Peter Darman - Parthian Vengeance

‘We cannot afford to suffer losses whereas Narses can always send for more reinforcements from Ctesiphon. We have to retreat, distasteful though it may be.’

He voiced no protest and I hoped that he saw the merits of my plan. He cocked his head.

‘Do you hear that?’

‘I can’t hear anything,’ I replied.

‘Exactly, those wretched kettledrums have finally stopped.’

He was right. At least that was one thing to be thankful for. I returned to the command tent where Domitus was chewing on salted beef.

‘It’s very quiet,’ he said.

‘Yes, peace at last.’

Outside the camp was coming alive as men formed up for morning assembly and to relieve the sentries posted around the perimeter. The main entrance to the camp was on the western side, the exit from which Orodes would lead the cavalry, but there were other minor exits at the other three points of the compass. They were all blocked by sharpened stakes driven into the ground and pointing towards the enemy at an angle of forty-five degrees, while immediately behind them was a line of wagons.

A sentry walked in and saluted.

‘The enemy have sent a courier under a flag of truce to the southern gate, majesty.’

‘Courier?’

‘Yes, majesty. King Mithridates requests a meeting with you.’

‘Perhaps he wants to surrender,’ said Domitus.

I laughed. ‘Perhaps he does.’ I rose from the chair and stretched out my arms. I felt tired, stiff and dirty.

‘Send a message back that I will meet with the king in one hour.’

The guard saluted and left. I filled a cup with water and drank it. The liquid was tepid and unappetising.

‘I wonder what he wants?’ mused Domitus, who was now sharpening his gladius with a stone, running it along each of its edges and then admiring his handiwork.

‘To gloat I would imagine. Still, an hour will give Orodes more time to prepare his men.’

I informed Orodes that his stepbrother had requested a meeting and asked whether he wanted to accompany me. He declined, stating that he might be tempted to break the rules of parley and kill Mithridates, and such a breach of the code of honour would be intolerable for him to endure. Same old Orodes. So I took Surena along, who borrowed Orodes’ shimmering cuirass of silver scales and a helmet from a horse archer, with cheek guards but no face covering. He had also cadged a pristine long-sleeved white shirt off someone as his own was filthy from yesterday’s battle. Red leggings and brown boots completed his appearance. I had to admit that Surena looked every inch a senior officer as we rode from the camp to meet my nemesis. We both carried our bows in cases dangling from our saddles and like me Surena was also armed with a spatha . Like my own it had been taken off a dead Roman; mine from a fallen foe in Italy, his from a slain cavalryman in Parthia.

I wore my usual attire of Roman helmet with its white goose feather crest, Roman cuirass, white shirt, brown leggings and leather boots. I took an escort of a dozen horse archers. Orodes said I should take more but I saw little point. Mithridates was a murderer and liar it was true, but he would be confident that he had me where he wanted me. He would be interested in torturing me with his words and nothing more, at least for the moment. So we rode from the southern entrance under a mournful grey sky with the army of the king of kings arrayed before us. Mithridates and Narses were obviously keen to taunt me as they already waited on their immaculately groomed black horses, surrounded by at least a hundred cataphracts. Members of Narses’ foot guards stood in two blocks either side of the heavy horsemen and behind the two kings their standards hung limply from their poles, not a sniff of wind to disturb them. Servants held the reins of the kings’ horses, young boys no older than sixteen years dressed in red silk shirts and baggy yellow trousers, gold earrings dangling from their ears.

We walked our horses to the meeting point halfway between our ditch and the enemy camp, or at least the southern part of it. Surena was eager to gallop across the barren ground, no doubt to clap eyes on the king of kings and his lord high general. He rode on my right and fidgeted in his saddle.

‘Calm yourself, Surena, it is unbecoming to act like an excited child during a meeting of kings.’

He had heard much about Mithridates and Narses over the past few years and had even visited the palace at Ctesiphon following my abortive campaign in Gordyene. But he had never actually laid eyes upon either of them. I could tell that he was most curious to see them up close.

‘And keep your tongue in check,’ I reminded him. ‘They may be our enemies but we must retain our dignity and manners even in the face of provocation.’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘And don’t provoke them,’ I added. ‘I know your propensity for acting rashly. Just remember they are kings and you are not. Listen and learn, Surena.’

‘Not much chance of that,’ said Vagharsh from behind us, as ever carrying my griffin banner.

When we were around fifty paces from Mithridates and Narses they both waved away the boys holding their mounts and nudged their horses forward. I signalled to Vagharsh and the horse archers to halt as Surena and I continued to walk our horses forward. We halted around ten paces from Mithridates and Narses and I brought my hands forward in front of my body and rested each one on the two front horns of the saddle. Thus could my enemies see that my hands held no weapons. I scowled at Surena when I saw that his left hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, and nodded down at my own hands, then his for him to do the same. Mithridates and Narses looked on in contempt as he finally worked out what to do and removed his hand from the hilt of his sword.

There were no greetings or smiles as I looked at Mithridates and then Narses, the latter a more imposing and authoritative figure than the high king; indeed, Mithridates could have been mistaken for one of Narses’ junior officers. As usual he was dressed in a black long-sleeved tunic, over which he wore a cuirass of silver scale armour, black leggings, black boots and at his left hip a sword held in a black scabbard decorated with silver leaf. He wore a richly adorned helmet on his head that fully encompassed his narrow, reptilian face. He hadn’t changed in all the years since I had first encountered him at Esfahan where the kings of the empire had elected his father to the high crown. His beard was still neatly trimmed and his eyes were still black and devoid of feeling. I also had no doubt that he was positively gloating over my predicament.

The King of Persis and Sakastan had also changed little since the last time I had the misfortune of meeting him. His pale face showed no signs of ageing and his shoulders were as broad as ever. Like Mithridates, Narses had a well-groomed beard and his brown eyes were as calculating and condescending as ever. His powerful frame contrasted sharply to the slim build of the high king, as did his big round face with its broad forehead compared to the narrow face and long, pointed jaw line of Mithridates.

Mithridates curled his lip at Surena. ‘Who’s this, another one of your slave soldiers?’

I did not rise to the bait. ‘This is Surena, a trusted and loyal subordinate.’

Mithridates smiled maliciously. ‘Where is my brother, has he seen sense and deserted you?’

‘Your stepbrother is in camp. He ate something last night that disagreed with him and feared that seeing you might make him feel worse.’

Surena laughed and Mithridates glowered at him. His eyes narrowed as he regarded Surena, no doubt making sure he remembered him.

‘What do you want, Mithridates?’ I asked, already growing tired of his company.