Byrd halted his words and looked down at his feet.
‘Heard what?’ I pressed him.
He looked up at me. ‘He heard that you were coming to help him. That is what men I speak to on road say.’
I felt sick and held my head in my hands. I had been played by Mithridates and Narses and had danced to their tune like a performing bear. I had walked into their trap and now because of me, Gotarzes was dead and his kingdom lost.
‘It’s not your fault, Pacorus,’ said Orodes.
‘Isn’t it?’ I replied. ‘If it had not been for me Gotarzes would never have hazarded a battle.’
I could have wept at that moment, wept for a dead king and the thousands of his soldiers who had perished on the battlefield and the thousands of his people who would now be ruled by the tyranny of Mithridates. Gotarzes had been my ally and friend and now he was dead. Godarz was dead, also killed by Mithridates. I looked at Gallia, Orodes and then Byrd and feared for their lives also.
Gallia smiled at me. ‘You did your best.’
‘Only it was not good enough.’
‘What will you do now?’ asked Orodes.
In truth I did not know. With Gotarzes gone and Elymais fallen there was no purpose in striking across the Tigris. An attack on Ctesiphon was still tempting, but the enemy would merely retreat further east beyond our clutches. I was not interested in the palace of the king of kings; it was Mithridates that I wanted.
I sighed. ‘We go home, Orodes.’
I suddenly felt very tired and bereft of hope. Mithridates had won and my reputation, such as it was, had suffered a grave blow. The army of Dura had previously never suffered a defeat but now it had been stopped in its tracks and forced to limp back home. Mithridates would be emboldened by recent events and he and Narses were probably planning an assault on my kingdom now. It was all too depressing to think about.
I wrote letters to Vardan and my father and sent couriers to deliver them. I would have ridden over to my father’s camp myself, but he would undoubtedly blame me for his friend’s death and I was in no mood to endure another of his lectures. I also had to inform Nergal when he arrived that his journey had been in vain — a ride of two hundred miles for nothing. It was all too much to bear.
Nergal and his men duly arrived the next morning, five thousand horse archers with a large camel train in tow. I rode out of camp with Gallia, Byrd and Orodes to greet my friend and fellow king. This was the man who had been my second-in-command in Italy and when I had first gone to Dura. A year older than me, Nergal was a fellow Hatran who had fought by my side for over ten years before gaining the crown of the Kingdom of Mesene. Brave, loyal and possessed of an optimistic nature, out of the saddle his long arms and legs gave him an awkward, gangly appearance. It was that appearance that had convinced Rahim, the high priest of Uruk, that Nergal was the reincarnation of the god of the same name. His coming had been foretold thousands of years before on sacred tablets held in the great ziggurat in Uruk, a massive structure that was the residence of the sky god Anu. The banner that now flew behind my friend was the symbol of the god Nergal — a great yellow banner embossed with a double-headed lion sceptre crossed with a sword. It was a happy reunion of old friends who had shared many hardships and also great victories. After we had all dismounted and embraced each other, Gallia and Praxima with an emotional greeting, Nergal’s horsemen were ordered to pitch camp next to the army of Dura.
Mesene is not a rich kingdom. Located south of Babylon, it lies between the Tigris and Euphrates whose southern border was formerly where these two mighty rivers empty their waters into the Persian Gulf. But Nergal had granted his southern marshlands to the area’s inhabitants, the Ma’adan — Surena’s people. In the process he had given away a sizeable proportion of his kingdom. No longer did Mesene’s warriors wage war against the Ma’adan, though, and in place of strife there was now trade. This allowed the kingdom to prosper and provided Nergal with the revenues to raise and maintain his army. Dura and Hatra were unusual in having permanent armies staffed by full-time soldiers, equipped and paid for by the crown. Such armies were prohibitively expensive to maintain, their existence made possible only because of the profits raised from the Silk Road. But the Silk Road did not run through Mesene so Nergal had to cut his cloth accordingly.
There were no armoured horsemen among the riders who trotted past us on their way to their campsite, no squires pulling camels loaded with scale armour, lances, tubular arm and leg armour, tents and spare arrows and weapons for their masters. The horse archers of Mesene wore a simple woollen kaftan dyed red known as a kurta that opened at the front and was wrapped across the chest from right to left. It was loose fitting like their leggings called saravanas. Each man wore leather ankle boots called xshumaka, tied in place by leather bands that passed around the ankle and under the sole. Over the kaftans the archers wore scale-armour cuirasses, short-sleeved garments that reached to the mid-thigh, slit at each side up to the waist to facilitate riding. On the leather cuirasses were attached horizontal rows of rectangular iron scales, each row of scales partly covering the layer below. On his head each man wore a helmet made from curved iron plates attached to an iron skeleton of vertical bands, complete with large cheekguards and a long, leather neck flap. They were an impressive sight.
‘I like your horsemen, Nergal,’ I said approvingly.
‘It is their first campaign,’ he replied. ‘They are looking forward to being tested in battle.’
‘Alas, my friend, I think they may have to wait a little longer.’
Later, as we all sat relaxing in my tent, I told Nergal the news that Gotarzes was dead and Elymais in the possession of the enemy.
‘That is grave news indeed,’ he said. ‘We have lost a valued ally.’
‘Will Mithridates make war upon Mesene, Pacorus?’ asked Praxima with concern.
‘I hope not,’ I replied.
In truth I did not know but suspected that my nemesis would strike against Mesene. Susiana, Mithridates’ own kingdom, lay next to Mesene, the Tigris demarking their eastern and western borders respectively. With Elymais laid low Mithridates and Narses could now turn their attention against Mesene.
‘Dura stands with you, Nergal,’ said Gallia. ‘Mithridates will think twice before he tangles with our combined forces.’
‘It is as Gallia says,’ I said, causing Praxima to grin with delight.
Orodes said nothing but he knew, as did I, that Dura lay two hundred miles from Mesene whereas the forces of the enemy were within striking distance of Nergal’s kingdom. I would have to take my horsemen south to reinforce Mesene.
‘How is your high priest, Nergal?’ asked Orodes, diplomatically changing the subject.
‘Agreeable I am glad to say,’ he replied.
‘You two are still gods, then?’ I teased them.
‘Gods given human bodies,’ said Praxima sternly before breaking out in giggles.
The sacred tablets that were held at Uruk spoke of Nergal, the god of war, with his wife the goddess Allatu, the queen of the underworld. Allatu was represented on the tablets as having the head of a lion, the red mane of Praxima confirming to the priests of Uruk that she was indeed the goddess. But there was more that confirmed that the wife of Nergal was an immortal. She had arrived at the city at the head of an army — Dura’s army — and was dressed as a warrior. That she fought as an Amazon and took life corresponded to the ancient tablets describing Allatu as ferocious and warlike, whose anger knew no bounds. One of the tablets held in the ziggurat at Uruk showed Nergal with his symbol of a lion, with Allatu seated on a horse beside him. Praxima had arrived at Uruk mounted on a horse and dressed as a warrior. All these things convinced Rahim and his priests that Nergal and Praxima were gods made flesh. When I had taken Uruk I was determined that they would become the new rulers of the city to replace the treacherous Chosroes, who had obligingly committed suicide after my soldiers had breached the city walls. I had anticipated difficulties in imposing a new regime on the populace, but the happy coincidence that Nergal and his wife resembled gods removed all obstacles to their accession to power.