Parthian Vengeance (49 page)

Atrax’s angular face broke into a grin and I smiled back. Behind the king and his son stood Media’s senior commanders, all dressed in blue tunics, grey leggings, armour and helmets. At the other end of the table sat the King of Atropaiene, Aschek. He had thick, wavy black hair and a hooked nose. Either side of him were his two sons who had inherited their father’s nose and behind them were grouped Atropaiene’s generals.

‘These are dangerous times,’ began my father, ‘when all of our kingdoms face external threats. For too long now our borders have been assaulted by raiders from Armenia.’

‘It is as you say, Varaz,’ said Farhad. ‘Ever since Balas was killed and Gordyene lost to the Romans we have had nothing but trouble.’

‘Only last week,’ added Aschek, ‘a large party of the enemy attacked my lands from Gordyene and did a great deal of damage. It is intolerable.’

My father nodded while Vistaspa continued to look down at the table. ‘Intolerable, I agree, which is why I have demanded this meeting with Tigranes.’

‘It was better for us,’ said Farhad, ‘when Tigranes was fighting the Romans. Now he is their ally he turns his spears against us.’

‘He is their client,’ I corrected him.

Farhad held out his hands. ‘Client, ally, what does it matter?’

‘It matters a great deal, lord,’ I answered. ‘Armenia is a client state of Rome and Tigranes is what is called
amicus populi Romani
, “a friend of the Roman people”, which means he is under Rome’s thumb. He does nothing without the agreement of his Roman overlords.’

‘And you think that Rome believes there is advantage to be gained in provoking us?’ asked Aschek.

‘Yes lord,’ I answered.

‘And what is that, Pacorus?’ queried my father.

‘What Rome has always desired, father. Control of the Silk Road.’ I looked at Vata. ‘These raiders that attack Hatra’s villages and the trade caravans, do they include Romans?’

He shook his head. ‘There are no Romans in these parts any more, Pacorus.’

I was surprised. ‘Are you sure? I remember when I was last in Gordyene,’ I nodded at Atrax, ‘there were plenty of Romans there at that time.’

‘There might be some in Armenia itself,’ replied Vata, ‘but there are none in Gordyene and no Romans raid our frontier.’

‘They get others to do their dirty work,’ complained Atrax.

‘Gordyene is a refuge for thieves, murderers and bandits,’ said Aschek, ‘and a base from which our three kingdoms can be attacked.’

‘Which is why I have demanded this meeting with Tigranes,’ answered my father. ‘It is within his power to stop these raids against us and restore peace between Armenia and Parthia. I have asked you all here so that he may see that our desire for peace is made from a position of strength.’

‘What if he rejects our overtures, Varaz,’ asked Farhad, ‘what then?’

My father smiled at him. ‘I have every reason to believe that he will not.’

‘And what does the king of kings say on this matter, father?’ I asked. ‘For is it not his empire that is under threat from the Armenians and not just your kingdom, Media and Atropaiene?’

My father gave me a withering look. ‘Mithridates wrote to me stating that he had every faith that Hatra could resolve the present difficulties with Armenia both amicably and peacefully.’

I laughed. ‘The man is an ass. It is he who should be meeting with the Armenians tomorrow to demand they cease their hostilities.’

Farhad and Aschek looked at each other and then at my father, who sighed. ‘I do not wish to discuss Mithridates, except to say that he would not travel to these parts knowing that the army of Dura would be camped at Nisibus and knowing that the safety of his royal person could not be guaranteed.’

‘He is right about that,’ I said, prompting Atrax to laugh.

My father pointed at me. ‘I do not want a war with Armenia, Pacorus. You will keep your army in check.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Farhad. ‘No war, most definitely not.’

‘Do not worry,’ I told them, ‘the army of Dura is also under tight control. It only does what I desire it to do.’

‘That is what I am afraid of,’ said my father.

The next day dawned overcast and drizzly as the legions marched north out of camp, escorted by the cataphracts in their scale armour and the horse archers. Because of the cold the legionaries, cataphracts and horse archers had their white cloaks around their shoulders and the legionaries had also been issued with leggings. I had no idea how long or short the meeting with Tigranes would be and I did not want the men to be standing for hours on end in a cold plain getting lashed by rain. The army marched along the east bank of the Mygdonius and then swung east to avoid Nisibus and the vast array of tents and animal parks that had sprung up around it since the arrival of the other kings.

A mile northeast of the city I was met by Vistaspa and a company of my father’s bodyguard, while around half a mile behind him a long line of Hatra’s horsemen were filing out of the city. A slight northerly breeze had picked up to make the morning even cooler. Vistaspa bowed his head.

‘Good morning, majesty. The designated meeting spot is five miles north of the city. An Armenian delegation has already arrived to ensure protocol is observed. Your father would like your foot to be positioned in the centre of the line and your horsemen to their right.’

‘When do our guests arrive?’

‘There is no sign of Tigranes yet, though the delegation has sent word that he will be arriving before midday. In the meantime, your father wishes for all our forces to be arrayed before he appears.’

I nodded. ‘Very well. Convey my greetings to my father.’

I dug my knees into Remus’ flanks and rode to where Domitus was marching at the head of the Durans.

‘The Durans and Exiles will deploy to the right of my father’s horsemen, Domitus.’

He fell out and stood in front of me as his men filed past.

He looked towards the brooding shape of Mount Masius in the distance, its upper slopes wreathed in mist.

‘Shitty day for a battle.’

‘We are not here to fight a battle,’ I told him.

He grinned savagely. ‘If the enemy attacks I assume I have your permission to fight back.’

I frowned. ‘They won’t attack. They will take one look at our numbers and agree to peace.’

‘Course they will.’

He raised his vine cane in salute and re-joined his men, barking orders for them to keep in step and not to talk in the ranks. He seemed happy enough.

It took two hours for the army to assemble, the Durans and Exiles arrayed in their standard battlefield formation of three lines. In the first line stood four cohorts, with three in the second and three in the third. Immediately to the right of the legions stood the cataphracts – five companies in the first line, each one two ranks deep, and five companies in the second. Deployed on their right were Dura’s three thousand horse archers and beyond them Silaces and his eight thousand men.

The left flank of the army consisted of my father’s fifteen hundred cataphracts and five thousand horse archers, Farhad’s seven hundred cataphracts and five thousand horse archers and Aschek’s one thousand cataphracts and three thousand horse archers. Immediately to the rear of the Hatran contingent were a further ten thousand horsemen that the region’s lords had raised. This gave the army an impressive combined strength of just over forty-eight thousand men. In addition to this there were the five thousand men that Vata commanded to defend the region, but though he was here with my father his men were scattered far and wide providing protection for villages and the caravans on the Silk Road, garrisoning Nisibus and patrolling the borders.

When the army was finally in its positions I rode with Orodes to where my father waited on his horse at the head of his bodyguard. The breeze had picked up and his white horse head banner fluttered behind him, and was soon joined by Farhad’s white dragon and Aschek’s
shahbaz
. The red griffin of Dura and the eagle clutching a snake of Susiana completed the array of standards.

‘A most impressive sight, father,’ I said, looking left and right at the assembled troops.

‘Let us hope the Armenians think so,’ he replied sternly.

They appeared less than half an hour later as the clouds in the sky got blacker and blacker, a seething mass of horse and foot spewing from the tree-covered lower slopes of Mount Masius. Slowly and inexorably they filled the plain in front of us, a huge body of foot taking up position directly in front of the legions.

I sat for a full hour as the enemy host deployed into position, presenting a dazzling display of brightly coloured uniforms and hundreds of standards depicting the symbols of Armenia: the six-pointed star, eagle, lion, bull and the rosette, the eternal flower that signifies life everlasting. In front of the Durans and Exiles the Armenians placed their levy spearmen, individuals who had been raised from among the civilian population for the duration of this campaign. Like most civilians pretending to be soldiers they were poorly armed with only a spear and perhaps a dagger and a round wicker shield for protection. As far as I could tell they wore no armour and only linen caps on their heads. These spearmen were deployed in a single huge block that must have numbered at least twenty thousand men.

In front of the spearmen were positioned heavy swordsmen. These were professionals who wore mail shirts, helmets and carried oval shields faced with iron or bronze. Each man was armed with a long sword and two spears and their task was to hack through the ranks of the enemy foot standing opposite to create gaps through which the levy spearmen could sweep through like a raging torrent of floodwater. I estimated their number to be five thousand.

Either side of the heavy swordsmen were professional spearmen – men equipped with large, leather-faced wicker shields nearly the height of a man and armed with long spears. They wore leather armour and had helmets on their heads and their task was to stop the horsemen they faced. There were at least twenty thousand of these men extending left and right to oppose our cavalry. And behind them were their missile support – archers ready to release their arrows over their heads into the ranks of an attacker. Dotted all along the line were small groups of slingers, no doubt recruited from the lands that bordered the Black Sea.

Either side of this huge mass of foot were the Armenian horsemen: mounted archers carrying light axes, daggers and short swords in addition to their bows; spearmen in scale armour cuirasses, helmets and carrying round shields; and heavy cavalry riding partially armoured horses and armed with lances and swords. Impressive though they were, the Armenian horse numbered fewer than twenty thousand men.

Then the royal party appeared surrounded by two thousand fully armoured cataphracts. The horsemen in their glittering armour halted immediately opposite where we were positioned and a lone rider came from their ranks towards us. My father nodded to Vistaspa who likewise rode from our ranks to meet the Armenian representative halfway between the armies. An ominous stillness descended over the plain as around one hundred and twenty thousand men stared at each other.

After a few minutes Vistaspa returned to report to my father.

‘Tigranes and his son will meet with the you and the other kings, majesty.’

‘His son?’ I said.

‘Prince Artavasdes,’ said Vata without enthusiasm. ‘A treacherous snake.’

‘Thank you, Vata,’ my father rebuked him, ‘kindly keep your thoughts to yourself.’

I rode with my father, Farhad and Aschek across the wet turf to meet the Armenian king, the first time that I encountered the man who had earned the title ‘great’. At one time he had ruled this plain and Syria, but that was many years ago and since then Armenia’s power had waned. As we approached and slowed our horses I saw that there were no Romans in Tigranes’ party. My spirits rose in expectation of an agreeable meeting. I was wrong.

Tigranes himself was mounted on a large brown stallion with a red saddle and a great purple saddlecloth. He wore no armour but was dressed in a rich tunic striped in white and purple and a great purple cloak around his shoulders. He sat tall in the saddle, his height accentuated by a high hat adorned with diamonds and pearls. I knew he was nearly eighty years of age now and though his eyes were still sharp his face betrayed his great age, his skin wrinkled and his cheeks sunken.

Next to him, similarly adorned in rich purple robes, rode the man I assumed to be Prince Artavasdes. He had inherited his father’s height though not his stature, appearing slightly diminished next to him. Artavasdes had a narrow face and a long nose that he held in the air to give him a haughty aspect. He had obviously been spending too much time among Romans!

Behind Tigranes rode two hulking cataphracts in short-sleeved scale armour and leg armour. They wore helmets and chainmail veils obscured their faces. They carried great maces in their hands but they were not here to intimidate, merely to even the numbers as four Armenians faced four Parthians. My father raised his hand to Tigranes.

‘Hail Tigranes, great king of Armenia.’

Tigranes raised his hand in return as the drizzle started to turn to light rain.

‘I came to this place, Varaz, because I know that you were a friend of Balas, late ruler of Gordyene, a man who I also held dear.’ His voice was deep and commanding. ‘Out of respect for his memory I decided to leave my warm palace to meet with you on this cold plain.’

‘I am in your debt,’ said my father, ‘and hope that we may settle our differences today to the mutual benefit of all.’

Tigranes smiled at my father. ‘Do Armenia and Hatra have differences? And I see the banners of Media and Atropaiene beside your own and recognise Farhad and Aschek before me. Do I take it that there are differences between Armenia and Media and Atropaiene also?’

‘Media has suffered wrongs at the hands of Armenia’s soldiers,’ replied Farhad.

‘As has Atropaiene,’ added Aschek.

‘My villages are attacked, the trade caravans are threatened,’ said my father with force, ‘and my people are murdered.’

‘And Armenia is responsible for these depravations?’ asked Tigranes.