Peter Darman - Parthian Vengeance

Gallia thought Surena cocky and arrogant, though grudgingly accepted that he was brave. Viper must have told him how much Godarz’s death had affected the queen.

‘She does, as do I.’

‘I know what it is like to lose parents. The passing of time heals the wounds but the scars remain.’

He was speaking with a maturity that I did not know he possessed. He was talking of his own parents who had been murdered by the soldiers of Chosroes when he was a boy.

His visage hardened and he grasped the hilt of his sword, a spatha like my own. ‘Mithridates deserves to die for what he has done.’

‘Just make sure you don’t die as well.’

As usual I slept for barely three hours that night and before the dawn announced the new day I was up and preparing for battle. I always slept with my dagger under my pillow. A most ridiculous habit considering I was in the middle of an armed camp and at Dura my bed was in a guarded palace surrounded by thick walls. It infuriated Gallia that our marriage bed had to accommodate a weapon, but as I reminded her she always secreted her own dagger under our bed. Like most of my military equipment, my dagger came from Italy and had once belonged to a Roman centurion I had killed on the night that Spartacus had rescued me. My scale armour hung on a frame at the foot of the bed. It was bulky and heavy but the metal scales and thick rawhide underneath became as light as a feather when the frenzy of combat gripped me. All Dura’s cataphracts wore full-face helmets that covered all of their heads and necks, but I always wore my Roman helmet on the battlefield. It sat on the stool beside the scale armour.

I rose and knelt by the side of the bed, closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would give me the courage to fight well this day. I held the lock of Gallia’s hair in my hand. In that moment I felt a sense of supreme serenity. I opened my eyes and stood up. It was time to fight.

Though each cataphract had two squires to attend him I never bothered with servants, being content to enlist the assistance of anyone to hand. I had been raised a prince in the great palace at Hatra but during my time in Italy with Spartacus I had had no slaves or servants to attend to my every whim. I had become used to preparing my horse and equipment myself and the habit had stayed with me. First I put on my silk vest that felt cool next to my skin, then my leggings and boots. Finally I pulled on my long-sleeved white shirt and stepped out of the sleeping compartment and into the main section of the command tent. Domitus was already sitting at the table munching on some biscuits and salted meat. Did he ever sleep on campaign? The early morning was cool so his cloak was wrapped around him. Outside I could hear the blare of trumpets and officers hurling orders at their men.

Sentries brought us hot porridge from the field kitchens and after acknowledging each other we sat in silence as we devoured the thick, appetising stodge. There was nothing to say. Domitus was not one for idle chatter and on the morning of battle I always liked to mull over the coming clash in my mind.

Some ten minutes later Orodes, Byrd and Malik joined us. Byrd and Malik had already ridden out to reconnoitre the enemy’s positions. I indicated for them all to join us at the table as more hot food was brought from the kitchens. The oil lamps hanging from the tent poles still burned to illuminate the tent’s interior but outside the first rays of the sun were now lancing the eastern sky.

Domitus finished his food and pushed his metal plate aside. ‘Well, what is your plan for today?’

I smiled at him. ‘To beat the enemy, Domitus, as always!’

‘It’s too early to be a smart arse, just answer the question.’

I turned to Malik. ‘You see, lord prince, how my subordinates disrespect me.’

‘Alas, Pacorus,’ replied Malik, winking at Domitus and shoving porridge into his mouth with his fingers, ‘there is no respect left in the world, I fear.’

He and Domitus were good friends and would lay down their lives for each other, while Byrd had become like a brother to Malik. Indeed, all of us gathered at the table were brothers, having shared hardships and shed blood over the years.

‘Guard!’ I shouted.

One of the legionaries standing sentry outside the tent appeared and saluted.

‘Go and find Marcus Sutonius and Surena and bring them here.’

He saluted and left. I turned to Domitus.

‘The problem with you, Domitus, is that you have no sense of humour in the early morning.’

‘And the problem with you,’ he shot back, ‘is that you talk too much. You should be more like Byrd, who says very little but what he does say is worth listening to. Isn’t that right, Byrd?’

As ever Byrd cut a dishevelled figure in his scruffy robes, with long straggly hair and unshaven face. But his eyes were alert and his mind quick.

‘Plenty of time to finish breakfast and beat enemy,’ he sniffed. ‘They in no hurry to leave their camp.’

Malik finished licking his fingers. ‘It’s true, we rode right up to the perimeter of their camp and saw very little activity.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘It appears that they anticipate an easy victory.’

‘And they will have one unless Pacorus shares his battle plan with us,’ said Domitus.

The tent flaps opened and Marcus and Surena entered. I invited them both to sit at the table as I rose and waited for them to be seated. The Roman Marcus Sutonius was the commander of my siege engines. He, the hundred men under him and their machines had been captured and enlisted into my service when a Roman army had invaded Dura. At first they served with reluctance but then enthusiastically when they discovered that life at Dura was pleasant enough and infinitely better than serving in the Roman army.

I ordered more food to be brought from the kitchens, which Surena and Marcus accepted greedily. Sitting side by side they presented very different appearances. Surena was tall and powerfully built with broad shoulders and muscular arms, while Marcus, nearly twice his age, was shorter and carried some fat mainly around the stomach on his wiry frame. His short hair was thinning on top.

‘Very well,’ I said, ‘this is the plan. I intend to finish Mithridates and his army once and for all. Therefore our tactics today will be hammer and anvil.’

Orodes raised an eyebrow but said nothing while Domitus was nodding his head in agreement. Marcus was confused, as he did not understand what it meant. Domitus enlightened him.

‘What the king means Marcus, is that my two legions will act as an anvil and the army’s horsemen will be the hammer. In between the two will be the enemy, battered into fragments by a series of hammer blows.’

I continued. ‘The foot will deploy behind a screen of horse archers who will advance and goad the enemy into launching an attack. Once they do the horse archers will fall back through the ranks of the legionaries.’

‘What about your cataphracts, lord?’ asked Surena.

‘Pacorus was coming to them,’ said Orodes.

‘They are the hammer,’ replied Domitus.

‘Hammer?’ Marcus was still confused.

‘The cataphracts will be divided into two bodies,’ I said, ‘one deployed on the right and the other on the left. Each body will be positioned directly behind the two legions, so that when the enemy horsemen chasing our horse archers run into the locked shields of the Durans and Exiles, the heavy horsemen will advance forward to envelop the flanks and rear of the enemy.’

Marcus nodded in admiration. ‘A most ambitious plan, sir. And the enemy will be willing participants in their own slaughter?’

‘He has a point,’ said Domitus.

‘All we have to do is draw them in,’ I replied, ‘and when I dangle the bait in front of their noses they will fall into our laps easy enough.’