‘Are you badly hurt?’
‘No, father, I will live, and unfortunately so will Narses and Mithridates.’
He looked ahead. ‘Phraates will forgive you that, I think. I am less inclined to do so.’
‘Oh?’
‘There was no need to fight this day. Narses was ready to yield, or at least discuss matters, but you were determined, weren’t you. Could not let it rest. Well, you have your victory.’
‘Our victory, surely?’
He said no more and in truth his words did not diminish the sensation of euphoria that I felt, which was increased further when we reached Phraates.
He clapped his hands when we reached him, provoking his bodyguard and the ranks of axe men to begin cheering. Phraates, previously inclined to negotiation, was now basking in the glow of triumph.
‘Hail to you, Pacorus, the bringer of victory. First you defeat Porus and now you are instrumental in dispersing Narses. A truly great day.’
I bowed my head. ‘The victory is yours, high king.’
This seemed to delight him even more, for he again clapped his hands frantically.
‘I hereby make you lord high general of Parthia. Let all those here bear witness to my words, for Pacorus of Dura has today become the sword of Parthia.’
More cheering and applause erupted and the pain in my face seemed to magically disappear. I raised my arms aloft as the axe men started chanting my name. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I noticed that my father was frowning, an expression noted by Phraates, who had the commotion stilled instantly.
‘King Varaz, you disapprove of your son’s new appointment?’
He bowed his head. ‘No, majesty, but there is still much work to be done.’
Phraates waved his hand at my father. ‘Nonsense, you are far too serious, just like your father before you. Let us rejoice that God has granted us victory and that He has sent your son to be our deliverer.’
And so it was that I became lord high general of the Parthian Empire. Afterwards, when Alcaeus was stitching my wound as I sat on a stool in camp outside my tent, Domitus brought me the casualty figures.
‘Fifteen dead, sixty wounded, none seriously.’
‘It is a credit to you, Domitus. You have turned the legion into a fearsome machine.’
He seemed unmoved by my flattery. ‘They were trained to do a job and they did it. Straightforward, really.’
‘Have you noticed that Domitus doesn’t have a scratch on him,’ remarked Alcaeus. ‘You should take some lessons from him.’
He finished stitching and tied off his handiwork. ‘It will heal, but you’ll have a scar. Nothing I can do about that.’
‘Ha!’ said Domitus, ‘Gallia won’t like that.’
‘Indeed,’ said Alcaeus. ‘Perhaps you should be the kind of king who sits in his palace and sends others to fight his wars.’
I stood up. ‘The day that happens, I’ll order Domitus to run me through with a sword, for such a king is dead already.’
Alcaeus shook his head. ‘A poet as well as a warrior.’
Nergal rode up and dismounted, taking off his helmet as he handed a squire his horse. He looked dirty and tired, his sweat-drenched hair matted to his head. I pointed to a stool and he sat on it. Domitus poured him a cup of water that he drank greedily.
‘Lord Enius’ body has been conveyed back to Ctesiphon for cremation on the orders of Phraates. Orodes is escorting the body.’
‘What are our losses?’ I asked.
‘Five of your own cataphracts are dead, forty more belonging to Enius and twenty-five of those who fought under Gotarzes’ banner were also slain. Of my horse archers, a hundred are dead and a similar number wounded.’
Alcaeus put his instruments back in his leather bag and slung it over his shoulder. ‘That’s me working through the night, then.’
‘There are other physicians,’ I said. ‘You are, after all, in charge of the medical corps. I would like you to attend the victory feast that is being held at Ctesiphon tomorrow evening.’
He screwed up his face. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’ Then he was gone.
As the army made its way back to Ctesiphon my father sent out parties of horsemen after Narses. He was convinced that the King of Persis would try to build another army, though I was sceptical. Narses had fled south down the east bank of the Tigris back towards Persepolis, while the majority of my father’s horse archers went east with Gotarzes and his followers to reclaim his capital, the city of Elymais.
I rode with my father and Vistaspa on our way back to Phraates’ palace. Hatra’s army had suffered hardly any casualties during the battle.
‘When you took it upon yourself to commence hostilities,’ said my father, ‘we waited to see what our opponents opposite us would do.’
‘And what did they do?’ I asked.
‘They waited too,’ said Vistaspa, ‘until they realised that their army’s centre and other wing had collapsed, whereupon they decided to run for their lives.’
‘You see, father, you should have given me your cataphracts after all.’
‘They are mine to command, not yours to throw away.’
‘I command all Parthia’s armies now, father.’
He remained impassive to my boast, merely remarking. ‘Do not get too above yourself, Pacorus.’
In truth it was difficult not to, for at the feast I was treated like a conquering hero. Slave girls, beautiful, young and half-naked, dazzled me with their smiles and enticed me with their oiled bodies. Phraates had bards compose poems about me and harpists sang songs of my victory. Phraates was happier than anyone, I think, and acted as if a great burden had been banished from his life, which in truth it had. He was also delighted that his son still lived, despite my best efforts to send him to the underworld. Even Chosroes allowed a smile to spread across his miserable, narrow face. Nergal and Domitus sat at one of the tables in the banqueting hall with my father, Vistaspa and Hatra’s captains, while Dura’s lords sat on their own table and were soon very drunk and very loud. The queen and her ladies frowned at them, but they had earned the right to be here for they had followed Nergal unquestioningly. I sat on the king’s left-hand side, with the queen on his right and Orodes on her other side.
I may have been a king but I was a poor one compared to the rulers who sat at Ctesiphon. Here, guests ate food from intricately carved gold bowls and drank from silver cups that carried gold figures inlaid on their outsides, each one wearing a crown and Parthian dress and carrying a bow and quiver. Everyone in the hall was drinking from such vessels, an indication of the wealth at Ctesiphon. But then every kingdom in the empire paid an annual tribute to the King of Kings based on how many horse archers it could field. And Sinatruces had hoarded his annual tributes like the old miser he was. I wondered how long it would take for Queen Aruna to spend it.
An army of servants carried food on silver platters from the kitchens, where a similar number of cooks and kitchen slaves prepared the dishes. They brought pistachios, spinach, saffron, sweet and sour sauces, skewers of cooked pork, mutton, camel, goat, chicken and pigeon. For those who liked fish there was cooked sturgeon, dogfish, salmon, trout, carp and pike. Then there were almond pastries, pomegranate, cucumber, broad bean and pea, basil, coriander and sesame. The kitchens had also prepared a myriad of rice dishes, some containing almonds, pistachios, glazed carrots, orange peels and raisins; others laced with vegetables and fearsome spices. Even more dishes included stews, dumplings, sweet meats and stuffed vegetables doused in different sauces.
The queen, beautiful and icy as ever, was at least polite to me, even grudgingly grateful for saving her husband’s throne. There was no talk of Mithridates but she would have heard that he had escaped and was, as far as anyone knew, unharmed, much to my regret.