Parthian Vengeance (52 page)

There must have been at least three thousand foot and two hundred horsemen coming at us, at first walking and then breaking into a gentle trot as they got within five hundred paces of our position. The men on horseback were trotting a few paces beyond their front ranks, shouting behind them to encourage those following. The foot soldiers were widely spaced and I could see that in addition to their spears many had axes tucked into their belts. But they wore no armour and most had nothing on their heads.

‘Someone is going to get a nasty surprise in a minute,’ said Orodes, nocking an arrow in his bowstring and aiming it at the oncoming mass.

When they had advanced to within four hundred paces we began shooting. In the saddle a horse archer can lose around five to six arrows a minute, but now, standing and with spare quivers, we shot one every six seconds to create an arrow storm into which the Armenians ran. We did not bother to aim but rather shot and then strung another arrow, one after another, filling the air with deadly raindrops as the arrows arched into the air and then pelted the enemy.

Within a minute eight thousand arrows had been loosed at those ragged ranks, the bronze arrowheads hissing in anger as they struck wicker shields, flesh and bone. At first the Armenians did what all soldiers do when they encountered the unexpected in battle – they halted. It was an added bonus for us that these were not soldiers but hill men, warriors used to fighting as individuals around their chiefs rather than as part of a disciplined unit. So they halted as arrows dropped from the sky to thin their ranks, and when they did so more arrows fell on them to inflict further casualties. A few arrows struck eye sockets as the stupid ones looked into the sky; these men died instantly. Others struck necks and even hearts to kill their victims but most lodged themselves in arms, feet, legs and thighs to wound and disable.

I had emptied two quivers when I heard the shrill sound of whistles being blown and took a few steps back to see legionaries pouring from the wagons.

‘Time to go, Orodes,’ I shouted, picking up another two quivers.

The other archers shooting from behind their camels left their beasts and similarly sprinted towards where the legionaries were forming up by the side of the column of wagons and camels. The plan was for them to deploy in five centuries, each one made up of four ranks of twenty men. They had no javelins as the archers that were now running as fast as they could to take up position behind the centuries would provide missile support. I arrived sweating and panting at the left flank of our makeshift battle line, while in front of us the chiefs were screaming and cursing at their men to move forward to attack us.

The Armenians had spread out to envelop the whole of the caravan to ensure nothing escaped their greedy clutches, but now they had to compress themselves into a tight mass to attack our force that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. As they did so I saw that the grass to left and right was littered with dead and wounded men, some of the latter crawling and limping back towards the tree line.

I heard a deep voice ahead bellowing orders.

‘Keep tight, keep tight. Wait for the order to attack.’

I recognised Thumelicus’ voice.

‘I will be back,’ I said to Orodes and then pushed my way through the century that stood on the far left of the line to see the Armenian throng around three hundred paces away. I ran over to where Thumelicus was standing a few paces beyond his front rank,
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in hand. He was so big and bulky that his helmet always looked too small for his head and his shield, which normally covered three-quarters of the body, appeared inadequate to protect his great frame.

He acknowledged me and then went back to staring at one of the Armenian chiefs directly ahead, a huge man draped in a black bearskin cloak and armed with a great sword who was jabbing it at Thumelicus and shouting something, no doubt promising to send him to the afterlife.

‘He’s making a lot of noise,’ he said calmly.

‘Too much,’ I agreed, then pulled an arrow from my quiver and nocked it in my bowstring.

The chief was pulling on his horse’s reins to turn the beast so he could scream at his men behind, then he dug his knees into its sides to move him along his line of warriors. Then he faced front again to point his sword at Thumelicus to hurl more abuse.

‘Do you think he is asking me to marry one of his daughters?’ asked Thumelicus.

‘I doubt it,’ I replied, then released my bowstring.

It took the arrow around four seconds to strike the chief, hitting him in his right shoulder and causing him to wilt in the saddle and drop his sword.

Thumelicus beamed with delight. ‘Nice shot.’

Behind us the legionaries cheered and whistled with delight.

‘That will stir them up,’ I said. ‘Stay alive, Thumelicus.’

‘You too, Pacorus.’

I left him to return to Orodes as a great roar came from the Armenian ranks. And then they charged. It was not a disciplined advance but a wild rush of enraged, feral men with axes and spears seeking only to get to grips with those they faced as quickly as possible to exact revenge for their friends who had been felled by arrows, and now their chief who had been wounded.

At a range of two hundred paces from Thumelicus’ front ranks the arrows began striking them again, shot by the men standing behind the centuries. We loosed four volleys before the two lines clashed, at the last moment the front ranks of legionaries charging at the oncoming Armenians rather than waiting to be hit by the wall of axe-wielding savages hurtling towards them.

A brutal mêlée began as the Armenians hacked with their weapons at the tightly packed ranks in front of them, as more and more of their comrades behind them pressed forward and forced those in front against the Duran shields. And from below and above the latter came
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thrusts, like hundreds of hornet stings, stabbing into groins, thighs, guts and through shields. I heard terrible screams as Armenian bellies were sliced open, eyes were put out and genitals were reduced to bloody messes.

I smiled when, above the horrible cries, I heard the chant ‘Dura, Dura’ as Thumelicus and his men turned the front ranks of the enemy into a heap of dead flesh. The enemy dead, held upright by the Duran shields to the front and the press of Armenians from behind, now formed a barrier between the two sides. The Armenians resorted to throwing their axes at the heads of the legionaries, but the ranks behind the first had hoisted their shields above their heads to form a roof of leather and wood to defeat missiles.

Some groups of Armenians, seeking to take advantage of their greater numbers, attempted to sweep around our flanks but were spotted and felled by arrows. After dozens of them were shot in a matter of minutes the rest fell back. And then, above the screams, curses, shouts and moans, I heard a new sound and then felt the ground rumble. To my right I heard horns being blown and knew that Vata had come.

The Hatran horsemen had actually been trailing the caravan on a parallel route some five miles to the south. Any Armenian scouts in the forest would have confirmed that the caravan was not being followed but would not have seen Vata’s men at such a distance – and the latter were under orders to light no fires at night – thus the surprise was complete.

The horsemen swept round our flanks, one group led by Vata the other by Atrax. They did not shoot their bows but instead first used their spears to kill the Armenians. Each wing wheeled inwards to trap the Armenians and went to work with their swords, hacking left and right at men trying to escape back to the tree line. But they were too far away from the safety of the forest and were being hunted by men on horseback, and so soon the plain was covered with more dead as Vata’s men, working in their companies, charged, reformed and then charged again to cut down the enemy.

The legionaries leaned on their shields and the archers unstrung their bows as the horsemen finished their slaughter at the tree line.

Not all the enemy warriors were killed, a few escaped into the forest to tell the tale of their defeat to their tribes, while those who had been wounded by arrows at the beginning of the engagement had managed to hobble into the trees. Whether those men would live depended on how quickly they reached their villages and the skill of their healers.

A quick roll call revealed that our own casualties were ten dead and fifteen wounded. Most of the camels had taken themselves off to avoid the battle and so Vata sent out patrols to get them back. It had been a very satisfactory ambush.

We burned our own dead, left the Armenian corpses to the vultures and retraced our steps back to Nisibus. That night we celebrated our victory and toasted the forthcoming marriage of Orodes and Axsen.

‘But she has not accepted,’ he protested as we stood round a raging fire, ‘she does not even know that I am going to ask for her hand in marriage.’

I slapped him on the shoulder. ‘She will know soon enough and will accept, I promise you.’

Word had spread of his intentions and soon a great crowd had gathered behind us and began chanting ‘Orodes, Orodes’ as the Prince of Susiana grinned sheepishly and a drunken Thumelicus nearly crushed the life out of him when he locked him in a bear hug. Atrax, having spent the whole afternoon hunting down and slaughtering Armenian stragglers to ‘atone’ for his having deserted us earlier in the day, was the happiest I had seen him, and even Vata resembled my old carefree friend once more. It had been a good day for them and for Hatra, and I felt satisfied that I had given the Armenians a bloody nose. Perhaps Tigranes would now think twice before antagonising Hatra.

The next morning we made our way back to Nisibus in high spirits. But our mood soon darkened when we received news that the Armenians were the least of our problems.

Chapter 12

The empire was fortunate in having an excellent courier system whereby every kingdom maintained a system of post stations along every major road at intervals of thirty miles or so. Comprising nothing more than a one-storey building with stables and barn attached, when a courier arrived he left his mount behind and rode a fresh horse to the next station. In this way letters could travel up to ninety miles a day in extreme circumstances, though it was usual for a courier to travel sixty miles a day. In this way a letter could travel the breadth of the empire – a thousand miles – in around seventeen days. In Dura it was slightly different as the forts that I had built up and down the kingdom also acted as post stations, but the result was the same. It was a curious thing that even in times of civil strife the communications system was respected by all sides and not interfered with, no doubt because couriers were an excellent way of transmitting threats and abuse.

I thanked Shamash that we had such a system, for when we returned to Nisibus I found that there had been a flurry of letters sent to the city, all of them conveying ill tidings. I also arrived to find my father had returned to the city with Vistaspa, neither of them being in particularly good moods. It was late afternoon when we rode through the city’s two surrounding brick walls, between which was a deep moat spanned by several bridges. We left our horses at the palace stables. The wagons and camels carried on south back to camp. I had written a short note to Domitus informing him of our victory over the Armenians and recommending Thumelicus for promotion.

Vata had pointed to my father’s banner flying over the palace when we entered the palace grounds, signalling that the king was in residence.

‘Bad sign that your father is back so quickly. Something must be awry.’

I asked him, Atrax and Orodes not to say anything concerning Surena’s expedition into Gordyene.

‘Perhaps he knows already,’ mused Orodes as we walked into the palace’s main hall.

My father watched us enter and walk to the dais as the doors were closed behind us. He was sitting in a great wooden chair with the black-eyed Vistaspa standing beside him. My father had his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin on his palm. He resembled a brooding wolf.

We stood before him and bowed our heads. He began tapping his fingers on the chair’s other arm.

‘Who rules in Hatra?’ he said at length.

I looked at Vata and then Orodes in confusion.

‘You do, father, of course,’ I replied.

He leaned back in the chair, bringing his hands together in front of his chest.

‘Are you certain of that?’

I spread out my hands. ‘I do not understand, father.’

He stood up slowly. ‘Do you not? Then tell me, Pacorus, what would you say of a king who allows another king into his realm to fight his own private war? How is your war with the Armenians going, by the way?’

Orodes and Vata shifted uneasily while Atrax looked shamefaced.

‘I was merely trying to reinforce the safety of your kingdom, father, by sending a clear message to the Armenians,’ I said.

My father looked at Vata. ‘Did you not have enough soldiers at your disposal to protect the caravan, Vata?’

‘Yes, majesty,’ he replied, ‘but Pacorus, that is King Pacorus, suggested that we might lay a trap for the Armenians.’

‘I see,’ said my father, ‘and as the governor of the north you thought that you would obey the King of Dura instead of me?’

Vata was squirming now. ‘Of course not, majesty, but we had an opportunity to inflict losses on the Armenians that would make the road to Edessa safer.’

‘Whether the road to Edessa is now safer than before remains to be seen, but your decision to support my son in his folly would normally have cost you your command.’

Vata blinked and the colour drained from his cheeks.

‘Father,’ I protested, but he held up his hand to still me.

‘I said normally because events in the east are more pressing and I cannot yet afford to dispense with his services, or yours.’

‘Events in the east?’ I enquired.

An ironic smile crept across his face. ‘Five days ago word reached me at Hatra that a great army has passed through the Caspian Gates and is advancing west.’