It was a bitter decision but six thousand horsemen would not be able to stand against perhaps ten times their number once Phraates arrived. Gallia met me at the gates at the head of the Amazons, leading Tegha whom I was grateful to ride. My left leg was aching like fury. She kissed me, embraced me warmly and handed me my Roman helmet complete with new goose feathers. She looked at my damaged mail armour and wounded leg.
‘You look terrible. Talib told me about Phraates. What will we will do?’
It was a good question and one I had no answer to, at least not yet. I toyed with the idea of deploying the army to the east of Estakhr but realised to do so would mean there would be a hostile force in the town between the army and our main camp, not to mention the River Pulwar. And we might need our camp if hostilities broke out. So I decided to deploy the legions near the main camp so they could reinforce those at the gates if need be, or cover their withdrawal if matters deteriorated. I would take the cataphracts, the only force still fresh, to meet with Phraates.
I left Chrestus in command with Sporaces his deputy, and rode to the west in the company of Azad, Gallia, Kewab, the Amazons and a thousand cataphracts. We did not travel far, Estakhr still visible behind us, before we halted and Azad formed his men into line. The eastern end of the Plain of Marvdasht was suddenly heaving with horsemen, among them hundreds of banners fluttering in the wind. As they drew near I saw the eagle of Susiana, the dragon of Media and the horned bull of Babylon.
‘Phraates must have emptied Babylon and Susiana of people,’ said Azad as the high king’s horsemen flooded the plain.
‘Darius rides to save his wretched brother,’ observed Gallia bitterly.
‘As does his mother,’ I said, noting the presence of Aliyeh beside the King of Media.
I glanced behind at Dura’s dragon of cataphracts, which suddenly appeared paltry and fragile compared to the vast host they faced. Phraates’ army had halted around two hundred paces from us, the fluttering standards the only things moving. I laughed.
‘Something amuses you, Pacorus?’ Gallia was certainly not in a jovial mood.
‘I was just thinking Phraates has us. If he attacked now his army would simply roll over us, he could rescue Alexander and end any threat to the Kingdom of Persis.’
I stared at the huge banner of a horned bull in front of a large group of soldiers wearing armour, purple leggings and tunics, in front of them the figure of Phraates. The two sides gawped at each other for what seemed like an eternity, not one man moving.
‘Apparently the high king wishes to talk.’ I nudged Tegha forward. ‘Let’s get it over with.’
Gallia joined me; behind Zenobia holding Dura’s banner also accompanied us. From Phraates’ ranks came the high king himself, Darius, Aliyeh and their banner men. As we neared each other Phraates appeared nervous, Darius confident and Aliyeh hateful. It would not be a pleasant family reunion. Ignoring all protocol, my sister spoke first, looking down her nose at me and ignoring Gallia.
‘You look like one of my slaves, Pacorus.’
Phraates grinned and Darius smirked but I did not rise to the bait.
‘And you have a rapist and murderer for a son, Aliyeh, but let us dispense with niceties and get straight to the point.’
‘King Pacorus,’ said Phraates, ‘you will withdraw your army from Persis immediately or I will be forced to evict you and your men with force.’
‘And as you can see we have enough men to accomplish that easily,’ said Darius.
He peered past me. ‘I see the banner of the Bird God still flies from Estakhr’s citadel. We have arrived just in time to prevent a gross injustice.’
Gallia was livid. ‘Injustice? If there were any justice in this world your brother’s head would be on a spike by now. But he fled into the citadel like a frightened girl rather than face my husband man to man.’
‘Are we to tolerate the outbursts of this former slave, highness?’ Aliyeh asked Phraates.
‘Watch your tongue, Aliyeh,’ I warned her.
Darius nudged his horse forward gripping the hilt of his sword.
‘Pull it,’ I said, ‘please.’
‘Enough,’ commanded Phraates. ‘King Pacorus, you have one hour to depart with your army. If you refuse to leave this place I will have no option but to…’
The words stopped as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. At first I thought someone had put an arrow in his back but then I saw he was staring at something behind us, so I turned in the saddle and felt relief and joy in equal measure cascade through me. For beyond the cataphracts was a sea of banners showing the emblems of Hatra, Mesene, Elymais and Gordyene.
A new army had come to the Plain of Marvdasht.
Phraates wilted in the saddle as my friends and their soldiers advanced towards us, Aliyeh burning with anger but her son slowly moving his hand away from his sword, getting his horse to retreat a few paces.
‘We should retire back to our men, highness,’ said Darius.
‘Wait, we are not here to fight,’ I stated.
‘The actions of your allies indicate otherwise,’ said Phraates.
‘We are here for justice only,’ I insisted.
‘Withdraw your army from Estakhr and you shall have it,’ said Phraates, turning his horse and riding back to his men.
Darius and Aliyeh, mystified, had no other option but to follow. The high king withdrew his substantial forces a short distance and we also retreated, to a most happy reunion. The ache in my leg disappeared as I greeted Nergal, Spartacus, Gafarn and Silaces, Gallia and the Amazons whooping with joy as they mingled with Diana, Rasha and Praxima.
‘I did not expect you to be here, though I am glad you are,’ I told them as their cataphracts, horse archers and mounted spearmen flanked my cataphracts to face the army of the high king.
‘You are not alone, Pacorus,’ said Gafarn.
‘We do not abandon our friends,’ stated Nergal.
‘Phraates is an ungrateful little bastard,’ spat Silaces, ‘and I wanted to be present when the runt Alexander is held to account.’
‘We have Alexander trapped in the town,’ said Gallia.
Silaces rubbed his hands with glee. ‘Excellent.’
Phraates sent an envoy with an offer for all parties to negotiate an end to what could be the start of a civil war in Parthia, something he knew I wished to avoid at all costs. That said, he knew I was bargaining from a position of strength and he had to tread carefully. He insisted before any discussions could take place I had to immediately withdraw my soldiers from Estakhr and allow his bodyguard to enter the town to verify Alexander was still alive. Both sides retreated as I gave safe passage to the party of Babylonians who rode into the town and thence to the citadel where a joyous Alexander desired to ride back to Phraates’ pavilion to pay his compliments. Chrestus informed them the prince was to stay in the citadel until his fate was decided the next day. If he attempted to leave before then he would order his men to kill him.
But Alexander made no attempt to leave, he had no need to. He knew his salvation was at hand. I knew too, though I said nothing to Gallia before I left camp to meet Phraates at his pavilion pitched immediately east of Estakhr’s walls, the tents of his army forming a vast crescent around the town. The tents of the army my friends commanded flooded the plain to the west of my camp and their occupants were stirring before dawn to be in the saddle to greet the new day. The air tingled with excitement and foreboding. For men like Silaces it promised revenge for the death of Valak and for their wounded pride, for Spartacus a chance to wipe the smug expression from Darius’ face. But for me it threatened to undo everything I had dedicated my life to.
I took Kewab with me. Surprisingly Phraates’ Chief of Court had not accompanied him but another courtier, a man barely out of his teens, had arrived at my camp the evening before with conditions for the morrow’s meeting. No women were to be present and the high king would meet me alone. The good news was neither Darius nor Aliyeh would be present. Just me and the man I had lobbied so hard for to be high king of the empire. Silaces and Spartacus warned me not to go alone but I dismissed their fears. My soldiers were inside Estakhr, my friends commanded tens of thousands of horsemen and the last thing Phraates desired was a pitched battle in which he might lose not only his empire but also his life.
At the pavilion slaves in purple took our horses and Babylonian guards escorted us past smirking and sneering courtiers to the high king’s private quarters. I had expected a coterie of stern-faced advisers and generals but two couches had been arranged on the plush carpets covering the boards and beautiful olive-skinned slave girls served Kewab and me with pastries and fine wine as we waited for Phraates. He appeared moments later, dressed in silk robes and red leather shoes. We bowed as he took his couch, two huge bearded brutes in dragon-skin armour, armed with two-handed battle axes standing behind him. Phraates looked at Kewab and gestured for me to sit opposite him.
