At that moment Surena rode up. His helmet was pushed back on his head although he was still wearing his scale armour. His horse was still similarly protected. ‘I have just heard, lord. Let me take my half dragon to disperse them.’
Orodes rolled his eyes in despair and Malik laughed. Byrd stared at Surena in disbelief.
‘As much as a glorious death may appeal to you, Surena,’ I said, ‘I still have need of you. Get your men and their squires back to camp and wait for further orders.’
He looked towards where the din of kettledrums and horns was getting louder and then at me in frustration. Finally he snorted loudly and then rode back to his men.
‘He fought well today, Pacorus,’ said Orodes. ‘But he doesn’t know when to stop. He will over-reach himself one day, I fear.’
‘But not today,’ I replied.
Orodes’ squire had finished packing his armour onto the camel and now held the reins of his and his master’s horse. Orodes nodded to me and then vaulted into his saddle and rode away to his men mounted and waiting a couple of hundred paces away. I turned to Byrd and Malik.
‘My friends, though you are tired I would ask a favour of you both.’
They both nodded.
‘Byrd, I would like you to ride to King Vardan at Babylon and tell him what has happened here. Tell him that we are marching back to Dura. Warn him that Mithridates may strike at Babylon then make your way back to us. Malik, I would ask you to ride straight to Dura and convey the news of our predicament to Gallia. She will take it better if it comes from a friend. And convey my love to her also.’
He bowed his head to me. ‘You can tell her that yourself when you return home.’
I embraced him and then Byrd and then they were away, riding back to camp to get food and fodder before leaving us. Byrd would head southwest towards the Euphrates, taking him away from the enemy and allowing him to get water for both him and his horse. The great river lay around thirty miles in that direction, and Babylon another eighty travelling southeast and following the course of the waterway.
Malik would ride west, following the same route that the army had taken to get to this place. After travelling fifty miles he and his men would reach the Euphrates, thereafter riding another two hundred miles north before arriving at Dura. We were in Babylonian territory, but sixty miles north lay Hatra’s border, and once Malik reached my father’s kingdom he would make contact with one of the mud-brick forts that littered the realm. Each one held carrier pigeons that could convey messages faster than a horse. With luck news of my predicament would reach Dura in a week. I prayed that any subsequent news that reached my wife’s ears would not tell of my bleached bones lying in the sun.
The horse archers acted as the rear-guard of the army as the legions, cataphracts, squires and camels retreated back to camp. I stayed with the rearmost units as I watched the army disappear into the vast rectangle that we had created in the desert, and then cast my eyes to the east. The army of Narses was visible now, a black line of foot and cavalry filling the horizon. I gave the signal to fall back as a party of enemy horse archers, dressed in baggy long-sleeved yellow shirts and blue leggings, halted around five hundred paces from me. About a hundred in number, they gave no indication that they were going to attack. They merely spread into a long line and pulled their bows from their cases and observed us retreating. They advanced as we fell back, but when I ordered a halt and about-face they stopped. More of their comrades joined the end of their line until there were around five hundred horsemen facing us. We fell back another five hundred paces and they followed, but when we wheeled round to face them as before they again halted. They were obviously under orders not to provoke a fight. I was tempted to launch my own assault, but more and more horse archers were now joining them and any combat would have been a very one-sided affair. And so, as the final units of Dura’s army filed back into camp, the rear-guard and I followed them. What had started as a most propitious day had ended very badly.
I thanked Rome’s gods that they had revealed to me the mysteries of the Roman military machine, its organisation and encampment procedures. For if Dura’s army had been run along Parthian lines then we would surely have been carrion for the crows by the morning. But at least we had a ditch, rampart and palisade surrounding us. Those defences gave me time to think of a plan for the morrow. I also breathed a huge sigh of relief that it was not the Parthian way to fight at night; otherwise we would be fending off attacks during the hours of darkness.
When word had reached Marcus of what was happening, after they had arrived back in camp he had ordered the squires to man the rampart with their bows in case the enemy tried to storm the camp. The squires had taken no part in the battle and they were thus fresh and rested, and eager to fight. They may have been boys, mostly between fourteen and sixteen years of age, but they were well versed in using a Parthian bow. To curb their youthful enthusiasm Marcus gave each boy a full quiver and said he would increase his fatigue duties if he wasted any arrows.
As well as the squires and the fighting men there were farriers, veterinaries, blacksmiths, the riders of the camels of the ammunition train and the wagons, Marcus’ men and Alcaeus’ medical personnel in camp — over three thousand men.
Domitus organised parties to reinforce the rampart defences as the enemy slowly surrounded the camp. Despite my general’s fears that they would launch an immediate attack from all sides they actually showed no signs that they would assault us. They were content to deploy on all four sides of the camp and then stand in their ranks. The camp’s main entrance was on the western side and that was where Narses placed his foot, thousands of spearmen dressed in yellow tunics and blue leggings. They carried long spears topped by leaf-shaped points and wore helmets on their heads. Their large rectangular shields were made of wicker covered with leather painted yellow. They also carried what looked like long daggers in scabbards fixed to their belts. They wore no body armour. In the centre of the line stood Narses’ élite foot soldiers — his palace guard, or at least that is what I assumed they were. They wore bronze helmets with large cheekguards to protect the sides of their faces and had leather cuirasses over their torsos. Their tunics were yellow like the other foot soldiers and they too were armed with spears that had leaf-shaped blades. However, their shields were round and faced with bronze after the Greek fashion, with the symbol of the bird-god painted on each one. There were around two thousands of them.
To the north of our camp Narses deployed his horse archers, thousands of men in helmets, yellow shirts and red leggings. Some of them wore armour on their bodies. On the south side of the camp were yet more archers similarly attired, a great mass of men and horseflesh intended to awe us. Last but by no means least to the east of the camp came Narses himself, accompanied by around five thousand or more armoured horsemen.
I stood on the rampart with Orodes, Domitus and Surena as they rode towards our camp and then halted around four hundred paces away; a horde of heavy cavalry, each man holding a kontus. I estimated that we were surrounded by at least thirty thousand enemy soldiers.
Narses, the King of Persis and Sakastan, had always cut a dashing figure, adorning every inch of his powerful frame with expensive clothes and armour. Today was no different. Mounted as ever on his magnificent black stallion, whose immaculately groomed coat shone in the late afternoon sun, he and his horse wore no scale armour. Instead he wore a cuirass made up of overlapping rows of silver segments and on his large head he wore a helmet inlaid with gold. Its cheekguards were also inlaid with gold and silver and from its crown streamed a long black horsehair plume. Next to him, also seated on a black stallion, was King of Kings Mithridates. I spat over the palisade stakes in his direction, hoping he would see my insult. Perhaps he would be enraged and launch an assault. I gripped the hilt of my spatha.