Sons Of the Citadel, page 25
part #6 of Parthian Chronicles Series
‘Would the king like any food to fill his belly?’ smiled the fat slave.
‘No, and shut the door behind you,’ snapped Aschek.
‘Got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, high one?’ asked the slave, filling the king’s goblet.
‘Get out,’ ordered the king.
The slaves left and the impious fat one closed the door.
‘And no listening,’ shouted Aschek. ‘I don’t know why I tolerate the fat oaf.’
‘Because he’s loyal father and would lay down his life unhesitatingly for you,’ said Ali.
‘He’s still a notorious gossip who spreads rumours among the palace’s slaves.’
‘Perhaps if you had no slaves, things might be different, lord,’ I suggested.
Aschek gave a belly laugh. ‘Same old Pacorus, living in a dream world. If the world was full of good men then we wouldn’t need armies and all of us, including you, famed King of Dura, would be out of a job.’
‘You were going to say something about Phraates, my lord?’ probed Nergal.
Aschek sniffed. ‘Our new high king is in a precarious position, which would have become untenable if you had not arrived when you did. In his short reign he has managed to alienate many people, including Musa and Khosrou who won’t provide any assistance until the matter at Phraaspa has been resolved one way or another. And that goes for the other eastern kings as well.’
‘I don’t blame them,’ said Silaces, ‘I’m only here because Pacorus asked me here, against my better judgements I might add.’
‘If Phraates prevails,’ I said, ‘what then?’
‘Then he might just see his nineteenth birthday,’ answered Aschek.
‘What were you going to tell us?’ I asked Ali.
The son looked at his father who nodded.
‘I have recently returned from Hecatompylos where King Musa was holding an archery contest. King Phenon of Carmania was also there and talked openly of removing Phraates and electing a high king selected from the kings of the east.’
‘Him, no doubt,’ said Spartacus.
Aschek leaned forward. ‘The point is none of the other kings present, Musa included, raised any objections to the idea.’
My heart sank. ‘Musa and Khosrou will support such an insurrection?’
‘To make Phenon high king? No. They know Phenon is a pompous little brat who wants to embroil anyone who will listen in a war against his brother. But they will act in their own interests if the Romans defeat Phraates and seize the whole of Media, not to mention the threat they currently pose to Atropaiene. In such an eventuality they will have no hesitation in removing Phraates and electing a new high king.’
‘Well, then,’ said Gafarn, ‘we must ensure the Romans are defeated and Phraates begins his reign with a great victory.’
‘We will march immediately,’ I said.’
‘What about the great army of Persis?’ asked Gafarn, a mischievous glint in his eye.
‘Perhaps we could persuade Prince Alexander to fight with the Romans,’ offered Silaces, ‘at least then the prince would be stabbing us in the front instead of in the back.’
A fog of despair began to envelop me as I realised the empire was at a crossroads. If Phraates failed against the Romans then his reign would be over, his life too probably. He had the resources of three kingdoms to draw on: Susiana, Babylon and Persis. Combined they were a force to be reckoned with and with the allegiance of Media Phraates had a power block to make his crown secure. But that had been before the disaster at the Araxes. Media had lost its king and half its army and Phraates’ status had been weakened. The next few weeks, or perhaps even days, would decide his fate and perhaps that of the empire. I prayed to the gods Phraaspa still held out for if it fell before we reached it then my hopes for the future of the empire would fall with it.
‘You still wish to save Phraates, Pacorus?’ Aschek asked me.
‘Yes.’
‘Then you must take responsibility for the campaign we are about to launch. To which end I propose you are made lord high general of the empire forthwith, said appointment to be announced throughout the empire immediately.’
‘Hatra supports the proposal,’ said Gafarn.
‘As does Gordyene,’ added Spartacus.
‘And Mesene,’ said Nergal.
‘You are the only one I am prepared to take orders from,’ Silaces told me.
I was outnumbered and outmanoeuvred and so gave in. Afterwards Aschek immediately sought out Phraates and told him of the decision. The high king, urged on by Timo in particular, agreed I should be made lord high general. Ashleen had a document drawn up the same evening, which was signed by the high king. The next day, as columns of horsemen, camels and carts left Urmia, together with the high king’s sizeable entourage and its baggage train, couriers left the city with news King of Kings Phraates had created King Pacorus of Dura, formerly lord high general to his grandfather and father, the commander of all the armies of the empire. To say I was underwhelmed was putting it mildly.
Chapter 8
Gafarn grabbed my arm as I slipped on the wet undergrowth.
‘Careful, at your age a fall can be most debilitating.’
I yanked my arm free. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You are welcome.’
‘Ssshh,’ Sporaces gave us an angry look as we moved forward through the forest of beech.
It was already bitterly cold, a sharp northerly behind us moving through the trees extending left and right. We had left the army with a flying column of horse archers to head north into the highlands, my own scouts and those of Spartacus leading us through the passes. The idea had been Kewab’s and was an excellent one. While Phraates had been thinking of adding more Roman eagles to his collection and I had been worrying about how to defeat ten Roman legions backed up by horsemen and auxiliaries, my Egyptian commander had been studying how Mark Antony would lay siege to Phraaspa now his engines and siege towers had been destroyed. We were stalking through the forest because of his reasoning.
The mountain plain in which the city lay was windswept and bleak but the mountainsides around Phraaspa were covered with beech and oak forests providing enough wood to build many catapults, siege towers and wooden walls to surround the city. We were here to deny the Romans building materials.
It was as well we were threading our way through beech, as the forest floor is decidedly sparse among such trees, though the foggy, wet weather made it slippery. I heard curses around me as men slipped on wet leaves and moss and the angry hisses of Sporaces. It was only a matter of time before the enemy heard our approach, that much was certain, as five thousand dismounted horse archers crept forward, drawn from the armies of Dura, Hatra, Gordyene, Mesene and Elymais. Another thousand guarded the horses high up the mountain, in a steep-sided gorge giving access through the peaks where there was a modicum of cover from the wind.
We heard chopping. Muted because it was downwind of us but unmistakable – like an army of woodpeckers furiously tapping at the trees. We continued on, men instinctively taking more care now we were within earshot of the enemy. There would be sentries to guard the work parties and perhaps patrols scouring the forest.
Gafarn raised an arm and we froze, crouching against trees, making ourselves as small as possible. The King of Hatra tilted his head ahead.
‘You see him?’
I studied the sun-dappled forest to the front and at first saw nothing. But then I saw him move, an archer with an arrow knocked in his bowstring. He must have been at least three hundred paces away and was barely visible through the plethora of grey tree trunks. Gafarn pulled back his bowstring.
‘You’ll never hit him from here.’
A smile creased his lips. The whole empire knew the King of Hatra was an excellent shot, perhaps the best in Parthia, no small boast in a land where boys could shoot a bow before they could walk. My father once told me Gafarn was an instinctive archer, a boy who had been born with the skills to make him a crack bowman. I had scoffed at the idea, especially when we were young when he had been my slave and I was a prince of Hatra. To take a shot through branches, tree trunks with the sun casting shadows in each and every direction was brave indeed, perhaps even arrogant.
There was a sharp crack when Gafarn released the bowstring, silence for a couple of seconds and a pained groan as his arrow hit the archer. He slapped me on the arm.
‘Next time we will have a wager before I take the shot.’
‘Move,’ hissed Sporaces.
The archers swept forward quickly. Shouts were heard ahead as we quickened the pace, some slipping on moss and wet leaves. Gafarn stopped to take another shot and hit another enemy, a high-pitched scream echoing through the forest. Then there were more cracks as men released their bowstrings as they neared the foe. Seconds later the forest was alive with the sound of men shouting orders, groaning and screaming in pain along with the deadly hissing of arrows. We halted when we saw a large group of Romans ahead, legionaries racing to where their shields and javelins were stacked. I shot a man in the back who pitched forward to crash into a row of shields and helmets, knocking them to the ground. Centurions were bellowing orders as arrows came thick and fast from the trees. White-uniformed archers from Syria loosed arrows back as they sought cover behind stacks of felled trees.
A mule hitched to a cart grunted and collapsed when an arrow hit it. A centurion was still blowing his whistle when he collapsed with two arrows lodged in his side.
‘Don’t let them form a shield wall,’ I shouted. Beside me Gafarn was shooting, reloading to shoot again in a methodical manner.
But the Romans were quick to organise themselves after the initial shock, centuries forming into testudo to the left and right and shuffling backwards. Their archers who were crouching beside carts and log piles tried to reach the sanctuary of these moving fortresses but were cut down by arrows.
‘Make your arrows count,’ shouted Sporaces to his men as they took up position at the new treeline, before them the fresh stumps of felled trees.
All along the edge of the forest the other Parthian archers were doing the same, shooting at any targets of opportunity. In truth there were few because the legionaries who had been members of the working parties cutting down wood were conducting a skilful retreat, shuffling back down the hillside while maintaining their testudo formations.
‘Just as I remember them,’ said Gafarn, plucking another arrow from his half-empty quiver and nocking it in his bowstring.
‘You want a wager, Pacorus?’
‘On what?’
Clutching his bow in one hand he pointed at the testudo directly opposite, around fifty paces away and counting.
‘I can break up that Roman tortoise.’
I laughed. ‘On your own?’
‘Naturally. Well?’
‘A hundred horses say you cannot.’
He flashed me a smile, stood, drew up his bow and pulled back the bowstring, letting the sinew string slip through his fingers to release the arrow. The testudo had a frontage of ten men meaning it was century strength. Suddenly the red shield with yellow wings on the far right of the line fell to the ground. Gafarn’s arrow had hit its owner square in the face, going through the gap above the top edge of his shield but below the shields held horizontally by the men in files behind. Before his first arrow hit its target he had strung and shot another that slammed into the mail armour of the legionary who had been standing behind the first casualty. He too collapsed as Gafarn shot another arrow hitting a third legionary.
Sporaces and other archers were suddenly shooting arrows into the gap appearing in the front of the testudo, volleys of arrows striking shields, torsos, legs and faces to create an ever-widening gap on the right side of the Roman formation. The legionaries tried to plug the gap with their shields but it was like swatting away a swarm of hornets with a brush. The deluge of arrows gouged into the rapidly fragmenting formation as its discipline collapsed. Those still uninjured ran down the slope to escape the missiles. Sporaces and the others raised their bows and cheered, then jeered and whistled at the fleeing Romans.
I looked at the quivering pile of Roman bodies to our front.
‘Strictly speaking you had assistance to break their formation.’
Sporaces ordered half a dozen men forward to kill the wounded Romans.
‘I hope you are not going cheap on me,’ Gafarn replied.
‘A hundred horses it is,’ I told him.
Below us was Phraaspa and coiled around it was the Roman army, its massive camp positioned to the west of the city. There were several large earth embankments being constructed outside the walls. Normally the Romans would use them as ramps to facilitate the movement of wheeled machines near to the walls or adjacent to them in the case of siege towers. But here the Romans were lacking the ingredient essential to create frameworks for the embankments and for the machines themselves: wood.
I turned to Sporaces. ‘Send word to bring forward the horses and tents. We occupy this treeline until the Romans withdraw.’
‘Or are defeated,’ said Gafarn.
I looked at the size of the Roman camp and the thousands of what appeared to be black ants moving around on the plain below.
‘I think the likelihood of another Carrhae high unlikely.’
Following a brief meeting with Spartacus, Nergal and Silaces, it was agreed each of us would leave the men we had brought through the pass in the forest, to be reinforced with the same number of horse archers bringing the number up to ten thousand Parthians holding the treeline. Spartacus also pledged to move five hundred of his medium horsemen into the forest to counter any assaults the Romans might launch with their own horsemen.
‘Ten thousand men to guard a forest?’
Phraates from his throne looked at me in bemusement. While the others and I had been riding hard to deny the enemy the wood he needed to build his siege ramps and equipment the high king had taken a more leisurely route to Phraaspa. The royal pavilion was pitched twenty miles east of the city, near enough to let the Romans know the Parthian king of kings and his relief army was within striking distance, far enough away to flee back to Urmia if the worst happened.
I stood to attention before him. ‘We have denied the enemy the one thing he craves, majesty.’
Phraates leaned forward. ‘Which is what?’
‘Wood.’
There were sniggers behind me from the courtiers. Timo looked at his priests and shook his head while Ashleen next to the king was trying hard not to laugh.
‘Wood? Phraaspa needs relieving, King Pacorus.’
He pointed at Aliyeh standing near the dais.
‘Queen Aliyeh’s son and his army are trapped in the city and look to us for aid and you send your soldiers into the forest to deny the enemy some firewood?’
This time the court did erupt into laughter. Even my dour sister was smirking. I controlled my temper and let the mockery subside. I saw the smug, derisory expressions on the faces of those who surrounded me, excepting the Babylonian guards ringing the dais. I waited until there was absolute silence in the pavilion, the mobile palace at the centre of the city of cloth, wood and leather always attending the high king of the empire on his travels. Beautiful male and female courtiers in rich apparel looked at each other in confusion and Timo’s large forehead creased into a frown.
I looked directly at Phraates. ‘Let me provide the court with a short summary of the Roman art of siege warfare. First they encircle the city they intend to take, after which they establish a fortified camp to act as their base. Next they construct large earth ramps up to the walls of the city. These ramps serve two purposes. Firstly, to awe and frighten the city’s garrison and inhabitants who can do nothing to stop these large earthworks creeping towards the walls, the ramps being defended by Roman catapults and arrow throwers. Both can take off a man’s head with ease. Secondly, when these ramps have been completed the Romans use them to move wheeled siege towers against the walls, after which soldiers in those towers will storm the walls and sack the city.’
I glanced at Aliyeh whose mask of contempt had been replaced by one of concern for the safety of her son.
‘But the Roman siege engines were destroyed at Lake Urmia,’ I continued, ‘and so the Romans now have to build replacements. In addition, the aforementioned earth ramps require large quantities of wood to create frames and braces to stop them collapsing. We have now denied the Romans any source of wood, which means they cannot construct their siege towers.’
I looked around at the sea of young, attractive faces. Even the slaves were beautiful.
‘It is also getting colder, which means the Romans will require wood to burn to keep themselves warm. This has also been denied them. Eventually they will be forced to withdraw from the walls of Phraaspa.’
‘Eventually?’ Aliyeh’s voice was shrill and sharp.
Phraates, an impious glint in his eye, beckoned Aliyeh forward. According to protocol she should not have spoken without permission from the high king. But she had great influence over the young Phraates and he probably wanted her to articulate what he was thinking.
‘I welcome your contribution, Queen Aliyeh,’ he told her.
She needed no second prompting, sweeping forward to stand a few paces from me.
‘My son has been trapped in Phraaspa for six weeks,’ she snapped at me, ‘he and the garrison will not be able to last for another six. An assault should be launched against the Romans immediately.’
There were murmurs of agreement from those behind her and a ripple of applause.
‘With nearly seventy thousand soldiers under your command, King Pacorus,’ said Phraates, ‘Queen Aliyeh has a point.’
‘It is more than enough,’ spat Aliyeh.
I was tempted to remind Phraates he had had more than that number at the Araxes when the Romans had brushed him and his army aside with ease. But it would have been churlish and would have played into my sister’s hands. So I too played the courtier.
