‘You can put down your bow, now.’
So focused had he been on scanning the ground in front of the ditch that he had not realised that I stood next to him. He grunted and released the strain on his bowstring. His eyes opened wide when he recognised me.
‘Apologies, majesty, I did not realise…’
‘No need to apologise for being a good sentry,’ I reassured him. ‘How long have you been a squire?’
‘Eighteen months, majesty,’ he said proudly.
It normally took four years before a squire was fully trained and old enough to become a cataphract, usually when he turned eighteen years of age. They began their training at fourteen and not all of them made it; the lazy, stupid and untrustworthy being weeded out in the first year. This youth had obviously been assessed as being capable of achieving membership of Dura’s horsed élite.
‘What are your ambitions?’ I asked him.
‘To become a cataphract and marry an Amazon,’ he said proudly.
‘Noble aims,’ I replied, ‘I’m sure you will fulfil them.’
At least he would be riding with Orodes and Surena tomorrow, and would have a chance of seeing his home again. I prayed to Shamash that He would also grant me the same privilege. But I was sure that I was making the right decision regarding sending the horsemen away.
And still the wretched kettledrums kept playing.
Dawn came all too soon. I had slept for perhaps two hours at the most when I rose and stretched my legs outside the tent. The sky was overcast and grey, the temperature cool. I went back inside to retrieve my cloak and then walked over to the stable area. The stables themselves were made of canvas stretched over wooden frames making up the stalls. Wicker panels had been fastened together to form a slanting roof over them and the horses. Thus on campaign they were sheltered from the elements. The camels and mules were corralled in a separate area but had no individual stalls. Already there was a great bustle of activity in and around the horses as squires, their masters and horse archers checked their mounts. Whether king or squire the routine was the same each morning: the horses were watered and fed and then checked for scrapes, cuts, bruises and puncture wounds on their legs, heads and bodies. Each of the hooves was then checked to see if the iron shoes had worked themselves loose, especially after the exertions of battle. Finally their coats were groomed. This is especially important for horses that are saddled most of the day to keep their coats healthy. Horses that required shoeing were taken to farriers while veterinaries attended to those that were wounded.
After I had ensured that Remus was fit for duty I searched out Orodes, finding him mucking out his brown mare. I stood at the entrance to the stall as he heaped fresh dung into a wheelbarrow.
‘I’m sure your brother does not undertake such duties.’
He looked up. ‘Stepbrother,’ he reminded me.
‘I would ask a favour of you.’
He leaned his spade against the wheelbarrow. ‘If it is within my power, consider it done.’
‘I want you to take Remus with you when you strike out for the Euphrates. I know you will take care of him.’
His concerned look resurfaced. ‘What will you ride?’
‘Nothing. I intend to walk like the rest of the men.’
He walked over to face me, whispering so no one else could hear our conversation. ‘Are you sure about your plan, Pacorus? We could always fight the enemy today, here.’
‘We cannot afford to suffer losses whereas Narses can always send for more reinforcements from Ctesiphon. We have to retreat, distasteful though it may be.’
He voiced no protest and I hoped that he saw the merits of my plan. He cocked his head.
‘Do you hear that?’
‘I can’t hear anything,’ I replied.
‘Exactly, those wretched kettledrums have finally stopped.’
He was right. At least that was one thing to be thankful for. I returned to the command tent where Domitus was chewing on salted beef.
‘It’s very quiet,’ he said.
‘Yes, peace at last.’
Outside the camp was coming alive as men formed up for morning assembly and to relieve the sentries posted around the perimeter. The main entrance to the camp was on the western side, the exit from which Orodes would lead the cavalry, but there were other minor exits at the other three points of the compass. They were all blocked by sharpened stakes driven into the ground and pointing towards the enemy at an angle of forty-five degrees, while immediately behind them was a line of wagons.
A sentry walked in and saluted.
‘The enemy have sent a courier under a flag of truce to the southern gate, majesty.’
‘Courier?’
‘Yes, majesty. King Mithridates requests a meeting with you.’
‘Perhaps he wants to surrender,’ said Domitus.
I laughed. ‘Perhaps he does.’ I rose from the chair and stretched out my arms. I felt tired, stiff and dirty.
‘Send a message back that I will meet with the king in one hour.’
The guard saluted and left. I filled a cup with water and drank it. The liquid was tepid and unappetising.
‘I wonder what he wants?’ mused Domitus, who was now sharpening his gladius with a stone, running it along each of its edges and then admiring his handiwork.
‘To gloat I would imagine. Still, an hour will give Orodes more time to prepare his men.’
I informed Orodes that his stepbrother had requested a meeting and asked whether he wanted to accompany me. He declined, stating that he might be tempted to break the rules of parley and kill Mithridates, and such a breach of the code of honour would be intolerable for him to endure. Same old Orodes. So I took Surena along, who borrowed Orodes’ shimmering cuirass of silver scales and a helmet from a horse archer, with cheek guards but no face covering. He had also cadged a pristine long-sleeved white shirt off someone as his own was filthy from yesterday’s battle. Red leggings and brown boots completed his appearance. I had to admit that Surena looked every inch a senior officer as we rode from the camp to meet my nemesis. We both carried our bows in cases dangling from our saddles and like me Surena was also armed with a spatha. Like my own it had been taken off a dead Roman; mine from a fallen foe in Italy, his from a slain cavalryman in Parthia.
I wore my usual attire of Roman helmet with its white goose feather crest, Roman cuirass, white shirt, brown leggings and leather boots. I took an escort of a dozen horse archers. Orodes said I should take more but I saw little point. Mithridates was a murderer and liar it was true, but he would be confident that he had me where he wanted me. He would be interested in torturing me with his words and nothing more, at least for the moment. So we rode from the southern entrance under a mournful grey sky with the army of the king of kings arrayed before us. Mithridates and Narses were obviously keen to taunt me as they already waited on their immaculately groomed black horses, surrounded by at least a hundred cataphracts. Members of Narses’ foot guards stood in two blocks either side of the heavy horsemen and behind the two kings their standards hung limply from their poles, not a sniff of wind to disturb them. Servants held the reins of the kings’ horses, young boys no older than sixteen years dressed in red silk shirts and baggy yellow trousers, gold earrings dangling from their ears.
We walked our horses to the meeting point halfway between our ditch and the enemy camp, or at least the southern part of it. Surena was eager to gallop across the barren ground, no doubt to clap eyes on the king of kings and his lord high general. He rode on my right and fidgeted in his saddle.