As the low rumble of horses’ hooves filled the air the ranks behind me were silent. Then they erupted into wild cheering, the sound reverberating along each side of the square as the word was passed that our salvation had arrived. Domitus slapped me hard on the arm and Kronos locked me in an iron bear hug. With difficulty I fought back the tears as I fell to my knees and bowed my head in thanks to Shamash, who had surely woven this miracle.
Domitus helped me to my feet as Malik, Gallia and Orodes pulled up their horses in front of us and my wife leapt from her saddle and wrapped herself around me. Both of us sprawled in the dirt. This brought whistles and hoots from the men behind as Gallia stood up, untied the straps on her helmet and threw it on the ground. I hauled myself onto my feet once more and she grabbed my face and kissed me long on the lips.
‘I came as fast as I could,’ she said, running a finger tenderly down the scar on my left cheek. ‘I would ride into hell if need be to save you.’
My eyes misted as I looked at her flawless face and blue eyes.
‘Orodes must have ridden like the wind to reach Dura in so short a time.’
She reached down to hold both my hands. ‘No, my love. We left Dura before Orodes had time to reach the city.’
She smiled her most beautiful smile as Orodes came up and embraced me. He stood back seeing my haggard appearance, my torn and filthy tunic, my battered cuirass and unshaven face.
‘You look terrible.’
He, as ever, looked immaculate in his scale armour cuirass, well-groomed hair and clean-shaven face.
‘I have been entertaining Mithridates and Narses these past few days. Alas, I have had no time to wash and change.’
Malik, face adorned with the black tattoos that were the hallmark of Agraci men folk, embraced me warmly.
‘It is good to see you, my friend,’ he beamed.
‘You too, Malik. Never has a Parthian king been so glad to see an Agraci prince.’
There followed a series of happy reunions as Malik’s warriors, who must have numbered over a thousand, flanked the square and rode south and east to ensure that we were not surprised by a returning foe.
‘There is little chance of that,’ said Orodes as we all retired to my command tent that had been hastily assembled in the centre of the square. ‘Their scouts will have reported that a great number of horsemen are riding to your relief.’
I was surprised. ‘Really?’
‘Of course,’ added Gallia. ‘Your father brings the army of Hatra to your aid.’
‘Your horsemen are accompanying your father, Pacorus,’ said Orodes.
‘And with him rides my father and ten thousand of his warriors,’ added Malik.
‘King Haytham?’ I could scarcely believe it.
‘Of course,’ continued Malik. ‘When Queen Gallia issues a summons, men obey.’
This was most excellent news and I had difficulty in maintaining my composure. I embraced Gallia once more and then Orodes. But then I noticed that someone was missing.
‘Where is Surena?’
‘I sent him east with a thousand horse archers,’ replied Gallia.
I stared at her, unsure whether my hearing had been damaged during the fighting. I smiled.
‘Very droll. I assume he is with the rest of my horsemen.’
‘It is true, Pacorus,’ said Orodes. ‘He was sent to the Tigris with a thousand riders and ordered to ride south.’
I looked at him and then Gallia.
‘What madness is this?’
‘No madness,’ replied Gallia. ‘Dobbai told me that Surena would reap a rich harvest east of the Tigris so that’s where he is heading.’
I was so relieved and tired in equal measure that I asked no more questions about Surena. But I felt certain that he and a thousand of my horse archers were riding to their deaths.
Chapter 6
My father, his red banner with its white horse motif carried behind him, arrived two hours later with Gafarn in tow. He was accompanied by his five-hundred-strong bodyguard, a thousand other armoured riders, five thousand horse archers, three thousand squires in full war gear leading the same number of camels and a further thousand camels carrying spare arrows, tents, food and waterskins. My two legions had been drawn up in battle order to salute their arrival.
The army of Hatra was a sight to behold. Each cataphract was encased in scale armour, legs and arms in steel circular armour similar to that worn by my own heavy horsemen. White plumes were fixed to the top of every helmet and white pennants fluttered from every kontus. The horses wore armour from head to thigh, their eyes covered by metal grills to protect them from sword and spear thrusts and missiles.
My father’s bodyguard, recruited from the sons of the kingdom’s nobles, were the finest of all, each man wearing scale armour of overlapping polished steel plates riveted onto the thick hide undercoat. The sun glinted off their armour and whetted kontus points. For additional armament each man carried a sword, mace, axe and dagger — they were truly fearsome killing machines.
Only Hatran nobility could serve in the ranks of the royal bodyguard, a notion that I scoffed at. But I had to admit as they halted behind my father and Vistaspa they presented a magnificent sight.
The same could not be said for the horse archers brought by Dura’s lords: men in varying shades of brown, yellow and white shirts and leggings, wearing no armour and riding horses of different colours. Every horse in my father’s bodyguard was a pure white to complement each rider’s white shirt and leggings. But to amass such a contingent took time and a great deal of wealth, attributes that Hatra had in abundance. Dura’s lords, though men of some wealth in their own right, did not have the means to raise and equip such immaculately attired soldiers. But my lords had carved out their lands with blood and hard graft, often fighting the Agraci in the process before the time of peace between our two peoples. The farmers who worked their lands were also hardy individuals who knew how to fight their way out of a tight spot if need be. Gallia had brought twenty thousand of them. The lords had elected Spandarat to be their commander for the duration of the campaign. One-eyed, brusque and having the appearance of a shabby carpet salesman, he had been the one who had escorted the queen back to Dura when she had been pregnant with Claudia when I had marched to fight King Porus of Sakastan and his elephants. How long ago that seemed now!
Trumpets and horns blasted as the legions stood to attention and I walked to greet my father from where Gallia, Orodes, Malik, Domitus and Kronos were standing beyond the front rank of legionaries. Vistaspa held the reins of his horse as he dismounted and paced towards me, Gafarn next to him. We embraced and he stepped back to examine me. He wore a sleeveless leather cuirass overlaid with silver scales and a gold crown atop his silver-inlaid helmet. His spotless long-sleeved white shirt contrasted sharply with my own filthy shirt and leggings. Gafarn was similarly dressed but wore no crown on his helmet.
‘It would appear that we have arrived just in time, my son.’
‘It would appear so, father.’
He looked at the lines of filthy, tired men drawn up behind me.
‘Your soldiers look as though they have taken a battering. It is fortunate for you that you have allies to come to your aid, for otherwise the buzzards would have been picking at your bones by now.’
‘There are worse ways to die,’ I replied casually.
His brow furrowed. ‘Are there?’
‘Better not to die at all,’ suggested Gafarn. ‘You and Mithridates didn’t kiss and make up then?’
‘Grovelling to snakes has little appeal, brother,’ I said.
My father was going to say more but at that moment a great rumbling noise heralded the arrival of more reinforcements — Haytham’s warriors. Like a great cloud of locusts the black-clad Agraci warriors filled the horizon, and my father kept his council as Haytham and his desert lords rode up to where we stood. I smiled as the Agraci king dismounted from his shining black stallion and strode over to me. He nodded curtly at my father who nodded back but said nothing. I bowed my head to Haytham.