Peter Darman - Parthian Dawn

Her ramblings became worse by the day and in truth I took what she said with a pinch of salt. The visit of Gafarn and Diana was over too soon, and on the morning of their departure they again both urged me to make amends with my father. Finally relenting, I promised them that I would, and that Gallia and I would be journeying to Hatra soon after they had departed. This pleased them immensely and they both left Dura happy, as did Vistaspa. As Gafarn, Diana and their escort were leaving the Citadel, the commander of my father’s army halted his horse beside me.

‘Your army is a credit to you, Pacorus, well done. The empire is all the stronger for having a king such as you serving it.’

With that he bowed his head to Gallia and then me and rode away. Strange as it may seem, his few words of praise meant the world to me.

It was just two days after our friends had departed that Malik and Byrd arrived at the Citadel, both unshaven and covered in dust from what had obviously been a hard ride. The look on their faces told me the news they brought was not good.

Byrd gulped down a cup of water that was offered to him. ‘Romani army marching from Syria.’

I grew alarmed. ‘Marching to where?’

‘To Dura, Pacorus,’ replied Malik, holding out his cup to a servant to be refilled.

Two hours later the war council was gathered at the palace, where Byrd told them the news that another Roman army was marching on Dura.

‘At least eight legions, plus cavalry and light troops. Also siege engines,’ reported Byrd.

‘I estimate around fifty thousand men in total, perhaps more,’ added Malik.

‘That’s a lot of men,’ commented Domitus, ‘they obviously mean business this time.’

‘Does Crassus lead them?’ I asked.

Byrd shook his head. ‘No, they are commanded by a man named Pompey.’

The name meant nothing to me, though the fact that he led fifty thousand men indicated that he had great power and influence. In the next few minutes, though, I became more acquainted with Pompey, the new Roman commander in the East. He had certainly been busy of late. Byrd informed us that it had been Pompey who had destroyed the power of the Cilician pirates. In this I was not displeased, for they had betrayed the army of Spartacus when it had been trapped in southern Italy. A vision of the pirate leader we had dealt with suddenly appeared in my mind, a slippery fellow named Shirish Patelli. He had flattered and deceived us with his false smile and deceitful promises, and then suddenly vanished with the gold that Spartacus had given him. I hoped that this Pompey, who had apparently destroyed the pirate scourge in a matter of months, had nailed Patelli to a cross.

Byrd continued to relate how Pompey had gone on to finally defeat King Mithridates of Pontus. Next, Pompey had turned his attention to Antioch, the sad rump of what had once been the mighty Seleucid Empire. Nearly two hundred years ago that empire had ruled from the Mediterranean Sea to the Indian Ocean, but now it had vanished. Its last ruler, Antiochus XIII, had been a Roman puppet who had ruled Syria on their behalf. But now Byrd told us that Pompey had expelled Antiochus from Antioch and then had him murdered.

‘A lesson for you all,’ said Dobbai, holding each of us with her eyes, ‘Once a mighty empire, ruled by the heirs of Alexander, turned into a plaything of the Romans and now vanished from the earth.’

Her eyes narrowed as she fixed her gaze on Domitus, who returned her stare.

‘And yet it seems that the gods have earmarked Dura as a special place, that much is certain,’ she said at length. ‘Why else would they gather Parthian, Roman and Agraci together, were it not for a specific purpose?’

‘And what purpose would that be?’ I asked.

She pursed her lips. ‘How should I know? I am not a god.’

‘You are right, there,’ remarked Domitus casually.

Dobbai turned on him. ‘Have a care, Roman, your gods have no power here. “The Follower” will stop your kin.’

‘Follower?’ asked Gallia.

Dobbai waved a hand at us. ‘I have said enough, go back to listening to the ramblings of the Cappadocian pot seller.’

She shuffled from the room, leaving us none the wiser. I told Byrd to continue, who informed us that Pompey had declared the whole of Syria a Roman province.

‘Can he do such a thing?’ asked Rsan.

‘With eight legions he can,’ answered Domitus, who looked at me. ‘What will you do?’

I suddenly felt the weight of expectation bear down heavily on my shoulders. They were all looking at me, waiting for my speech of deliverance. My next words would probably decide my own fate and that of the kingdom of Dura.

‘We have no choice, we must march north to meet the Romans before they set foot on Duran territory.’

‘We will be outnumbered by more than two to one,’ said Godarz with alarm.

‘If we do not engage them at the border,’ I continued, ‘they will destroy all the villages and lords’ strongholds as they march south. Each lord will fight them and be defeated in turn, and by the time this Pompey sets down before the city we will have lost half our army.’

‘We could harry them as they marched south,’ suggested Nergal, ‘launch hit-and-run raids on their army and attack their supply lines and garrisons they leave behind, like we did last year.’

‘If we had time on our side I would agree,’ I replied, ‘but we do not. And there are a lot more of them than last year. Hit them hard before they set on Duran territory, that is the only option.’

Domitus looked up. ‘And then?’

He knew as well as everyone else that we would not be able to defeat eight legions plus auxiliary troops and horsemen. We might scatter their cavalry easily enough, but when it came to fighting their legions we did not have enough men. There was an unbearable silence as each of us created what would happen in our minds. Domitus would lead his men against the Roman line while Nergal and I defeated their horsemen, but in the centre Domitus would be forced back as the sheer weight of numbers began to tell. On each wing our horsemen would wheel inwards and strike at the enemy’s flanks and try to get behind him, but we would be met by unbroken shield walls and would be forced to call off our attacks. And in the centre the Roman legions would be grinding down the foot soldiers of Dura into dust.

‘There is no alternative,’ I said at last. ‘That is my plan. We march in two days.’

Messages were sent to the lords to muster their men and then link up with the army as it marched north to Dura’s northern border. As the city and the legion’s camp outside the city burst into activity, I went to see Godarz. I found him in his residence issuing orders to a group of city officials concerning the collection of food from outlying areas. I stood outside his study until he had finished.

‘Collect as much as you can. We will slaughter the livestock and salt the meat. Don’t bother with fruit, but bring in enough wheat so we can produce biscuit in the bakeries. It keeps for months and is reasonably nutritious.’

He dismissed them and they filed out of the room, some of them slightly startled by my presence. I went into the room.

‘Expecting a long siege, Godarz?’

He stood up. ‘Pacorus? I didn’t expect you to be here.’

I sat down in a chair opposite his desk. ‘Take a seat, my friend.’

‘I wish I was marching with the army,’ he said, taking his seat across the table.

‘Your place is here, and I have an important mission for you.’

He wore a confused expression. I continued. ‘We both know that Dura will not be able to hold out for long against a large army, especially if there is no hope of relief.’

‘But surely?’ I held up my hand to still him.