Peter Darman - Carrhae

Half an hour later we watched as a delegation rode out of the enemy camp and threaded its way between the corpses and dead animals littering the ground from yesterday’s battle. Most of them were Agraci and I could understand Haytham’s desire to avenge their deaths. There must have been upwards of thirty-five thousand Agraci deployed behind Haytham, stretching left and right for around two miles. Beyond them was a dragon of Duran horse archers on each flank. Vagises had divided the lords into two bodies and had allocated one to each wing, deployed behind his horse archers. In this way nearly sixty thousand men faced the Romans and their Emesian allies. How many the latter numbered I did not know but Gallia had told me that she and the lords had scattered around ten thousand of their horse the previous day. If most of those horsemen had subsequently made it back to camp then I estimated the enemy to number around thirty-five thousand men, unless they too had received reinforcements during the night.

The party of enemy horsemen met a score of Agraci riders in the middle of no-man’s land as I waited with Haytham. The king was in a sullen mood and spoke only to Gallia, reminding her that she was to kill Mark Antony if Rasha had been murdered. Any ebullience or bravado Mark Antony may have had evaporated as we waited for the king’s men to return to our position. He waited on his horse looking ahead, unblinking, small rivulets of sweat running down his noble face. The riders returned to report that King Sampsiceramus himself would meet with Haytham to ensure that the exchange of prisoners went smoothly, but could the meeting be held away from the stench of dead bodies as the king had had a full breakfast and the aroma of decomposing flesh would be offensive to his nose?

I noticed that Haytham’s grip on his horse’s reins tightened as he was informed of this request and for at least a minute afterwards he said nothing. I looked at Malik who wore a stony expression, and when I caught Yasser’s eye he merely shrugged. The rider looked at his king in confusion and then at the group of Agraci and Emesians who waited for an answer.

At last Haytham spoke. ‘He comes into my kingdom uninvited, he kills my warriors and now he complains that their rotting flesh offends him. Perhaps I should slaughter his army so that the stench is so great that it will deter him from entering Agraci territory ever again.’

His lords behind him murmured their approval and several drew their swords. Though it was not my place to do so, I spoke.

‘Lord King, let me parley with Sampsiceramus on your behalf.’

Haytham looked at me. ‘You?’

‘I would consider it an honour.’

Yasser and the other lords looked at each other in confusion, and even Malik looked perplexed.

‘Why should you care if the King of Emesa lives or dies?’ asked Haytham.

‘I do not,’ I replied, ‘but I do care about the life of Rasha who is like a daughter to me.’

‘Why do you, a great warlord, go out of your way to avoid bloodshed?’

I did not dare tell him that it was because I believed that he might lose. ‘Because I value your daughter’s life over my quest for glory.’

Haytham considered for a moment.

‘Very well, for my daughter’s sake and the friendship between Palmyra and Dura I will grant you your wish.’

The rider was sent back to the Emesians and an hour later I was riding with Gallia, Vagises, the Amazons and a hundred other horse archers to meet with the enemy. The venue was two miles to the north, well away from yesterday’s battlefield where ravens and flies were already feasting on dead flesh. Mark Antony rode behind Gallia and me and in front of Vagises, who had his drawn sword resting on his shoulder for the entire journey. We slowed when we saw the enemy party approaching us and then halted as we awaited our guests, the Amazons forming into line behind us and the other horse archers on either side of them. It was now blisteringly hot and windless and I wanted negotiations to be concluded as quickly as possible.

That was a remote hope as the Emesian party inched its way towards us, preceded by at least fifty members of what I assumed were some sort of royal foot guard. Each man was wearing a cuirass of silver scales that shimmered in the sunlight, a bronze helmet adorned with twin silver feathers, his features obscured by a mail face mask. On his left side he carried an oval shield faced in burnished bronze and in his right hand was a javelin. Silver greaves, red tunic and leggings and a long sword completed his appearance.

Behind these sparkling soldiers came a large chariot pulled by four black horses carrying the King of Emesa himself, a huge fat man in a great silver robe that covered his massive bulk. As the chariot edged closer I saw that Sampsiceramus was almost bald aside from two clumps of hair just above his ears. His robe was the size of the eight-man tents used by Dura’s army and there was hardly enough room to accommodate the chariot’s driver.

Beside the chariot walked a muscular black man in his early twenties I estimated, who carried a large silver parasol on the end of a long pole that he held over the chariot so the corpulent king was shaded from the sun. Behind the barefoot black man walked a member of the royal guard holding a great whip in his hand, while on the other side of the chariot walked a tall, wiry man in a white robe with white sandals on his feet. Behind them all tramped an additional two hundred members of the royal guard. The entourage halted around fifty paces from us. Then the man in the white robe moved closer to the chariot where he was spoken to by the king. Moments later he shuffled over to us and stopped in front of me. His long face wore a serious expression and his brown eyes darted from me to Gallia and then Mark Antony. He looked back at me in confusion.

‘I am Harrise, chancellor to the great King Sampsiceramus. We were led to believe that King Haytham himself would be present for the exchange.’

‘He sent me instead,’ I answered.

The chancellor clasped his hands together in front of his chest.

‘And you are?’

‘Pacorus, King of Dura, friend and ally of King Haytham.’

‘And godfather to his daughter, Princess Rasha, whom your king now holds captive,’ added Gallia.

Harrise’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped in surprise.

‘King Pacorus, of course. If your majesty would wait for a few moments while I announce your presence.’

‘Be quick about it, then,’ I said.

He bowed his head then scuttled back to his monarch. I looked at Gallia.

‘Godfather?’

‘A nice touch, I thought,’ she replied.

The reed-thin chancellor returned, sweat running down his wrinkled face.

‘The great King Sampsiceramus would speak to you personally, King Pacorus.’

‘Not until we have seen that Princes Rasha is safe,’ said Gallia forcefully.

Harrise’s brow creased in consternation at the continual interruptions from the helmeted individual sitting on my right.

I smiled at him. ‘This is my queen, Gallia, who is like a mother to the princess. Like her I desire to see that she is alive before I speak to your king.’ I pointed at Mark Antony. ‘As you can see, our prisoner is alive and unharmed.’

So he scurried back to his king once more as the sun rose in the sky and roasted our backs. When he returned his robe was soaked with sweat for the temperature was almost unbearable.

‘The great King Sampsiceramus would be delighted to meet with you, majesty.’ He then bowed his head to Gallia. ‘And you, highness.’

Gallia turned to Vagises. ‘If they try anything, kill him.’

‘Kings do not “try anything”, my sweet,’ I said, ‘it is considered ill manners.’

‘My father was a king,’ she growled, ‘and he sold his own daughter into slavery. I have little respect for royalty.’