After a particularly hard training session, during which my horsemen had been learning to work with a cohort of legionaries, we had all retired to the legion’s camp to rest the horses and ourselves. I wanted my cavalry to be able to fight closely with the foot, which meant learning to ride between cohorts, reforming behind and between lines of centuries as well as protecting the legion’s flanks. The legionaries were at first nervous about having dozens of horsemen thundering around them, kicking up clouds of dust and obscuring their view. But confidence grew with practice. Train hard, fight easy.
‘On the open plain your foot soldiers would be swept away by my horseman and camel riders,’ said Malik as he removed the saddle from his sweat-lathered grey horse.
Domitus, his face streaked with lines of dirt and sweat, took off his mailed shirt adorned with silver discs and then unstrapped his metal greaves that protected his shins. He pulled an arrow from my quiver and snapped it in two.
‘A lone man on the plain is helpless, I agree,’ he said to Malik.
Then he grabbed a bundle of arrows from my quiver and handed them to Malik.
‘Now break those.’ He could not.
Domitus took them from him and replaced them in my quiver. ‘You see, strength in numbers. Five thousand men standing shoulder-to-shoulder and in all-round defence cannot be broken by horses or camels. The beasts will not run into a solid wall of shields.’
‘The Parthians can stand off and shoot you to pieces,’ said Malik.
Domitus handed me a ladle of water from a bucket; I emptied it, refilled it and passed it to Malik.
Domitus wiped his face with a cloth. ‘Not if we lock shields in front of us and over our heads. They will run out of arrows before our discipline breaks.’
‘There are some who have broken a Roman legion,’ said Nergal.
Domitus rested a hand on my shoulder and looked straight at Malik. ‘Only a handful, and Pacorus here is one of them. But even he needed a bit of luck.’
‘And a few thousand Thracians and Germans,’ I added.
‘I do not understand.’ Malik was confused.
‘At a place called Mutina in northern Italy,’ I told him, ‘my horse fought all day under a hot sun against a mighty host of the enemy. Though we shot and cut down many, at the end there were still Romans standing in their ranks, undefeated.’
‘I used up all my arrows that day,’ said Nergal, splashing water on his face.
‘We won because the horse and foot worked together, Roman and Parthian tactics working in harmony, so to speak,’ added Domitus.
‘Like you are doing now,’ said Malik.
I nodded. ‘Like we are doing now.’
‘You were the commander of the army at this place called Mutina, lord?’
I shook my head. ‘No Malik, I fought under a great general named Spartacus.’
As the weeks passed, the number of the caravans travelling through Dura increased markedly. In addition the city’s market thrived, so much so that a new one had to be established to the north of the city, just off the road that the caravans used to travel east and west. The harvest was good, with the local farmers producing an abundance of onions, radishes, beans, lettuce, wheat, barley, millet and sesame seeds. There was also a healthy trade in wool and leather. The tolls from the markets flowed into the treasury, as did the taxes paid by the lords of the kingdom whose sons now served in my army. No Agraci raids meant a peaceful frontier, and a peaceful frontier meant crops could be harvested and cattle, sheep, goats and pigs raised and slaughtered for meat and skins. The canals and irrigation ditches of the whole kingdom were owned by the king, whose responsibility it was to build and maintain them, and so whenever one needed repairing or a new one dug, I sent a century of legionaries to do the work. And if it was a large project I sent a cohort. In return the men were kept in the peak of physical condition and more money poured into the treasury, for everyone who drew water from the king’s irrigation system had to pay for the privilege of doing so. The sums were small, but thousands of farmers paid these water duties so the cumulative amount was large.
Rsan was a very happy man, and I realised that he was in fact a conscientious and able administrator who above all was honest. Under him was a small cadre of tax collectors who rode up and down the kingdom on mules, ensuring his system was working smoothly. And the jewels in the crown of the kingdom’s finances were the trade caravans that crossed the pontoon bridge over the Euphrates each day.
With royal finances so healthy I could now raise my cataphracts. I now had two hundred cavalrymen — Gallia’s Amazons were a law unto themselves so I did not count them — requiring armour for both horse and man.
Domitus and his legionaries wore mail armour, but thick rawhide coats that reached down to their knees protected my cataphracts. Split below the waist at front and back to allow the wearer to sit in the saddle, the rawhide was covered from top to bottom with overlapping iron scales. Each scale had to be riveted onto the rawhide, a process that took a week’s work in total. In addition to the scale armour, each rider’s arms and legs were encased in overlapping rings of steel that gave protection against sword and axe blows but allowed full freedom of movement. Helmets were also made of steel, with steel cheekguards, long leather neck flaps and facemasks. A ring for holding plumes topped each helmet. My father’s cataphracts wore open-faced helmets with a long nasal guard, but I wanted my men to ride into battle with their faces covered, so they would look like steel-clad killers sent from the underworld.
Each rider’s horse was also covered in a coat of scale armour to protect his sides and neck, with additional armour on its head.
Once the men and their horses were fully armoured, they spent much time learning to charge holding the kontus — a heavy, thick lance nearly fifteen feet long that was tipped with a long steel point and had a steel butt spike.
Rsan complained that the cataphracts were an expensive drain on the treasury. He was right, for as well as the weapons and armour, each rider required two squires to accompany him on campaign to help him dress in his armour and get on and off his horse, as well as to mend and maintain the armour. In return the squires would learn to become the next generation of Dura’s cataphracts.
Rsan shook his head. ‘The expense is considerable, majesty.’
He was sitting in his office behind his desk, scrolls neatly stacked on his work surface and tally sheets filling the pigeon holes along one wall. I was opposite him, having spent the afternoon in the city at a company of embroiderers, explaining to the owner the design I wanted for the pennants that would be fixed to each kontus, just below the blade. This was to be a red griffin on a white background, exactly the same design on the standard hanging in the throne room.
Rsan was reading the parchment I had handed him, shaking his head as he did so. ‘Pennants, majesty, are extremely expensive. Are they entirely necessary?’
‘Of course, Rsan. I cannot ride into battle without the enemy knowing whom they are fighting. Besides, has not the harvest been most excellent this year?’
‘Indeed, majesty, but the expenditure of your legion, your cataphracts and her majesty’s horse are proving significant.’