The mood of the column was subdued as we headed west to Bam, knowing in our hearts that we should have joined with Phanes to both relieve Sigal and defeat the Kushans. But his arrogance had made cooperation impossible and having already been roughly handled by Kujula’s soldiers, none of us had a burning desire to repeat the experience alongside an unreliable ‘ally’. So we maintained a hard pace and reached Sakastan’s second city in two days. I comforted myself with the knowledge that Phanes’ approach would force the Kushans to either break off the investment of Sigal or weaken the siege lines to give battle. Then I was cast into despair with the thought that if the siege was lifted Phanes would be in control of Sigal and might arrest Salar, to say nothing of our wives.
Gafarn put my mind at rest. ‘If you really believe Phanes can defeat Kujula on his own you are suffering from sunstroke. But he is a useful idiot in that he will turn the attention of the Kushans away from Sigal, albeit only for a while.’
‘The useful idiot Phanes will buy us time, uncle,’ Spartacus assured me.
I turned to give him a reproachful look. ‘You must be more diplomatic when dealing with other kings.’
He was unimpressed. ‘Why? Do they respect me? No. They call me the son of a slave behind my back and now to my face, so why should I treat them with respect?’
I sighed. ‘Do you think those same kings say kind words about me behind my back? Or your father? They do not. But my reply to you is that you too mock them.’
‘You have just called Phanes an idiot,’ Gafarn reminded Spartacus.
‘That is not an insult,’ said Malik, ‘more an accurate assessment.’
He and Spartacus burst into laughter, much to the embarrassment of Prince Pacorus. His brother noticed his squirming and jerked a thumb at him.
‘You will never hear my brother utter a bad word about the other kings of the empire, even Darius of Media, may serpents gorge on his entrails.’
‘Media is our ally,’ insisted Pacorus.
‘You see, my brother is the perfect Parthian prince,’ grinned Spartacus, ‘one day he will sit on Ctesiphon’s throne.’
‘You should not wish such a thing on your brother,’ I jested, ‘besides, hopefully Phraates will enjoy a long reign.’
‘Not if the Kushans overrun half his empire,’ said Malik, ‘men do not respect or tolerate weak leaders.’
‘That is why we are mustering at Bam, my friend,’ I said, ‘to fight for the continued existence of the empire.’
I pulled up Tegha , causing the others to halt. Gafarn frowned.
‘Is your horse lame?’
I looked at Malik. ‘My friend, we have no right to ask you or your men to fight for an empire in which many of the inhabitants despise the Agraci. I apologise for embroiling you in this lamentable situation.’
Malik, fierce looking with his black face tattoos, was impassive.
‘You are my friends; my sister is married to King Spartacus and is trapped in Sigal with your wives and daughters. This is not about Parthia; this is personal.’
‘You are a man of honour, lord king,’ said Prince Pacorus.
Malik looked bemused and Spartacus rolled his eyes but Gafarn agreed.
‘Such men are sadly lacking in these turbulent times.’
Before we had seen Bam, Talib brought us news that boosted our spirits.
‘A Caspian Tiger banner hangs from the citadel’s gates, majesty.’
‘Khosrou is in the city?’
He nodded. ‘And thousands of his men are camped outside Bam’s walls.’
I had a broad grin on my face as we rode the last twenty miles to the city, to see a tent city adjacent to the one of mud-brick walls and buildings. I thanked Shamash that he had sent the King of Margiana. Khosrou, the iron-hard ruler of the kingdom that held the barbarians of the northern steppes at bay. He was now in his late sixties and his hair, beard and thin moustache were white as snow. His flat face resembled an old saddlebag but his dark brown eyes sparkled with mischief when Rogerio ushered us into the old king’s presence.
Khosrou gave me a bear hug that threatened to crack my ribs.
‘It warms my heart to see you, lord, though my ribcage begs you to release me.’
‘Ha,’ exclaimed Khosrou, ‘you are getting soft in your old age, Pacorus. Where’s that pretty wife of yours?’
‘In Sigal, lord.’
He stepped back, surprised. ‘You left Gallia in a besieged city?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I said.
‘Well let’s hear it,’ roared Khosrou. ‘Bring wine,’ he instructed Rogerio.
The fat governor, unused to being treated like a servant, smiled and hesitated but did as he was told when the stern visage of Khosrou rounded on him.
‘Idle fat bastard,’ he said loudly as Rogerio was leaving, ‘about as much use as a eunuch at an orgy. So, let’s hear this woeful tale.’
We sat on plush couches in the governor’s audience chamber and relayed the story of how we had travelled to Sakastan to attend the wedding of Salar and Isabella and how a day of happiness had turned rapidly into one of horror, quickly followed by the coalition against Sakastan, which was overwhelmed by the Kushan invasion that overran Aria and Drangiana and threatened Sakastan and Carmania. Khosrou drank wine, nodded, examined us all and told Rogerio to order more wine as he told us the news from the rest of the empire.
‘Phraates has put his faith in Phanes to defeat the Kushans and restore order in his eastern kingdoms. Apparently, he is also gathering an army to march to our aid.’ Khosrou belched. ‘Not that I believe him.’
‘How is it that you are here, lord?’ enquired Prince Pacorus.
‘I was wondering that,’ I added.
‘The ambassadors of Aria and Drangiana have shown more backbone than their kings,’ Khosrou told us. ‘As soon as their rulers were defeated they took it upon themselves to visit the courts of anyone who would listen to them, bleating like despoiled virgins that Parthia must respond quickly to throw our friend Kujula back across the Indus. Anauon and Yueh-Chih are currently mobilising and will strike south when they have done so.’
‘Heartening news,’ said Gafarn.
‘And King Phanes is marching from the south to relieve Sigal,’ said Spartacus, ‘so perhaps the Kushans will be caught between a hammer and an anvil.’
Khosrou belched again. ‘This wine is gut-rot. I commend your faith in human nature but even if the hammer and anvil succeed, and it is a big if, I doubt it will dislodge Kujula from Parthia.’
I took a sip of wine. It was indeed second-rate. Clearly Rogerio was denying Khosrou his finest vintage.
‘You still have not revealed why you came to Bam,’ I said.
‘I ordered my two sons to guard the northern frontier,’ Khosrou told us, ‘and left them to march at the head of ten thousand men to reinforce poor old King Cinnamus of Anauon. His kingdom has been at peace for so long that he barely has an army.’
He looked at Gafarn. ‘One reason I don’t hold out much hope for the great northern alliance. Anyway, while at his capital we received news from Salar’s general that King Pacorus was leading an army to Bam to organise a relief column and had sent out a general plea for help. So here I am. How many men are with you.’
‘Ten and a half thousand,’ I answered.
‘Silaces is on his way?’
I nodded.
Khosrou ran a finger around the lip of his silver cup. He looked at Spartacus and Malik.
‘It will take more than a battle and the relief of Sigal to remove the Kushans from Parthia. If we give them time they will fortify the towns they have taken, and then it will be all but impossible to prise them out of the empire.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ I asked.
‘We split our forces. When Silaces arrives, he can join with your heavy horsemen and ride to the relief of Sigal. Meanwhile, we will strike east into the Kushan Empire and burn every hovel we come across. That should get Kujula’s attention.’
‘We?’ I asked.
Khosrou nodded at Malik. ‘I would esteem it an honour, my lord, if you and your warriors would accompany my own. Pacorus will come with me, of course, so he can learn what real war is.’ He pointed at Spartacus. ‘You too, young pup.’
The ‘young pup’ was now in his mid-thirties but Spartacus was delighted to be invited to ride beside the legendary King of Margiana so just smiled contentedly.
Gafarn frowned. ‘You have omitted me, lord king.’
‘Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard goes where its king goes,’ said Khosrou, ‘and so must remain with the relief force, as must your cataphracts, Gafarn. On our mission we travel light and at speed.’
Gafarn seemed satisfied by the answer, which made perfect sense. Clearly Khosrou had been giving the matter much thought, though my namesake was far from pacified.
‘How will burning villages and murdering innocents save Parthia?’ queried Prince Pacorus.
Khosrou regarded the hero of Hatra for a few seconds, the grizzled old warrior who had held the northern barbarians at bay for over forty years twisting his thin lips into a half-smile. Pacorus, resembling a Greek god in looks and a priest in morals, did not quite know what to make of the fearsome ruler of Margiana in his shabby leggings and stained tunic.
‘Not all war is glory and fame, boy,’ Khosrou told him. ‘We all heard how you covered yourself in glory against the Romans in the north. Before I answer your question, how would you defeat the Kushans?’
Pacorus remained stony faced. ‘We defeat Kujula in battle and he will slink back across the Indus.’
‘Just like that.’
‘Just like that,’ said Pacorus forcefully.
Khosrou took a great gulp of wine. ‘No, he won’t. He will retreat north into Aria or Drangiana where he will entrench himself and order more men to be sent from his homeland. Do you know much about Drangiana, young prince?’
‘Aside from the fact that it is ruled by King Antiochus, I must confess that my knowledge of his kingdom is wanting,’ came the honest reply.
‘Allow me to enlighten you,’ said Khosrou. ‘Aside from mountains Drangiana is also rich in tin, which means Kujula is now rich in tin, which he can sell to finance his campaign. It also means he will be very reluctant to surrender what he has won. That is why we must give him an incentive to return home.’
‘If we defeat and kill him then the Kushans will return home,’ offered Pacorus.
Khosrou was impressed. ‘Perhaps they will. Or perhaps another leader will take Kujula’s place and seek to expand the territory he has won. I’m afraid my knowledge of the Kushan Empire is even worse that your knowledge of Drangiana.’
He pointed a finger at the prince. ‘Why did you defeat the Romans?’
‘Because they failed to capture Phraaspa,’ came the reply.
Khosrou smashed his fist into his palm. ‘Exactly. But the Kushans have already taken the capitals of Aria and Drangiana, so they already have strong bases from which to operate. Did you bring your siege engines, Pacorus?’
‘I came to attend a wedding, not conduct a siege,’ I told him.
‘The sad fact is,’ said Khosrou, ‘that Dura has the only siege engines in the Parthian Empire, so retaking the cities the Kushans have captured will prove time-consuming. And time is a commodity we do not have.’
‘So we raid, kill and burn,’ smiled Malik.
‘Sounds good to me,’ stated Spartacus with relish.
Khosrou was delighted and emptied his cup. He was now slightly drunk and there was a mischievous glint in his eye. He put down the cup and rubbed his hands.
‘Every cloud has a silver lining. After we have ejected the Kushans from the empire, there might be an opportunity to return the favour and seize some of Kujula’s territory. Planning on staying in the east awhile, Pacorus?’
‘Not really,’ I told him.
There was a knock at the door and a beaming Rogerio entered, followed by slaves carrying full wine jugs. Khosrou held up his cup to be refilled and the fat governor bowed to me, proffering a silver tray, upon which was a tiny piece of rolled papyrus.
‘For you, majesty. It has just arrived attached to a courier pigeon.’
I took the note and unwrapped it, recognising Claudia’s writing, albeit small. Without thinking I read the words out loud.
‘Sigal safe, Kushans in turmoil, Nergal well.’
‘Extraordinary,’ said Gafarn.
Spartacus slapped his brother on the back and Malik nodded at me.
‘How is it that a courier pigeon can fly unharmed through mountains full of eagles, vultures and hawks?’ asked Khosrou.
‘Princess Claudia has special talents,’ said Spartacus, ‘she was trained by the sorceress Dobbai. She speaks to the dead, is that not true, uncle?’
I shrugged. ‘I think your imagination is running away with you, nephew. But it is cheering to receive news that our family members are safe.’
‘I remember Dobbai, saw her a few times at the court of Sinatruces,’ reminisced Khosrou. ‘Now he was a good king of kings. Liked to kill first and ask questions later.’
‘So we are agreed on our strategy, then?’ I asked.
‘When do we leave?’ said Spartacus with relish.
Khosrou held up his cup again. ‘As soon as we have emptied the governor’s wine cellars.’
We did not empty the royal wine cellar, though we did strip his armouries of arrows to replace the ones we had left behind in Sigal. I was worried that without a camel train carrying ammunition we would still be deficient in missile power, but Khosrou assured me we were not going to fight any battles against the Kushans. Rather burn, pillage and run. We would also be living off the land, thus reducing the amount of supplies we would be taking with us.
While we waited for Silaces I was invited to Khosrou’s camp, the king eager for me to meet ‘an old friend’. Intrigued. I left Rogerio and his irksome enquiries as to when the great number of men, horses and camels would be leaving Bam and rode to the Margianan camp. It was a great sprawling collection of tents and horses. I say horses but the beasts Khosrou’s warriors rode were more like ponies with their short necks, short legs and stolid bodies. A casual observer would have derided such beasts that came in all variations of colours and were an alien species when compared to the thoroughbreds of Hatra and Dura. But such observations would be wrong. The ponies of the great steppes were sturdy, fearless and able to withstand extremes of temperatures.
The soldiers of Margiana presented a ragtag appearance but that too was deceptive. As I rode Tegha through their camp I saw men grooming horses dressed in kaftan-like coats with one breast crossed over the other and tied in place. They had long sleeves that could double up as hand warmers in winter, though because it was high summer they were rolled up. Some men were bare chested as they tipped fodder into wooden eating troughs. I had ridden from the city with an escort of horse archers, immaculate in their ankle boots, tan leggings and white tunics. At Khosrou’s tent things were more formal, guards halting us before we got within a hundred paces of the king’s residence where we dismounted before I was escorted to the royal tent. In front of the entrance was a flagpole from which flew the king’s Caspian Tiger banner. Inside were two individuals: Khosrou and a wiry man with a squashed nose and narrow eyes that looked like a helmet’s vision slits. I smiled when I remembered an old friend.
‘Kuban, this is an unexpected pleasure.’
He snapped his head forward in a bow. ‘Majesty. You look well.’
‘I look and feel old,’ I told him, ‘but it warms my heart to see you.’
‘General Kuban, here, insisted on joining me,’ said Khosrou, ‘though was disappointed to learn that you left Gallia at Sigal.’
‘She is a great queen and warrior,’ said Kuban admiringly. ‘We will make the Kushans pay for what they have done.’
His black eyes reminded me of the king cobra I had tussled with not so long ago and sent a shiver down my spine. As well as a warrior, I remembered Kuban being an accomplished torturer, which made me realise the campaign I was about to take part in would be very different from the ones I had previously fought in.
Silaces arrived four days after the message from Claudia, which in truth had reduced the nervous tension in the city and allowed us all to focus on the task in hand. Khosrou and Kuban were full of admiration that we had left our women behind in a besieged city, with the latter promising to carve a swathe of destruction in the Kushan lands in retaliation when we arrived in Kujula’s territory. For his part, the King of Elymais arrived at Bam at the head of ten thousand horse archers and spitting blood.
‘Phraates sits on his arse at Ctesiphon and does nothing,’ he complained as he sat in the governor’s beautifully decorated large office.
We lounged on plush couches, drank wine and were surrounded by walls decorated with sun and lion motifs, the lion representing divinity, royalty and the lineage of kings, and the sun symbolising the ruler of heaven. On the governor’s huge mahogany desk was a bronze statue of Pahlavi Senmurv , the great falcon that sits on top of the mythical mother of all trees, the Saena . Rogerio himself sat at his desk. Khosrou wanted him to be excluded because he was not a king but I suggested that for diplomatic reasons he be allowed to attend the meeting of rulers.
‘I begged him to send me soldiers but all he sent me was a condescending note saying he had every faith in Phanes.’
‘The only one who has,’ smirked Gafarn.
Silaces looked at me. ‘Your threatening note worked too well.’
‘I did not send a threatening note,’ I insisted.
‘Yes you did. A veiled threat, I grant you, but a threat nevertheless. The boy king won’t shift his arse when there are, what did you say, one hundred and thirty thousand men poised ready to strike.’
‘We don’t need Phraates,’ said Spartacus, ‘we have a plan to defeat the Kushans without him.’
As it was Khosrou’s plan, the King of Margiana explained his idea for lunging across the Indus while Gafarn and Silaces would march to the relief of Sigal. In addition, a combined army drawn from Anauon and Yueh-Chih would be marching from the north to trap the Kushans in a giant vice, though Khosrou was vague about its numbers and when it would march.
‘It’s up to us, then,’ stated Silaces bluntly.
Khosrou nodded. ‘Yes. We alone can save the eastern half of the empire from being lost.’
Rogerio sat with his head down twiddling his thumbs, overwhelmed by the enormity of the events that had taken place in Sakastan. He desperately wanted to say something but was intimidated and so remained silent.
‘If you have something to say, spit it out,’ commanded Silaces.
‘Forgive me, majesty,’ said Rogerio, ‘but there are only thirty thousand soldiers camped here. Is that enough to…’
A knock at the door interrupted his words.
‘Come!’ he ordered.
A slave entered, bowed his head and walked briskly over to Rogerio, handing him a note. The governor read it and tossed it on the table.
‘An officer of Phanes’ bodyguard is outside.’
I felt a tingle of dread dance down my spine.
‘What does he want?’ said Rogerio out loud.
‘Nothing good, I’ll warrant,’ said Gafarn morosely.
‘Let’s hear what he has to say,’ Khosrou told the governor.
My heart sank when the dirty, sweating officer with a torn tunic and battered breastplate presented himself, dented helmet in the crook of his arm. He looked as though he would pass out at any moment.
‘Fetch water,’ ordered Gafarn.
‘Sit down, man,’ I said, ‘before you fall down.’
Spartacus used his feet to push a chair towards the wavering officer, who gladly accepted the offer. A slave arrived with a jug of water, filling and refilling a cup as he drank greedily. It took him a few minutes to catch his breath but finally he was ready to relay his sorry tale. He stood but was ordered to sit back down by Khosrou.
‘Bad news sounds no better if it is told by someone standing, boy.’
‘The army of his highness King Phanes engaged the Kushans twenty miles south of Sigal, near the Erymanthus River. At first our horsemen drove the enemy riders back, exposing their foot soldiers. The king ordered his own foot soldiers to attack the enemy spearmen who were drawn up in a great square.’
I looked at Gafarn who shook his head.
The officer was close to being distraught. ‘But the enemy horsemen counterattacked and drove our own horsemen back, which meant the king’s foot soldiers were suddenly surrounded. Then the enemy square broke apart and attacked. Many of our spearmen drowned in the river but more were surrounded and cut to pieces. Faced with the imminent destruction of his army, King Phanes took a strategic decision to withdraw to save the rest of his army.’
‘And where is that army now?’ I asked.
‘Pulling back to Puta, majesty, where it will be reinforced prior to once again marching against Parthia’s enemies.’
Khosrou chuckled. ‘And pray where does Phanes intend to draw his reinforcements from.’
The officer stood and removed a crumpled piece of papyrus from his tunic.
‘King Phanes penned this letter on the march, majesty.’
‘You mean retreat?’ said Silaces.
The officer nodded. He turned to me and bowed. ‘It is addressed to you, highness.’
He extended his arm and I took the letter. I decided to read it aloud as I was but one among equals.
‘To my dear friend, King Pacorus.’
‘He’s changed his tune,’ smiled Gafarn.
‘He is about to beg,’ said Malik.
I continued reading the letter. ‘As a former lord high general, you will understand the utmost importance of acting speedily to avert disaster. After inflicting high casualties on the Kushans…’
Khosrou guffawed and Spartacus’ face twisted into a grimace as he desperately tried to stop himself laughing. I frowned at them both.
‘After inflicting high casualties on the Kushans,’ I said loudly, ‘I was forced to retreat in the face of the overwhelming numerical superiority of the enemy. I intend to withdraw to Puta, there to await the forces you and the other kings have assembled at Bam. I am certain that our combined forces can not only defeat the Kushans but also relieve the city of Sigal, where your beloved wife and daughters are trapped. I remain your friend and ally…’
I tossed the letter on Rogerio’s desk.
‘The Kushans pursued you?’ I asked the officer.
‘Yes, highness.’
‘In what numbers?’ enquired Gafarn.
‘Several thousand, all horsemen, majesty.’
‘That is good news for Sigal,’ mused Spartacus, ‘having to fight Phanes means they probably lack the numbers to attempt a storm.’
Malik nodded. ‘Agreed, and if the Kushans are now invading Carmania their forces will be spread thin.’
‘This Kujula,’ said Khosrou, ‘I hear you have met him, Pacorus.’
‘Met him and fought him,’ I replied.
‘What do you make of him?’
I thought for a moment. ‘Brave, intelligent and very ambitious.’
‘The last quality might just be his undoing,’ said Khosrou.
‘The plan stands, then?’ asked Silaces.
Khosrou looked at each of us in turn. We all nodded our assent.
‘It does,’ said the King of Margiana. He pointed at the officer. ‘Get some rest, get yourself a fresh horse and ride back to your king. He will need you.’
‘What message should I convey to my king, majesty?’
‘Tell him we go to defeat the Kushans and eject them from Parthia,’ I told him.
‘But we will not be riding to Puta,’ added Gafarn.
‘King Phanes is lord high general,’ said the officer.
‘Not for much longer,’ Khosrou told him, ‘you may leave us.’
He left the room with slouched shoulders and head down but Phanes’ loss, which was not unexpected, was our gain. With Kushan troops now venturing south into Carmania, Kujula’s strength was further diluted. I felt confident we could both relieve Sigal and cause our enemy to withdraw back across the Indus by a punitive campaign in the Kushan Empire itself. As did everyone else.
The Sigal relief force jointly commanded by Silaces and Gafarn numbered sixteen thousand men, the bulk of which were the ten thousand horse archers of Elymais. But the army also included fifteen hundred cataphracts, three thousand squires, Sakastan’s lancers and Spartacus’ medium horsemen. There was also a substantial camel train carrying supplies, tents, spare weapons and hundreds of thousands of arrows. The army kicked up a great dust cloud as it made its way east. I extended my arm to Gafarn and Silaces.
‘The gods be with you, Pacorus,’ said Silaces.
I clasped his forearm. ‘And with you, too, my friend.’
He wheeled his horse away and trotted towards the great column of camels and horsemen, his escort and banner man carrying his four-pointed star standard following.
‘Keep my son safe,’ said Gafarn, clutching my forearm.
‘Spartacus?’ I grinned. ‘He should be the one taking care of me.’
I turned to Prince Pacorus. ‘Make sure you do not repeat the mistakes of King Phanes, nephew. Do not underestimate the Kushans.’
The prince, resplendent in his gleaming steel scale armour suit, nodded solemnly.
‘Hatra will not fail you, uncle.’
I raised my hand to them both, turned Tegha and rode away to catch up with the second column that was leaving Bam, my griffin standard being held by a Duran horse archer fluttering behind me. Khosrou’s column was smaller – fourteen thousand men – and accompanied by far fewer camels. To say we were campaigning light was an understatement. There was no camel train carrying spare arrows, no replacement weapons and the bare minimum of food and fodder. I joined Spartacus, Malik and Khosrou and their banners: the red griffin joining the black flag of the Agraci, the lion of Gordyene and the Caspian Tiger of Margiana.
General Kuban’s soldiers, compared to the finest from Dura, Gordyene and even the black-clad Agraci, looked like bandits on their ponies. But each man was protected by a cuirass comprising bands of hardened leather laced together and a padded leather helmet with neck and ear flaps. Like all of us they carried a recurve bow, slightly smaller than our own with a body constructed using wood and horn laminated together using animal resin. When the resin dried the resulting bond between the horn and wood gave the body of the bow enough strength to withstand the immense pressures placed on it when the bowstring was drawn. To increase the power of the weapon further, sinews from animal tendons were laminated to the outside face of the bow.
Like us they carried bows in cases on their right side, with up to five quivers on the opposite side, each one carrying thirty arrows. Parthian arrows were bronze, three-winged and socketed so that shafts could be inserted into the head. Unlike our own arrows, those of Khosrou’s warriors were fletched with feathers attached to the shaft in a slight spiral pattern so they spun when shot, thus increasing their accuracy. For close-quarter work the Margianans carried a two-edge straight sword, a dagger and a spear with a long metal point.
Led by Khosrou’s scouts, Talib and his men accompanying Gafarn, we headed northeast to take us into the hills that delineated the border between Sakastan and Drangiana. We moved fast, covering up to fifty miles a day with a rest day when we reached the banks of the Indus, the boundary between the Parthian Empire and India. We had left the windswept hills and mountains behind to enter a land of fertile plains interspersed with bare knolls. The few villages we had encountered had been deserted and showed signs of being plundered, no doubt by Kujula’s troops when they invaded Parthia.
‘Looks quiet,’ observed Khosrou, squinting in the sunlight as he scanned the river from north to south.
‘It must be a mile wide,’ said Spartacus.
‘And fast flowing,’ added Malik.
‘We should send scouts over the Indus and wait until they return,’ I advised, ‘it’s too quiet.’
Khosrou roared with laughter. ‘You are getting too cautious in your old age, Pacorus. We go now.’
He shouted at his horse, which bolted forward down the gently sloping riverbank and into the clear water. Spartacus grinned and followed, behind him Khosrou’s guard cantering forward to splash into the water. I too rode down the now churned-up bank and Tegha entered the water. It was refreshingly cool and though the current was fast, the river itself was not deep, water lapping around my legs as my trusty mount headed for the eastern bank. Either side of me, stretching up and down the western bank for half a mile, thousands of horsemen forded the Indus and began the first Parthian invasion of India.
The crossing was straightforward but not without hazards. Some horses stumbled on the muddy river bottom and collapsed into the water, their riders clinging on as the beasts swam rapidly to the opposite bank, soaking them both. Within an hour all our men and supplies were across the river, plundering the villages near the riverbank of food and livestock, before using the reed roofs for firewood. The inhabitants had fled to the east before we crossed the river and as night came no patrols were despatched to hunt them down. Instead, we butchered the pigs and roasted their flesh. The smell of cooked pork filled the warm night air as I walked with Khosrou to the riverbank, the Indus black and calm under a moonlit sky.
‘I never thought I would see this river,’ I said, ‘let alone cross it.’
‘Neither did I, but here we are. As soon as we start burning towns and villages word will get back to Kujula that his lands are under attack. Then he will come running.’
‘You are certain of that, lord?’
He gave me a mischievous grin. ‘He is seeking to expand his empire and will not take kindly to thieves sneaking into his domain. Believe me.’
I did not hear the beast spring from the water but saw the blur of movement as the crocodile launched itself at us. I shoved Khosrou aside, which saved his life because the huge monster, turned silver by the moonlight, snapped down its huge jaws on the king’s boots. Lured by the aroma of roasting flesh, it mattered little to the creature that it had seized a living being.
‘Rally to the king I shouted,’ drawing my sword and plunging it into the crocodile’s scaly back.
The point of the spatha pierced the scales and bit deep into its flesh. It roared in rage, released Khosrou and spun to attack me. I withdrew my blade and slashed at its jaws, which snapped shut around the metal to wrench it from my grip. It tossed the sword angrily aside and ran at me, its short stumpy legs moving rapidly as its huge body lumbered forward. I tried to retreat but lost my footing and fell backwards on to the sandy bank. I froze in terror as the crocodile closed on me, its huge jaws opening to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth that would snap my body in two. I could not move or make a sound as time stood still and I could contemplate my demise.
The spear blade being driven into the crocodile made no sound but made the beast arch its back and momentarily forget me, giving one of Khosrou’s bodyguard a chance to grab me by the scruff of the neck and haul me away. Two more spear blades were driven into the crocodile’s body, the three soldiers gripping their shafts with both hands as they pinned the beast to the ground. Now the reptile was thrashing around wildly, hissing and growling as it desperately tried to free itself. To no avail. More of Khosrou’s bodyguard arrived to plunge their spears into the beast, which stopped floundering around as it was stabbed repeatedly.
‘Finish the bastard off,’ shouted Khosrou, the grizzled old king being held back by the commander of his bodyguard for fear he might venture too close to the crocodile’s jaws.
The beast was killed by a single spear thrust into its brain, suddenly becoming silent and still as the soldiers withdrew their spear blades and stepped back. Khosrou came over to me.
‘Are you all right, Pacorus?’
‘Thanks to your men, lord. It took my sword.’
‘Find King Pacorus’ sword,’ Khosrou commanded.
My spatha was retrieved and we issued orders that archers were to be posted all along the riverbank, a safe distance from the water’s edge. All horses and camels were withdrawn from near the river in case more crocodiles were loitering with intent to seize a meal. The carcass of the huge reptile was hauled back to the camp of Khosrou’s bodyguard where it was butchered and roasted. I was invited to partake of the feast but I had lost my appetite.
The next day we raided into the Kushan lands proper, our forces divided into hundred-man groups that roamed for miles over the huge plain criss-crossed with rivers, lakes and swamps. The monsoon was coming to an end but the daily deluges had created vast flooded areas filled with birds and other wildlife. This was a lush, fertile land where every village cultivated wheat, rice, mangoes, guavas, plums, oranges, pomegranates and lemons. Though it was hot and humid, the heavy rainfall that fell in short, intense bursts brought welcome relief and refreshed both men and horses. The only problem was unfastening our bowstrings and storing them in saddlebags to prevent them getting wet. Our own bowstrings were made from sinew but the Margianans also carried horsehair bowstrings that did not absorb moisture and thus did not stretch.
On the first day, we encountered mostly deserted villages, which we fired, but on the second our columns began to overtake fleeing people weighed down with livestock and children. The morning sky was already filled with the smoke of torched villages when we came across a settlement crammed full of refugees, women and children screaming when my horse archers surrounded the village and nocked arrows in their bowstrings. With me were two companies of Durans and by my side their commander, the lithe Katana who had been born and bred in the city of Dura. The villagers were wailing and babbling in their native tongue. The men among them armed with a variety of spears, knives and farming implements formed a cordon around their wives and children. In the oppressive humidity, my banner hung limply from its shaft and sweat was running down my neck. All the male villagers were dressed in white cotton dhotis , many were bare chested, while the women were clad in white or yellow saris. They held the hands of their children tightly, knowing that the men on horseback before them were armed with recurve bows that could easily pierce their flesh.
‘What now, majesty?’ asked Katana.
I had no time to answer as a tall man with white hair and eyes like a cobra walked forward to harangue us.
‘Who are you? What do you want? We have nothing save the clothes on our backs and paltry food supplies.’
They may have been poor villagers but they looked healthy enough and their settlement was large, containing numerous animal pens.
‘He speaks Parthian, majesty.’
‘I am aware of that. State your name and rank,’ I said to the old man.
He chuckled. ‘My name is Jagat and as to my rank, it is many years since I carried a spear and now I am just an ordinary villager trying to feed my family.’
He looked at the lines of horse archers either side of me. ‘I assume you are of high rank.’
‘I am King Pacorus of Dura, one of the kingdoms of the Parthian Empire.’
‘This, lord, is not Parthia.’
I smiled at him. ‘No, indeed, Jagat, but your emperor has seen fit to invade my empire so I am here to repay the compliment.’
He looked past me, to the smoke stacks on the horizon. ‘With fire and sword, I see.’
‘We show the same mercy to the Kushans as Kujula has shown to my people, Jagat. But we are not murderers. Tell your people they will be allowed to leave the village unmolested. Their homes will be reduced to ashes to send a message to your emperor.’
Two more elderly men walked forward to converse with Jagat, who must have told them what I intended because they threw up their arms and jabbered something to the villagers. A collective groan came from the group, quickly followed by wailing and screaming as women began sobbing and some held up their infants to us. They implored us for mercy, or at least I surmised they did, as I had no idea what they were screeching.
‘We will defend or homes,’ pledged Jagat, turning and barking a command.
The middle-aged and elderly men – there appeared to be few young men capable of bearing arms present – shuffled forward with their pathetic weapons.
‘Don’t be foolish,’ I warned.
Katana raised his arm and as one every horse archer raised his bow, though none drew back his bowstring. Not yet.
‘Kill one of the cows,’ suggested Katana.
This prompted Jagat to rush over to the nearest cow and place himself in front of it.
‘Barbarians,’ he shouted. The villagers, aware of the imminent danger to the cow, fell to their knees and clasped their hands together, a pleading expression in their eyes.
‘Odd,’ said Katana.
‘Take my life instead,’ Jagat implored me.
Katana and his officers burst out laughing but I could see the Indian was serious.
‘Take his life and that of the cow, majesty,’ advised Katana.
Jagat pointed a bony finger at me. ‘Queen Rana will have her revenge on you, barbarian.’
I was intrigued. ‘Who is Queen Rana?’
But Jagat sank into defiant silence, his eyes filled with rage. I could have ordered my men to shoot him and the others down. It would have been all over in a few minutes, after which we would torch the mud huts and ride to another village to repeat the ghastly ritual. But the truth was I had no stomach for slaughtering innocents, but I was eager to learn more about Queen Rana, whoever she may be.
‘I make you this offer,’ I said to Jagat, ‘come with me now and I will spare your village and all those who live here. I will even spare your cows. Decide now.’
He was taken aback by the offer and for a moment was lost for words. But his rage disappeared and he turned to speak loudly to the villagers, presumably to convey my offer. A grey-haired woman rushed forward and flung her arms around him. His wife, I assumed. He kissed her, reassured her and the men armed with weapons relaxed, a sign I took confirming he had accepted my offer.
‘I have no horse,’ he told me impertinently.
‘Fetch him a remount,’ I told Katana.
My commander was disappointed. ‘We are not going to burn the village, majesty?’
‘We are not going to burn the village.’
He told his officers to stand down their men, who removed the arrows from their bowstrings and walked their horses behind my standard. A spare horse was brought forward for the Indian, who had to be assisted into the saddle.
‘It’s been a while,’ he lamented. ‘How long will I be away from my wife and grand children?’
‘How far away is Queen Rana?’ I asked.
‘A day’s ride.’
‘Then you will be back in your home within a week,’ I told him.
He tactfully said nothing about the burning villages whose smoke littered the sky as we continued to ride east. But I did question him on his curious reverence for cows.
‘The answer is both religious and practical,’ he replied. ‘Because it supplies nourishment a cow is identified with Aditi herself.’
‘Who?’
He grunted in disapproval. ‘The mother of the gods. No sane person would voluntarily anger the gods. But allied to its sacredness are the products that it produces. Milk, browned butter for lamps and dried dung for fuel. Milk nourishes children as they grow up and dung is used for fuel throughout India. Thus the cow is a carer for the people and a symbol of the divine bounty of the earth.’
‘When did you learn our language?’
‘I was a soldier and then a trader in pottery before old age made long journeys torture. I travelled across the Indus regularly to visit Aria.’
‘I assume many of your young men are also in that kingdom now, as part of your emperor’s army.’
‘Some,’ he answered guardedly. ‘Others are closer to home.’
As the day waned the various columns converged around a huge lake where a great herd of water buffalo was drinking. A hundred at least were killed by arrows to supplement the gazelle that had been hunted and killed in the periods between torching villages. When the kings gathered around a large fire cooking a whole wild pig, faint red glows could be discerned on the horizon. Everyone stared at the gaunt, morose figure of Jagat who sat on the ground, refusing chunks of cooked meat, though accepting the offer of oranges and plums.
‘Who’s that?’ asked a jubilant Khosrou, meat juices from the pork joint he was chewing dripping onto his beard.
‘His name is Jagat, lord,’ I answered, ‘from a village we came across.’
‘Is he a man of importance, uncle?’ asked Spartacus.
‘He looks like a beggar,’ observed Malik.
‘He is a man of no importance,’ I told them, ‘though he does have intelligence concerning a potential threat.’
‘Who?’ asked Khosrou.
‘Queen Rana, the ruler of a city within a day’s ride of here.’
‘What city?’ enquired Malik.
I called Jagat over and asked him to refresh my memory as to the name of the city he had been telling me about.
‘Indraprastha. Queen Rana will have learned of your presence, majesty. I would advise you to withdraw while you still can.’
‘Withdraw?’ mocked Khosrou, ‘I will hand over this Rana to my men who will take turns raping her.’
I winced with embarrassment. ‘We should take care not to spread our forces too widely tomorrow.’
But the next day there was no time to deploy our columns again because the scouts brought news before we had quitted camp that Queen Rana’s army was approaching.
I stood with Khosrou, Spartacus and Malik to formulate a battle plan. Fortunately three of us had already faced the Kushans and had been given a bloody nose. Assuming that this queen would fight in the same manner as Kujula, I gave my opinion on the coming clash.
‘As soon as battle is joined the Kushans will most probably form their foot soldiers into a square.’
‘Like your legions,’ said Khosrou.
I nodded. ‘But unlike my foot soldiers this square will also contain archers equipped with long bamboo bows, which have great range. This means they can engage our horse archers at long range, so stress to your commanders that they should not venture too close to the enemy square.’
Khosrou scratched his head. ‘Then how are we going to beat them, assuming we are going to give battle?’
‘We should give battle, lord,’ urged Spartacus, ‘to defeat this queen and capture her city.’
‘Then we can burn it to the ground,’ said Malik with relish.
‘We draw their horsemen away from the square,’ I said. ‘First we destroy their horsemen and then we can reduce their foot at our leisure.’
It would not be quite that simple, of course, and battles were always risky affairs. But I drew comfort from the fact that all our Parthian horsemen were battle-hardened veterans and the Agraci were the best of Malik’s warriors. In addition, the terrain – a flat plain with few trees – was ideally suited to mobile warfare. It was time to pluck the cobra’s fangs.
Khosrou looked at Spartacus and Malik. ‘We are agreed, then?’
They nodded in unison.
‘You are commander-in-chief,’ the old king told me, ‘try not to get yourself killed.’
The day was warm and humid, the afternoon rain a long way off, the sky big, blue and cloudless. The scouts brought news that the Kushans were moving slowly, at the pace of their foot soldiers. Their reports told of horse archers, light horsemen, skirmishers, spearmen and foot longbowmen, but no elephants or heavy horsemen, at least none they could see. For their part, the enemy despatched their light horsemen to chase the scouts away. After an hour, the Kushans could be seen on the eastern horizon, a narrow black line at first but then expanding as the enemy deployed from column into line.
The busiest men on what would be the battlefield were the scouts who were sent to gather intelligence on the enemy while the rest of our army checked their mounts, quivers, armour and saddlery. The mood was calm, relaxed, everyone knowing that if things turned against us we could withdraw speedily to the west, back to the Indus if necessary. We did not need to fight this battle, but the desire to inflict a defeat on the Kushans was hard to resist. Slowly our battle line formed, Khosrou’s ten thousand horsemen forming our centre, Spartacus and his twelve hundred riders comprising the left wing and Katana’s eight hundred Durans deployed on the right wing. I held Malik and his two thousand Agraci in reserve, much to his chagrin. But as he had few horse archers it made perfect sense: I wanted his men to deliver the final blow when the time came; either that or cover our retreat if it all went terribly wrong.
I sat with Malik and Khosrou in front of the Margianan horsemen and watched the enemy line lengthen and thicken, red flags dotted among the Kushan host, the sound of drums and horns filling the air. Our own men sat in silence and watched the enemy line form. Riders galloped towards us and pulled up their horses on the lush grass. I recognised the flat face of Kuban under his padded helmet.
‘It is as King Pacorus stated, lord,’ he said, swinging in the saddle to point at the Kushans, ‘foot soldiers in the centre, men equipped with shields in two blocks, skirmishers in front of them, with horsemen on the wings. I saw no archers.’
‘They are behind the spearmen,’ I told him, ‘waiting for their moment.’
I turned and waved forward Jagat mounted on a horse and guarded by two of my men. All three trotted forward.
I pointed to the Kushans. ‘Is your queen there?’
He looked horrified. ‘On the battlefield? No, majesty. Women do not fight.’
I looked at Malik but said nothing.
‘Who commands the army?’ demanded Malik.
‘I do not know, lord,’ came the answer.
‘Well, whoever it is, he will be pissing his leggings in fear by this afternoon,’ said Khosrou, ‘let’s get things started. Kuban, signal the advance.’
The distance between the two armies was upwards of a thousand paces, which diminished rapidly as the centre and two wings cantered towards the Kushans. The ground trembled as twelve thousand horsemen advanced across the grassy plain, every man with his reins wrapped around his left wrist and clutching his bow in his right hand.
‘Get him back to a safe distance,’ I said to the men guarding Jagat.
The air was suddenly filled with war cries and hollering as Khosrou’s men closed on the enemy foot soldiers, the horse archers on the flanks also making a lot of noise as they approached the enemy horsemen. Khosrou and Kuban had already turned their companies before the Kushan bowmen behind the spearmen had the opportunity to shoot a volley. But I saw what appeared to be a flock of birds suddenly appear in the sky before falling to earth, Khosrou’s men cantering towards us.
‘Time to withdraw, my friend,’ I said to Malik.
His black banner fluttered next to my griffin as we rode our horses back to the black mass of Agraci warriors waiting patiently. Malik issued a command and they began to turn their horses to retreat west. For seasoned killers eager to wash their sword blades in enemy blood, it stuck in the craw but was essential if our plan was to work. We pulled back perhaps eight hundred yards before about-facing to see Margianans slowly wheeling around to face the east. The flat terrain at first made it difficult to discern what was happening on the wings, but the fog of confusion soon cleared when I saw my Durans retreating rapidly leaving Khosrou’s men in the centre behind. I clench my fist and shouted in triumph. It could only mean one thing: enemy horsemen were pursuing them.
I could not see but knew that the rear ranks of the Durans would be shooting arrows at the enemy over the hindquarters of their horses to both inflict casualties and goad the enemy into continuing their pursuit. I heard a chorus of horn calls and saw the rear ranks of Khosrou’s horsemen wheel right, to take them behind the Kushan horsemen pursuing my Durans. I craned my neck and peered over to the left where Spartacus and his men had also beat a hasty retreat, which had now halted as the King of Gordyene about-faced his companies to attack the Kushans who found themselves suddenly surrounded by his men and the horsemen of Margiana. Half of Khosrou’s men had wheeled right, half had wheeled left and suddenly our army had no centre as a deadly struggle broke out on the wings. Between them was empty space and I could see the long line of enemy foot soldiers in the distance. I knew the enemy skirmishers would be running to support the Kushan horsemen engaged in the mêlée, behind them the spearmen and archers. The latter in particular would be able to wreak havoc if they got within range.
‘Now is the time, my friend,’ I said to Malik, ‘we must ride forward to halt the enemy’s foot.’
The Agraci needed no second prompting and within a couple of minutes two thousand men armed with lances and swords and carrying round black shields were cantering forward, the sounds of close-quarters battle coming from either side as Parthians battled Kushans. I nocked an arrow in my bowstring when I saw the swarm of skirmishers dashing towards us, lightly armed men wearing no body armour or helmets who were focused on supporting their own horsemen. Instead they were faced with a line of black-clad Agraci hollering war cries. Trained to fight widely spaced and fleet of foot, they had no defence against horsemen. There were thousands of them but their wicker shields were useless as Malik’s warriors rode through them and scythed scores down.
Upwards of two thousand were killed or wounded in the initial clash, the rest turning tail and fleeing in a desperate attempt to reach the sanctuary of their spearmen who were already halting and forming a defensive square. I slowed Tegha , took aim with my bow and shot a Kushan in the back, strung another arrow and cut down another skirmisher, hitting him in the stomach. One man charged at me, holding his shield in front of him and raising his javelin to throw it at me. I released the bowstring and saw my arrow go straight through the wicker shield into his chest. He staggered and fell to the ground, looking up forlornly as an Agraci horse trampled on him.
Malik was in his element, his bodyguard around him as he hacked left and right to cut down Kushans. Other Agraci speared skirmishers with their lances before drawing their swords to cut down more. It was turning into a massacre and would have been a bloodbath had it not been interrupted by cane arrows falling like rain among horsemen and skirmishers alike.
‘Sound retreat,’ I shouted at Malik, around us friend and foe alike being struck by arrows.
Malik heard my plea and seeing the arrows thudding into the ground, men and horses, shouted at his signaller to sound withdrawal. It seemed to take an age for the order to be conveyed but, like the raiders they were, the Agraci needed no second prompting and were already disengaging from the enemy. The retreat was a mad gallop to take us beyond the range of the Kushan arrows that were now falling in dense volleys, cutting down more skirmishers than Agraci warriors. The Kushan commander had swatted the Agraci away but in doing do had destroyed his own skirmishers. Had he known what was happening on the flanks he would have ordered a speedy withdrawal back to his queen’s city. But he was a man not an eagle and had no way of knowing that the majority of his light horsemen and horse archers were dead, the remnants fleeing for their lives.
‘The enemy commander is a madman,’ said Malik, his sword blade smeared with gore.
A courier arrived from Khosrou to inform us that our right wing had been victorious and the Kushan horsemen were fleeing.
‘Now is your time, my friend,’ I said to Malik, ‘give pursuit to prevent them reforming and returning to the battlefield.
It was a gamble because fighting was raging on the left where Spartacus and his men were still involved in a mêlée with the Kushans, but now Khosrou could send reinforcements to tip the scales in favour of my nephew. Malik offered me his hand and I shook it, then he was riding among his men, steeling their resolve for more slaughter. They needed little encouragement but they did need steering away from the now immobile Kushan foot soldiers that had formed an impenetrable square. As groups of Khosrou’s leather-armoured warriors began riding over to support our left wing, Malik and his Agraci skirted the enemy square to pursue the fleeing enemy horsemen.
The second phase of the battle was about to begin.
There was a pause as both sides drew breath. A red flag showing a silver lion fluttered in the humid air as the King of Gordyene rode to converse with the rest of us. Some of the iron scales on his scale armour were missing and he looked like he had been in a hard fight. He raised his hand to Khosrou and myself.
‘These Kushan fight well. It was a close-run thing for a while.’ He nodded at Khosrou. ‘Your men were the decisive factor.’
‘All that remains is the destruction of that square,’ said Khosrou.
Already companies were being deployed to block off the Kushan line of retreat, though our horsemen were careful not to stray within range of their bowmen. I was suddenly aware that I was dripping with sweat and looked into the leaden sky.
‘It’s going to rain.’
Like mad men we removed our bowstrings and stored them in leather pouches in our saddlebags. Thousands of men around us were doing the same as a few spits of rain hit us. There was an ominous rumble of thunder above and then the heavens opened. Visibility, before so excellent, suddenly dropped to less than a hundred paces as we were enveloped by a deluge. The unceasing downpour was a welcome relief as I removed my helmet, extended my arms, looked up and closed my eyes to receive blessed relief. I was lost in my own world as the rain increased in intensity and began to soak the ground. Soon a small lake began to form around me as the soil became waterlogged, unable to drain the rain that was falling on it. Tegha moved back and forth as he began to be unnerved by the cracks of thunder overhead and the occasional flash of lighting.
Movement was all but impossible and as the minutes passed I reflected on the possibility that the Kushan foot soldiers might use the rainfall to attempt to walk past our horsemen. But that would mean breaking up their formation and just as we were stranded in the rain, it would be no easy matter for thousands of foot soldiers to trudge through water and mud. And then the rain suddenly stopped.
Just as it had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, the clouds parted and the sun beat down on the sodden ground. It became very warm very quickly, around me men wiping their lacquer-covered bows with cloths and restringing them. We were all drenched, but in a matter of minutes steam began to rise from our clothes and horses. I stared ahead and smiled when I saw the Kushan square still in place.
‘Time to end this,’ I said.
We plodded across the waterlogged grass, letting our horses thread their own way through the drenched ground. It was an agonisingly slow process but after half an hour our forces had established an unbroken ring around the square. A thin ring admittedly but one the Kushans would have to break if they intended to withdraw back to the east. I wondered how Malik and his Agraci were faring, especially after the downpour. Pray Shamash they were safe.
I called Jagat forward. ‘I think we should try to entice the Kushans to lay down their weapons,’ I said to Khosrou and Spartacus.
‘What’s the use of that?’ snapped Khosrou. ‘We let them go and we will only have to kill them another day.’
‘I am of the same opinion,’ said Spartacus.
Khosrou gave me a rueful smile. ‘I understand. You get them to surrender and then we kill them. Clever, Pacorus, very clever.’
‘I never developed the taste for slaughtering unarmed men,’ I told him, ‘and I do not intend to acquire it today.’
Jagat appeared with his guardians, his thinning hair matted to his scalp. I pointed at the Kushan square.
‘I wish you to accompany me to act as a translator. I intend to demand their surrender.’
‘They will refuse,’ he said defiantly.
I beckoned Katana over. ‘They might, but until we ask them we will never know.’
I jumped down from Tegha and indicated my commander should do the same. I walked with him for a few feet and spoke softly to him. He showed surprise.
‘Take three companies,’ I told him. ‘Take care, there might be isolated groups of enemy horsemen in the area.’
He saluted, remounted his horse and trotted away. I retook my saddle and waved forward Jagat and his guards, walking Tegha forward towards the Kushans.
‘If they cut you down, we will avenge your death,’ grinned Khosrou, those of his men nearby raising their weapons and cheering.
‘Your words are always a comfort to me, lord king.’
‘Are you not afraid?’ Jagat asked me as we neared the locked shields of the Kushans.
My bow was in its case, my sword was in its scabbard and Jagat was obviously carrying no weapons. There was always a possibility that the enemy, enraged at the defeat of their horsemen, might take revenge on me, but I presented no threat and having been in a similar situation to the Kushans on a number of occasions, I had always been curious to hear what the enemy wanted.
‘No,’ I answered.
When we were around fifty paces from the square a voice called out to us. I halted Tegha and looked at Jagat.
‘He says that is close enough.’
‘Tell him I am King Pacorus of Dura and I am here to avoid further bloodshed.’
Jagat did as instructed and laughed when a reply came.
‘He says that if you wish to avoid bloodshed then withdraw.’
‘Whom am I addressing?’
Jagat relayed my query and a name was given to me.
‘General Kaniska.’
‘Tell the general that his horsemen have been beaten, that there is no escape and that he has a simple choice – concede defeat and march back to Indraprastha with his men, or die on this waterlogged ground.’
Jagat relayed my offer but the general was defiant, knowing that even without his horsemen he still, judging by the frontage of the sides of the square, outnumbered us. We returned to an unhappy Khosrou, eager to restart the battle.
‘Have patience, lord,’ I said, ‘we will not have to use up any more arrows today.’
Khosrou’s patience began to wear thin as we waited for the return of Katana and his men, all the time the heat rising as the midpoint of the day approached. And still the Kushan square remained immobile. Spartacus received a visit from his commander enquiring as to the delay.
‘I was wondering that,’ snapped Khosrou. ‘Let’s attack and get it done with.’ He looked at me. ‘And don’t tell me to have patience. We are here to kill the enemy not wait until he dies of old age.’
The arrival, finally, of Katana put an end to his grumblings, though he was spitting blood when he saw my men marshalling a herd of cattle towards us.
‘What in the name of the gods is this?’ he bellowed in exasperation.
Katana rode over to me and saluted.
‘Apologies for the delay, majesty, it took more time than anticipated to round up enough cows.’
‘Cows!’ exclaimed Khosrou.
‘My lord,’ I said to him, ‘indulge me a little longer. You are in for a pleasant surprise.’
I mounted Tegha and accompanied Katana as his men herded the cows in a line towards the Kushan square, the words of Jagat ringing in my ears.
‘This is sacrilege, King Pacorus, the gods will have their revenge.’
They might but this encounter needed to be brought to a speedy conclusion. So three hundred Duran horse archers approached the enemy, safe in the knowledge that the Kushans would not shoot at us. Ropes around the cows’ necks kept the animals close to our horses as we halted around fifty paces from the locked shields of the western side of the square. There was absolute silence among the enemy but I could feel the eyes of the front-rank spearmen on me.
‘Jagat, you will be my interpreter again.’
‘I will not.’
‘Ready,’ I shouted.
Three hundred bows were raised.
‘Loose!’
Three hundred arrows shot forward into the shield wall, my men aiming above the top rims of shields to strike faces. Hideous high-pitched screams came from the spearmen as arrows went into eye sockets, shattered teeth to exit the back of throats and broke cheekbones. Not all the wounds were fatal but they fragmented the shield wall as men collapsed to reveal those standing behind. My men could shoot up to twelve arrows a minute and every arrow, shot from the stationary position, was finding its mark.
‘Stop,’ I commanded.
To their credit the Kushans, unable to retaliate for fear of harming the cows, pulled back the dead and wounded and replaced them with fresh men to present an unbroken wall of locked shields once more. The silence had been replaced by moans and screams from those Kushans who had been wounded, the sound unsettling the cows.
‘You can act as my interpreter or see more men die, Jagat,’ I said, ‘the decision rests entirely in your hands.’
He came forward on his horse. ‘Very well.’
‘Convey this message for me.
‘General Kaniska, you and your men have fought valiantly but there is no need for further bloodshed. If you yield and your men lay down their weapons, then I, King Pacorus of Dura, pledge that their lives will be spared and they will be allowed to go where they will. Or we can stay here and fight each other until only one of us is left alive. You have five minutes to decide.’
Jagat conveyed my offer and less than a minute after he had finished the shield wall opened and a burly brute wearing a cuirass of overlapping steel discs appeared to confront me. He had a thick neck, close-cropped raven-black hair and carried a large sword in his right hand. He said something to Jagat in a deep voice.
‘This is General Kaniska, lord.’
I jumped down from Tegha and tilted my head at the general, who looked at the line of my horse archers and their bovine companions. Kaniska looked me up and down and pointed at the cows, speaking in his native tongue to me.
‘The general demands that you take the cows out of danger.’
‘He will agree to my terms?’
Kaniska squared up to me and the archers nearby raised their bows to point the arrowheads at the thickset Kushan.
‘Stand down,’ I ordered.
This seemed to please the general who cracked the semblance of a smile. He said something else to Jagat.
‘The general will agree to march from the field if the cows are released now.’
‘I agree.’
‘I would advise against that, majesty,’ said Katana, ‘there is no guarantee if we do so they will not use their bowmen against us.’
‘That is a chance I am prepared to take. Take the cows away and do not harm any. And do not let any of Khosrou’s men near them; they might try to eat them.’
Katana and his men, with the cows in tow, departed to leave me in the company of General Kaniska, Jagat and his two guards. It would have been easy for the general to order his men to surge forward and cut me down but what benefit would he have reaped? The death of a foreign king and the certain destruction of him and his men. Instead he ordered his men to stand down and begin stacking their shields and weapons.
‘Queen Rana will not tolerate an invasion of her lands,’ Kaniska informed me through Jagat.
‘As we do not tolerate an invasion of Parthia,’ I replied.
‘Queen Rana is a dangerous enemy to make for she is the sister of the emperor himself. My advice, Parthian, is to flee back across the Indus while you still can.’
I thanked him for his advice and wished him and his men safe passage back to the queen’s city.
There was still six hours of daylight left, enough to oversee the destruction of the Kushan shields, bows and spears. Officers were allowed to keep their swords but the rest of Kaniska’s men would surrender their blades, which would be thrown into the nearest lake.
I sat on Tegha beside Khosrou and Spartacus as great plumes of smoke rose into the warm afternoon air from the bonfire of Kushan weapons. The enemy soldiers were tramping away disconsolately to the east, heads down and shoulders slumped. The great column of defeated and demoralised men must have numbered nearly twenty thousand, all vanquished by a herd of cattle. For that reason, it had been one of the most unusual battles I had fought in.
Khosrou was still unhappy. ‘They will march back to Indraprastha where they will be re-equipped.’
Parties of Agraci were now returning to the battlefield, their horses blown and lathered in sweat, their riders similarly tired. A drawn but happy Malik came to our stand of banners and reported he and his men had chased the Kushan horsemen for miles.
‘We had to stop when the heavens opened but the plain is littered with Kushan dead.’
‘You have done well,’ Khosrou complimented him. ‘Pacorus got the enemy to surrender and now we have to watch them march away.’
‘But without their weapons,’ said Spartacus.
‘Weapons can be replaced,’ Khosrou informed him.
‘It does not matter,’ I told them all, ‘Indraprastha is only a day’s ride from here and I intend to reach it before General Kaniska and his army of weaponless soldiers.’
‘To what end?’ asked Khosrou.
‘There is a great treasure there,’ I said, ‘one that will compel Kujula to leave Parthia.’