Sons Of the Citadel, page 23
part #6 of Parthian Chronicles Series
Gafarn, sitting between Pacorus and Diana, wore a quizzical expression.
‘What I want to know is why the Romans are besieging Phraaspa? There is nothing of value there after all.’
‘The Fire Temple is a conduit to the gods,’ Claudia corrected him, ‘and should be protected from heathens.’
Gafarn smiled politely at her and Valak laughed, touching her hand affectionately. We had commandeered the Roman legate’s large command tent and were using the back of a wagon as a makeshift table, minus the wheels of course. The wooden boards were covered with cloth and rested on barrels.
‘The city has high walls and without their siege engines the Romans will have to starve it into submission,’ said Silaces, ‘which gives us time to organise a relief.’
‘We will need Phraates’ army in addition to our own,’ Nergal was shaking his head, ‘and even combined the enemy will be difficult to destroy.’
I agreed. ‘Mark Antony still has ten legions in addition to any auxiliaries he can muster.’
‘And do not forget his horsemen,’ added Nergal.
‘Perhaps we might starve him out,’ suggested Pacorus, his appearance as immaculate as ever.
We all looked at him.
‘The Romans besiege Phraaspa but if we deny them food by encircling them then they too will have the choice of either starving or withdrawing.’
‘Besiege the besiegers, so to speak,’ said Silaces, ‘I like it.’
But the next day Kewab dismissed the notion. The army was recuperating well and my deputy commander of cataphracts had been organising a second column of captured wagons to take the spoils of war back to Vanadzor. The Roman dead had been stripped of their mail armour, helmets and weapons before being cremated. Anything usable would be divided up between the victors. The majority of gladius blades and javelins would be taken to Dura, as we were the only ones who used them, but Spartacus wanted to make a gift of helmets, daggers, mail armour and shields to Spadines in appreciation of his assistance in the recent battle. The hundreds of mules we had taken would be divided equally between the kings.
The civilian non-combatants who had accompanied the Romans – mostly Syrians and Cappadocians – were commandeered to drive the wagons back to Vanadzor. Spartacus allotted two hundred horse archers to guard the convoy and ensure none of the civilians escaped, but so grateful had they been they would not be enslaved they were displaying an overzealous desire to be cooperative. They had been informed if the wagons reached Vanadzor safely they would be free to make their way back to Roman-controlled territory. I hoped they did not fall prey to Sarmatian bands on the way.
Kewab had been conversing with the commander of the horse archer escort when I had mentioned Prince Pacorus’ idea.
He shook the hand of the officer who vaulted into the saddle and gave the order for the column to move out of camp. Fifty wagons weighed down by ironmongery, tents and food pulled by teams of oxen, men wearing sandals trudging beside them, began their journey west.
‘In theory it is a good idea, majesty, but in reality the task would be too daunting for our resources.’
‘In what way?’
‘Only Dura’s army has the expertise to construct siege lines,’ he stated bluntly, ‘and its engineers are still at Dura. Moreover, the lack of available timber outside Phraaspa would be a major impediment, which is also fortunate for us. The engineers Mark Antony possesses in abundance will not be able to construct siege towers and engines when he learns of what happened here.’
‘King Nergal is pessimistic about our chances of defeating the Romans in battle once we have joined with Phraates’ forces, wherever they are.’
He nodded. ‘He is right to be concerned, majesty, but we do not need to fight the Romans, just harry them. Grind them down in a campaign of attrition.’
‘King of Kings Phraates will be wanting a spectacular victory.’
He stifled a smile. ‘More likely a spectacular death if he pursues the path of glory, majesty.’
I laughed. I liked this commander. Scelias might just be right.
My Egyptian student might indeed rise to command Dura’s army.
The arrival of Talib and his scouts brought news King of Kings Phraates had taken refuge in the city of Urmia east of Phraaspa but not by a great distance. He had shown good sense by loitering near to the Roman army, though when I questioned Talib further he had no knowledge of how many men the high king commanded.
‘We did not ride to Urmia, majesty, but heard from numerous sources – merchants and travellers – the high king has sought sanctuary there.’
I noted his choice of word. ‘Sanctuary? That does not augur well for the state of his army. What do you know of the condition of the garrison of Phraaspa?’
He gave me an apologetic look. ‘Only it is closely besieged by the Romans, who have many parties of horsemen patrolling the area around the city. No one is getting in or out of Phraaspa. You intend to try to relieve the city, majesty?’
‘We are too few to prise the Romans away. We might force a way into Phraaspa but it would only serve to trap us as well as the garrison.’
At a council of war later Talib explained to the other kings what he had told me, prompting Spartacus to suggest a course of action.
‘We should march north to avoid the Romans and link up with Phraates and Aschek at Urmia before attempting to relieve Phraaspa.’
‘Makes sense,’ sniffed Silaces.
Gafarn nodded and smiled at his adopted son.
‘At least the destruction of the Roman siege train gives us more time to attempt a relief effort,’ said Nergal.
‘What will be the consequences of Phraaspa falling?’ asked Praxima.
It was a good question and one I confess I had not thought of. By the blank stares of the others around me neither had they.
‘It will embolden the Romans to seize even more of Parthia,’ said Gallia finally. ‘Every town or city they take encourages their greed. If they take Phraaspa it will be lost to the empire forever.’
‘Well said,’ enthused Silaces. ‘And on a more basic level if the city does fall then so will Phraates, arrogant little shit.’
I grimaced at his words but the reality was Phraates’ reign would be fatally weakened after his defeat at the Araxes River and if he failed to relieve Phraaspa. Silaces had no respect for the young high king, who had also alienated Gordyene and Hatra. I doubted whether Nergal or Praxima would fight to keep him on his throne if a rival raised his head. Phraaspa in itself was probably unimportant but its fate could have a profound effect on the unity of the Parthian Empire. Its relief suddenly became a matter of grave importance.
‘Then we should leave immediately,’ I said, ‘the sooner we reach Urmia the quicker we can eject Mark Antony from the empire.’
We had marched into Media with just over forty-one thousand troops, all horsemen and women, plus thousands of camels and remounts. When we struck camp to march to Urmia our number had decreased by a thirteen hundred. Eight hundred we cremated after the battle and the rest, the wounded, had been sent back to Vanadzor under armed escort.
I was worried Spartacus and Rasha, having dealt with the Roman threat on their border, might join them and was prepared to plead, beg and do whatever it took to convince them to remain with the army. Like Silaces they had little if any respect for Phraates who had insulted them both but in the event they and their horsemen led the advance north. As we had to move speedily the few prisoners we had taken were set free and advised to make their way back to Armenia as fast as they could. Whether they did so was not our concern and in truth there was a risk some would take to banditry, though more likely they would try to reach the Araxes as quickly as possible. We had to get to Urmia rapidly and that meant dispensing with prisoners on foot.
We covered forty miles on the first day, riding east to take us into the hills and mountains of northern Atropaiene. Spartacus’ scouts led the way through a rugged terrain of steep inclines, gorges, ravines, low woods and mountain meadows. As usual the kings rode together, the army’s column extending for miles behind, the cool wind coming from the north buffeting man and beast alike. It was easy to lose oneself in this land, one moment riding through a rocky ravine and the next cresting a ridge to enter a wide-open space with breath-taking views of the lands to the south.
We made stops at the foot of spectacular mountain waterfalls, the ice-cool water cascading from a great height into dark, deep pools where the horses and camels could drink and we could fill our water skins. It was after one such stop Spartacus informed me he and Rasha had taken this route many times.
‘The easiest way to travel from Vanadzor is east and then south of Lake Urmia.’
‘But we would travel through Media,’ said Rasha, ‘and we are not welcome there.’
‘Your sister makes no secret of her loathing of ex-slaves and Agraci,’ Spartacus said to me.
‘Or Gauls,’ added Gallia bitterly, ‘though I remember when I fought outside the walls of Hatra to safeguard her place of birth, a fact she has conveniently forgotten.’
‘One thing is certain,’ said Gafarn, ‘her resentment will not have mellowed now Atrax is dead. If anything her anger and ill-will towards all and sundry will have increased.’
‘Fortunately my sister is in Irbil,’ I reassured them, ‘one less thing to concern us.’
We were riding past a hillside blanketed with wildflowers presenting a dazzling display of yellows, purples and whites. All the banners had been sheathed in their wax skins because the meadow we had traversed earlier had been buffeted by a wind threatening to peel the skin off one’s face. Of people we had seen none, Spartacus informing us shepherds usually kept their sheep on the lower slopes in summer where the grass is lusher. It was most curious; it felt like winter when we rode across wind-blasted meadows and plains but sweated when we entered a sheltered ravine where the sun beat down from a vivid blue sky to turn the landscape yellow-brown.
‘I am pleased you and Rasha are here,’ I told Spartacus.
‘We do not abandon our friends and allies,’ he replied.
‘Still, it is testimony to your honour and upbringing you have put aside the unfortunate events at Phraates’ coronation to stand by him in his hour of need,’ I said.
Claudia, who had been exchanging loving looks with Valak riding beside her, turned in the saddle to look at me.
‘Spartacus and Rasha bring a great treasure that will have Phraates cooing like a dove when he sees it.’
I looked behind at the column of riders stretching into the distance.
‘Certainly the horsemen of Gordyene are a welcome addition to our order of battle.’
She snorted derisively. ‘Soldiers are like wildflowers on a hillside. There is an inexhaustible supply of them. I was not talking about soldiers, father, but something far rarer and more valuable.’
‘Which is what?’ I asked in irritation.
‘You will see,’ she answered evasively.
Spartacus and Rasha exchanged glances but said nothing and I did not press them on the matter. I racked my brains trying to work out my daughter’s riddle but it was beyond me. Occasionally she reminded me of Dobbai with her barbed comments and curt tongue but most of the time she was my attractive, carefree, intelligent daughter of whom I was immensely proud. And, notwithstanding my initial reservations, I was both delighted and relieved she had finally met someone to share her life with.
On the eve of our arrival at Urmia, in a sheltered gorge at least five miles in length, sparkling with dozens of campfires, I asked Gallia her opinion of Valak.
‘He is agreeable enough, a little serious perhaps. But one thing is certain – he adores Claudia and she adores him. It is a good match.’
We were treading a path beside a camel park whose occupants carried Dura’s spare arrows. Guards were positioned every ten paces around the beasts. The camels urinated on their legs, grunted, belched and broke wind to create a pungent aroma unique to Parthian armies.
‘Disgusting beasts,’ sneered Gallia.
‘But useful, highness.’
A figure appeared from behind a camel, patting the beast as he pulled off his cap and bowed. His thin frame was wrapped in a thick cloak. He came closer and bowed again.
‘Have you been long with the camel train?’ I asked.
‘Twenty years, majesty. I was at Carrhae all those years ago. We used a lot of arrows that day.’
‘Indeed we did,’ I agreed.
There was a powerful smell followed by a trickling sound as the camel he had been patting urinated on its legs.
‘Charming,’ remarked Gallia.
‘They piss on their legs to cool themselves down,’ grinned the cameleer. ‘It gets hot in the desert, majesties.’
‘We are not in the desert,’ she said.
He stroked the camel’s neck. ‘They don’t change their habits, do you, Azra old girl?’
‘You name them?’ she asked.
‘Camels can live for between forty and fifty years, majesty. Each one has a name and a personality.’
‘Azra,’ I said.
He grinned at me. ‘Means “virgin” but I’ve never asked the old girl if she is one.’
Gallia raised her eyes to the heavens and we bid the cameleer goodnight to stroll on.
‘Claudia will have to leave Dura,’ I said, returning to our prior topic of conversation. ‘Silaces will not want to lose the commander of his bodyguard.’
‘If she is happy to do so then so be it.’
‘I have to tell you I never thought she would marry. I always imagined she would turn out like Dobbai in her dotage.’
She reached over to grip my hand. ‘Me too.’
When we left the high lands and descended to the forests on the lower slopes and then the wind-swept plains dotting Atropaiene we encountered a patrol of King Aschek’s soldiers: horse archers. On their saddlecloths was stitched the image of a Shahbaz, the ancient mythical bird from Persian fables and the symbol of Atropaiene. It was a huge bird of prey reported to live in the Zagros Mountains, though I had never seen one when I had visited the region. The commander of the patrol was both amazed and surprised by the size of the army suddenly appearing from the north and hurried away to report its arrival to his king. Before he left he reported Phraates was at Urmia with his army, which he had been told numbered at least twenty thousand men.
‘Twenty thousand?’ said Silaces as we watched him gallop away with his men. ‘What happened to the rest of it? I thought it matched Roman numbers at the Araxes.’
Gafarn nodded gravely. ‘Defeat has a habit of thinning out the ranks.’
‘Still, Phraates’ men added to Aschek’s and our own should be sufficient to achieve our aim,’ I said hopefully.
‘You are forgetting Aschek is no warrior,’ Silaces reminded me, ‘and he received a bloody nose from the Romans at the Shahar Chay River.’
‘That was years ago,’ I replied, ‘and besides I’m sure he wants Phraates and his army out of his kingdom as quickly as possible.’
Silaces gave a gruff laugh. ‘Poor old Aschek, all he wants is to be left alone.’
The King of Atropaiene was certainly old, being in his seventies, but his kingdom was far from poor. The inhabitants of the mountains eked out an existence but those living near the mighty Caspian Sea made a good living from growing wheat, fruit and raising livestock. And the kingdom benefited greatly from its copper mines, which it used to sell the metal to many kingdoms. Indeed, Aschek had sent me a great quantity as a wedding present. Ironically many of the Roman soldiers who now besieged Phraaspa were wearing copper helmets from metal originally sourced from Atropaiene. The mountains bordering the kingdom in the north and the Caspian Sea securing its eastern frontier had contributed to Aschek’s many years of peace, which was unfortunate because in the present crisis it meant it was totally unprepared to fight the might of Rome.
Our army made camp five miles north of the city of Urmia. We had no wish to add to the burden already visited upon its inhabitants and king by the thousands accompanying Phraates in his flight to the city.
‘Not only soldiers, majesty,’ said Ali, King Aschek’s only surviving son.
The king’s wife Queen Ona had borne two fine sons but the eldest, Amir, had died some years before when his horse had thrown him on a hunting expedition. The fall resulted in a broken leg that refused to heal, leading to infection and a long, painful death. It was a sad loss for both the king and queen and the kingdom. Ali had inherited his father’s thick, black curly hair and his hooked nose dominating his thin face.
‘The high king’s retinue is also in the city, swelling his numbers considerably,’ continued the prince, ‘as is Queen Aliyeh.’
If Ali heard the collective groan from all of us his expression did not change and he looked straight ahead as we rode to the city.
‘No doubt dripping poison into the high king’s ear,’ spat Silaces whose tongue had become more biting the closer we got to Urmia. ‘What about her two sons?’
‘Prince Darius is trapped in Phraaspa,’ answered Ali, ‘while Phraates awaits Prince Alexander who is marching from Persis with his army.’
‘Does the thirty thousand include the high king’s retinue?’ I asked.
‘Yes, majesty,’ said Ali.
‘So how many soldiers does Phraates actually command?’ probed Gafarn.
‘Twenty-five thousand,’ answered Ali, ‘of which half have few weapons or armour. But my father and the high king believe the gods have answered their prayers with your arrival, majesties, for truly the city and kingdom were close to despair.’
Nothing more was said as we rode through a great tent city surrounding Urmia, along with rows of temporary stabling areas for horses constructed out of canvas and wood. The ground was dry and the temperature was warm as it was still summer. But the cool winds we had experienced in the hills would soon be visiting the lowlands when autumn arrived along with the rain to drench those camping outside the walls. The most pressing thing was to get this army marching again before it literally and mentally rotted.
