Peter Darman - Carrhae

I laughed. ‘And a member of one of Rome’s most prominent families, I’ll hazard.’

He blushed. ‘I have been fortunate to have been born into a noble family, I admit, though everything I have achieved has been by my own hand.’

‘You are to be congratulated. I hope being exchanged for a young girl does not harm your reputation.’

‘There will be other battles to fight,’ he replied flatly.

‘I am curious about one thing,’ I continued. ‘Why did you not wait until Crassus had arrived in Syria before commencing hostilities again the Agraci and Parthia?’

‘You are very well informed,’ he said.

‘When you rule a frontier kingdom it is wise to know what is happening in adjacent lands. So, why not wait for Crassus?’

‘As I said, I am a soldier and take orders,’ he replied evasively.

‘Have it your own way. I am sure all will be revealed when he arrives. If I was a gambling man I would wager that your commander, Proconsul Aulus Gabinius, desired to make his name great before Crassus arrived in Syria.’

He placed his cup on the table. ‘King Pacorus, as you have saved my life it is only proper that I return the courtesy. If you would be prepared to submit to Roman rule then I can use whatever influence I enjoy to have you exonerated from your crimes.’

‘My crimes?’

‘We know that you have been supplying the rebels in Judea with weapons. That in itself is enough to earn you a death sentence. Would it not be better for you and your kingdom to live in peace under the protection of Rome?’

I tilted my cup at him. ‘Under the heel of Rome would be a more accurate description, I think. I must decline your kind offer.’

His mouth creased in disapproval. ‘When Crassus arrives he will sweep aside all opposition. We know that Parthia is weak through years of civil strife and is in no position to repel a Roman army. To oppose us is to invite death and destruction. I am merely suggesting that a logical course of action would be to accept the inevitable and act accordingly.’

‘A very Roman way of thinking,’ I replied.

Frustration was etched on his handsome features. ‘You must know that you cannot defeat us.’

‘If I knew such a thing, Mark Antony, then I would not be sitting here at this table but would be sleeping in my palace as a client king of Rome.’

‘No rival has defeated Rome, King Pacorus, and none will. You yourself have endeavoured to copy Rome, for is not your army modelled on our own?’

‘It is true that I have adopted some Roman practices,’ I agreed, ‘but my army is Parthian, Mark Antony, not Roman.’

‘If you agree to be an ally of Rome,’ he persisted, ‘then your kingdom will be safe from any harm. But I have to tell you that if you are still in arms against Rome when Crassus arrives he will show no mercy.’

‘Is that what you told Mithridates?’

His eyes averted mine. ‘Mithridates?’

‘I know that he has taken refuge in Antioch with his venomous mother. Does your proconsul plan to make him the puppet ruler of Parthia?’

Mark Antony said nothing but turned the cup in his hand.

‘Your silence speaks volumes.’

I did not press him further on the subject of Mithridates. It had been an agreeable evening and I knew the character of the former king of kings better than he did. It was plain that the Romans would use Mithridates if they could and were probably already thinking of installing him as a puppet ruler of the empire, though how they would do so with only two legions remained a mystery. Perhaps they believed that Parthia had been so weakened by civil war that it was like a wooden house riddled with woodworm, and required only one good kick to bring the rotten structure crashing to the ground.

The new dawn came soon enough and with it the familiar sounds of soldiers complaining and their officers barking orders, the grunts of irritable camels and the reassuring clank and clatter of cooking utensils as men prepared breakfast. I had fallen asleep at the table and woke with an aching neck after what had been perhaps two hours of slumber. I went outside to stretch my legs as Mark Antony still dozed in the tent. Around me the neat rows of the horse archers’ tents were already being dismantled prior to being packed onto the camel train. Normally the tents would be stashed on wagons but these had been left at Dura.

Horns sounded assembly and then each company of horse archers paraded for roll call. The lords and their men were probably still sleeping but in Dura’s army soldiers rose before dawn. As I stretched out my arms I noticed that my tent was ringed with guards, twenty in all, all facing inwards. As I rubbed the stubble on my chin I saw Gallia and Vagises walking towards me. The commander of my horse archers saluted.

‘Why all the guards?’ I asked.

‘To make sure the Roman did not escape,’ he replied.

‘You look terrible,’ said Gallia looking remarkably fresh, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

‘Too little sleep, my love, as a consequence of debating with our Roman friend.’

‘He is no friend of mine,’ she sniffed. ‘Where is he?’

‘Still sleeping,’ I answered.

Vagises nodded. ‘Pity he didn’t try to escape, then we could have put a few arrows into him.’

‘And then we would not get Rasha back.’

At that moment a tent flap opened and Mark Antony appeared, dressed in his silver muscled cuirass and wearing his helmet adorned with its large red crest. He tipped his head at me and then strode over to our little group, removed his helmet and bowed his head to Gallia. His eyes were alight with glee as he admired her.

‘It is an honour to meet you, majesty,’ he beamed. ‘I have heard much about the beauty of the famed Queen Gallia of Dura and I have to say that I never knew such elegance and allure existed among the Gauls.’

Gallia regarded him coolly, this Roman noble who strutted like a rutting peacock even among his enemies.

‘Remember, Roman’ she said slowly, ‘your life is still mine until Princess Rasha is freed by the enemy.’

‘Well,’ I said, desirous to dissipate the mood of gathering threat, ‘perhaps you would like something to eat, Antony, before you are exchanged.’

I ordered food to be brought to the tent but could not persuade Gallia and Vagises to join us for breakfast. So after a meal of dates, biscuit and water I rode with my wife, the Amazons, a hundred horse archers and our captive to the camp of Haytham. Despite the early hour the day was already hot and airless and we sweated in our armour and helmets. Once more Dura’s horse archers were posted to the wings as thousands of Agraci warriors mounted their horses and camels and rode forward to face the enemy, whose camp lay five miles to the west.

The Agraci king was waiting on his horse at the head of his lords when we arrived at his tent, Malik beside him.

‘Greetings, lord king,’ I said, bowing my head to him and then smiling at Malik. ‘Shall we go and get your daughter back?’

He nodded at me, then Gallia and ignored Mark Antony as he nudged his horse forward and we followed him out of camp. Malik rode beside me as a great column of Agraci trotted behind us.

‘My father still desires to destroy the enemy, Pacorus, if we get Rasha back or not. More warriors arrived during the night. He believes he can defeat them easily.’

I thought of the disciplined ranks of the Romans and the ease with which they had defeated the Agraci yesterday.

‘I think it would be better to convince the enemy to retreat, Malik, at least until Domitus can bring the rest of the army. You yourself know that horsemen cannot break disciplined foot.’

‘I may know that, Pacorus, but trying to convince my father that talking is preferable to fighting is another matter.’