‘What are you doing here?’
‘Too much to drink, highness,’ he replied.
‘Fetch my armour and spear’. There was no reply. He had obviously gone back to sleep. I walked over to where he lay and kicked him.
‘Get up and get my armour and spear.’
He rose unsteadily. ‘Yes, highness.’
After gulping down some water, I left the palace and made my way into the square. The dawn had broken now, though the morning was still cool. I wrapped my cloak around me, with my shield on my left arm, a spear in my right and a helmet perched atop my head. I didn’t have time to strap it on, an omission I was soon to regret. When I arrived in the square a company of the king’s bodyguard was standing to attention, a column of two files fifty ranks deep. Vistaspa stood at its head, looking more stern than usual, which was saying something.
‘The noble Prince Pacorus has finally arrived, gentlemen. But what’s this?’ He strode over to me and knocked my helmet off the head. ‘Is that the way you wear your helmet?’
‘No,’ I replied. My stomach felt worse than ever, and all I wanted to do was lie down.
‘No, lord,’ he bellowed. ‘Address me properly when you speak to me, boy.’
‘Yes, lord. Sorry, lord, I…’
‘Silence, he snapped. ‘Pick up your helmet and get in line. There, at the head of the column. Move!’
I put my helmet on and trotted to stand beside Vata, who acknowledged me.
‘Watch yourself, Pacorus,’ he said quietly, ‘he’s in a foul mood. I think he wants to take out his frustration on us.
‘Why’s he frustrated?’ I asked.
‘Some slave girl must have turned him down last night. Plumped for his horse instead.’
I laughed, which in the circumstances was the worst thing I could have done. Vistaspa was in front of me in an instant, his face inches from mine.
‘So, little shit, found something to laugh about, have we? Would you like to share it with us all.’
‘No, lord. It was nothing.’ Vata stood like a statue, staring directly ahead.
‘Prince Pacorus thinks he is a great war hero, don’t you, boy.’
‘No, lord.’
‘Didn’t tell anyone that he was nearly skewered by a Roman prisoner because he wasn’t looking, or that if I hadn’t have put an arrow in the man the crows would be picking at his bones right now. We’ve wasted enough time. Column will advance in quick time. March’
We marched out of the square at a fast pace, a hundred men in full war gear, moving through the inner city, over the moat and then through the northern gate into the desert. Vistaspa kept a cruel pace, and after thirty minutes I was struggling. My mouth was parched and the sun’s rays were roasting my helmet, increasing the throbbing in my head. All around me the men’s breathing became heavy as we marched through the barren landscape.
‘Increase pace.’ Vistaspa moved into a light run and we followed, my thighs aching more with each mile we travelled. The previous evening’s indulgence was catching up with me fast. I began to cough and breath heavily. I gulped in hot air, which tortured my lungs.
‘Run, you dogs.’ I was convinced Vistaspa was trying to kill me as we ran across the shimmering desert. The sun was high in the sky and pummelling us with a murderous heat. My mouth was parched and my lungs felt as though they were going to burst through my chest. My shield and spear felt like heavy weights, the burden of carrying them engulfing my arms in a searing pain. Those behind me were struggling as well, though Vata seemed to be coping well. We had been marching for two hours now under a vicious sun, and I knew I couldn’t go on for much longer. Sweat was pouring off my forehead into my eyes and the helmet’s cheek guards were rubbing against my face.
‘Halt!’ Vistaspa suddenly stopped and I and Vata nearly clattered into him. ‘Two ranks. Move!’
Behind me the men raced to left and right to form into two lines of fifty soldiers, one behind the other. We had reached an area of low-lying hills, and from behind one emerged a camel train. I estimated that it was a least a mile away, maybe less.
‘Level spears,’ ordered Vistaspa. ‘that train is our target.’ He drew his sword. ‘When I give the command, you will charge and capture it.’
I was astounded. We were nearly spent, and yet he wanted us to charge across open ground for a mile.
‘For Hatra,’ Vistaspa sprang forward and we followed, shields to our front and spears levelled. We yelled our war cry as we raced towards our target. I was amazed at Vistaspa’s stamina, a man of fifty who was out-running us all. After about half a mile our lines were ragged as men stumbled as their legs began to give way. Yet they pushed themselves beyond endurance. A piercing pain shot through my right side, causing me to wince in pain. Sweat poured into my eyes and my vision became blurred.
‘Come on, Pacorus, straight on. Don’t give up.’ I hardly recognised the strained cries of Vata beside me, but his encouragement did force me on. On we went, our pace having slowed into a trot.
‘Move, you lazy bastards,’ bellowed Vistaspa, as he widened the gap between himself and us. Where did he get his energy from? I was having difficulty breathing now as the caravan loomed large in front of us. I heard men groan around me and the sound of clatter as some fell to the ground, no doubt to be yanked back up by their equally exhausted comrades. It felt as though my chest was in a vice that was being closed shut. I couldn’t breath, my vision went black and I couldn’t feel my legs. I saw a group of camels ahead and figures scurrying around them, and then all was black.
I was awakened by water being poured over my face. I opened my eyes and saw Vistaspa holding the leather water sack from which the fluid poured. Beside him stood my father. I tried to get up but my limbs refused to move.
‘Will you excuse us, Vistaspa,’ said my father.
‘Of course, sire.’
Vistaspa walked away as my father knelt beside me.
‘Give your body time to recover. Compose yourself. While you are doing so, you might to reflect on your behaviour last night. You embarrassed your mother and I but, far worse, you embarrassed yourself. You must be an example, my son, not a figure of derision. If you want to be a peacock, go back to Zeugma and live with Darius and his young boys. You are a son of Hatra and are expected to act as such. Remember that, above all.’
I felt crestfallen. After a few seconds of awkward silence he handed me another canteen. I drank greedily and gradually feeling returned to my arms and legs. I was helmetless but still wore my scale armour. Vata helped me up, a wide grin on his big, round face.
‘How do you feel?’
‘Terrible,’ I replied. ‘How long was I unconscious?’
‘Not long, and you weren’t the only one, so don’t worry.’
I looked around and saw the company sat on the ground, eating rations that had been brought from the city. They looked dirty and exhausted, a stark comparison to the impeccably attired other soldiers of my father’s bodyguard who sat at tables beneath a large canvas awning that had been erected to shelter them from the sun. My father sat at the top table, with Vistaspa beside him, dressed in a fresh uniform. Servants prepared and served a light meal of roasted lamb and rice, washed down by water. We ate hard biscuits, but at least we had water. After thirty minutes Vistaspa ordered us into two columns once again. It was now an hour past midday and the sun was at its most brutal. The march back to the city was hard in the searing heat, though at least we had been watered and fed, of sorts. There were no mad charges, though, just a steady march back to the city. I slept like the dead that night.
The next few weeks were spent undergoing the perennial training routines that I had grown up with: rise before dawn, route marche on foot in full war gear for two hours, breakfast, archery practice for two hours, wrestling and other unarmed combat for one hour, a two-hour break for lunch and to let the daytime heat subside, then mounted manoeuvres in the late afternoon. The latter could last for up to three or four hours, depending on where they took place. Usually we rode out of the city into the northern desert where the terrain was mostly flat and free of wadis. The surface was hard-baked earth rather than sand, and was thus ideal for cavalry training. All Parthian nobles were taught to ride a horse in childhood. As the years passed we learned all the skills needed to fight war on horseback: how to jump obstacles, gallop over uneven terrain, and to execute circles, turns and stops. Once I had reached adulthood I became a cataphract and learned heavy cavalry skills. These included opening and closing ranks, charging, pursuing, turning and wheeling. Sometimes we went into more hilly terrain to learn how to charge uphill and downhill. It was an unending cycle of practice followed by yet more practice. Once finished for the day we would ride back to the stables where each of us would groom and feed our mounts, the stables themselves having been cleaned by the young stable hands. The royal stables bloc in the palace quarter was spacious and luxurious, as befitting the home of the most highly prized horses in the kingdom, but in truth all the army’s stables were well appointed. Parthians loved their horses, for it was their discipline and courage that won battles; and in disaster carried their masters to safety. Geldings or mares were preferred for cavalry mounts, as stallions, though more feisty and faster, were almost uncontrollable when mares were in season.