By dint of an ancient treaty that no one remembered, Media owned a small strip of territory adjacent to the eastern shore of Lake Urmia right up to the Araxes River. This was the route Atrax and his rebel army had used to advance against Irbil the year before, and happily for him and the Armenians that followed him, using this land meant they did not wander into Atropaiene territory, thus ensuring the neutrality of King Ali. I had sent Talib and his scouts ahead to make contact with the forces of Gordyene, but he returned to the army with news that Spartacus and his army had not left Gordyene territory but were camped directly north of Lake Urmia a few miles south of the Araxes. I found it strange that he had not placed his soldiers in the path the Armenians would take if they launched an invasion of Media, but when we arrived at the great encampment that housed Gordyene’s army, I understood why.
We arrived on a beautiful late spring day, the sun high in a sky dotted with small puffy white clouds, a gentle breeze blowing to ruffle the dozens of banners among my nephew’s army. This region of northern Gordyene abutting Armenia was one of contrasts. Around us were high mountains with snowy peaks, with red rock faces below, from where cool, fresh air invigorated lungs and bodies. But the valleys and mountain steppes were lush and green, fed by ample supplies of rainwater, streams and rivers. Bitterly cold during the winter months, in spring they were pleasant and fertile. There were no settlements in this part of Gordyene, which had been raided and criss-crossed by warring bands for decades, although now the only raids were launched north by the Aorsi across the Araxes.
The valley Gordyene’s army occupied was lush and verdant, being watered by numerous streams running into the Araxes some five miles further north. In the middle sat the large marching camp the Immortals had created to house the thousands of men, mules, camels, horses and dozens of carts that accompanied the army. The carts were the only thing missing from the grand parade organised by my nephew to welcome the rulers of Dura and Hatra to his kingdom, though I suspected it was more for Gafarn and Diana’s benefit than Gallia’s and mine. Nevertheless, it was a fine spectacle and showed the army of Gordyene in all its glory.
Long gone were the days when that army had been nothing more than a ragtag band of men and women armed with a variety of weapons riding anything that could bear their weight. That had been in the days when the Romans had occupied Gordyene and the spirit of freedom had been kept alive by groups of hardy raiders living in the forests and mountains. They had been replaced by professional soldiers, men equipped by the armourers and workshops of Vanadzor, which worked day and night to produce the weapons and armour that kept the kingdom safe. Though like the freedom fighters of yesteryear, it had been a long time since Gordyene had had to defend itself. Now it exported war and its troops were among the finest in the Parthian Empire.
We rode down the corridor separating the two parts of my nephew’s army, either side of us battalions of Immortals deployed in open order. In front of each company was a scorpion bolt thrower such as used by my own soldiers. The Immortals, like their famed Persian namesakes, were maintained at a strength of ten thousand men, the replacement battalion at Vanadzor ensuring there was a constant supply of new recruits to make up losses. They were to all intents and purposes legionaries, being equipped in a similar fashion – mail armour, helmets and large oval shields faced with hide painted red bearing a white lion’s head motif – and armed exactly the same as Dura’s legions and indeed Rome’s: two javelins, short sword and dagger. Their tunics were even red like their Roman counterparts, though they wore black leggings.
Either side of the Immortals were companies of medium horsemen, men in helmets, scale armour cuirasses, with pteruges hanging from the waist. They carried round wooden shields faced with red-painted hide and embossed with a white lion’s head motif. Their main weapon was a spear, though each man was also armed with a sword, axe and dagger.
Outnumbering the medium horsemen were Gordyene’s horse archers: men riding hardy, swift horses, wearing no armour except soft pointed hats. Attired in red tunics and black leggings, their hats also red, each horseman carried two full quivers, a recurve bow and a short sword.
As we trotted past the horse archers, medium horsemen and Immortals, the élite of Gordyene’s army came into view: the King’s Guard and Vipers. The latter had existed when Surena had ruled Gordyene with his queen Viper, the former Amazon who had died in childbirth. Then they had been called Lionesses, but their name had been changed in honour of the woman who had formed and led them. They now numbered five hundred women and were commanded by Narin, whose name meant ‘delicate’ but who was anything but, and who was as effective on the battlefield as Zenobia. The Vipers were striking for the sex of their ranks, but the King’s Guard would not have looked out of place on the parade square at Ctesiphon. Like the other members of the army they wore red tunics and black leggings, but whereas the medium horsemen wore iron scale-armour, the King’s Guard sported cuirasses of alternating steel and bronze scales that shimmered in the sun like fish scales. Each horseman also wore pteruges at the shoulders and thighs, a burnished helmet and carried a round shield bearing a lion emblem. Originally armed with spears, the King’s Guard were armed with ukku swords, recurve bow, two quivers and a dagger. To finish off his appearance each horseman wore a red cloak and his horse was fitted with a large red saddlecloth.
Red was the colour of the day and hinted at the blood that would be spilt in the coming days, my eyes being drawn to a huge red banner showing a silver lion fluttering behind the king and his two sons mounted on their horses in front of the camp’s entrance. The Durans and Exiles were already building our own camp a couple of miles away, Lucius and his engineers laying out the dimensions of the ditch and rampart to provide shelter and security for forty-three thousand soldiers, thousands of squires, hundreds of non-combatants and tens of thousands of animals.
It was a happy reunion between Spartacus and his parents, Diana walking her horse forward to kiss her son on the cheek and share a few private words with him. Spartacus was all smiles as he greeted Gallia and me.
‘Welcome, aunt, uncle, this is a great day for Parthia; for now the empire’s three greatest powers are united in the defence of Media. I trust my son and daughter are well?’
‘Akmon and Lusin are thriving,’ I assured him.
‘And you will soon be a grandfather,’ beamed Gallia, ‘and you two uncles.’
Castus and Haytham were now fine young men, the former with blue eyes and dark blonde hair tumbling from beneath his helmet, the latter’s hair black as night like his dead mother’s.
General Hovik, dependable, austere and slightly weathered looking, was behind his king, next to the cutthroat Shamshir, commander of the King’s Guard.
‘It is good to see you, general,’ I called. ‘How did you find the east?’
‘Hot, dusty and humid in equal measure, majesty,’ he replied. ‘I am glad to be back home.’
I ignored Shamshir who showed disdain in his cold eyes. And the man next to him, the swarthy Spadines, the leader of the Aorsi tribe and the man who had devoted his life to inflicting misery on the Armenian people and anyone else who crossed his path. Rated a valuable ally by Spartacus, I had nothing but contempt for him and his Sarmatian bandits. I turned in the saddle to peer at the immaculately dressed ranks of Gordyene’s army.
‘Something troubles you, uncle?’ said Spartacus.
I turned back to face him.
‘Are all your soldiers present?’
‘They are,’ he told me, ‘though Prince Spadines’ troops are deployed along the Araxes to keep the Armenians amused until we determine our plan of campaign.’
I caught a glance of Spadines smirking and nodding knowingly at Shamshir. I wondered if the ugly commander of the King’s Guard was related to the uncivilised Spadines, long-lost brothers, perhaps. I laughed. Quizzical stares were directed at me.
‘I must compliment you on your army, Spartacus, it is a credit to both you and all Parthia.’
It was no lie. Every man and woman who wore a red tunic was a professional and trained to operate with the other constituent parts of the army. Thus the horsemen could operate closely with the Immortals, and vice-versa. This meant the Immortals could form a square with the horsemen inside it, to fight a defensive battle, which could change in an instant if the ranks of the foot soldiers opened to allow the horse archers and medium horsemen to attack. They were the same tactics used by Dura’s army, the only significant difference being that Gordyene possessed no cataphracts, the steel fist of my own army and that of Hatra’s. But that had not prevented Gordyene’s soldiers from tasting victory after victory on the battlefield.
We rode into camp, passing neat blocks of ten-man tents, each one the campaign home of a company of Immortals, or ten horsemen. In the Roman and Duran armies, troops slept in eight-man tents called a papilio, which was made of oiled goatskin, though the Romans also used calfskin. But to differentiate Gordyene’s soldiers from the Romans’ whose training, organisation and weapons they had copied, ten-man tents were the norm. I thought it churlish but to Spartacus such gestures spoke volumes, as did enforcing a prohibition on calling the short sword, javelin and shield gladius, pilum and scutum, respectively, on pain of a flogging, even though they were exact copies.
In the centre of camp stood the headquarters tent, a rather dour, functional structure far removed from the exotic pavilions served by armies of slaves used by most Parthian kings, except me, when on campaign. The eating and general reception area of the tent was small, made more diminutive by the stout oak table placed in the centre, around which we all sat on wooden stools, soldiers serving us wine and water. Laid on the table was a hide map of northern Gordyene and southern Armenia, the Araxes the dividing line between the two. Spartacus remained standing to dominate the proceedings, his two sons standing behind him and Hovik and Spadines loitering nearby. After we had been served drinks Spartacus came straight to the point.
‘Due to our presence, the Armenians are camped beyond the Araxes, five or six miles from here.’
He pointed at the map. ‘We are here, and the enemy is here.’
He moved his finger a few inches to indicate a spot north of the river.
‘Now the spring melt waters are abating,’ he continued, ‘the current has slowed, and the level has dropped to four feet.’
‘How wide is the river?’ asked Gafarn.
‘Around fifty yards, perhaps more. It is an ideal crossing point where the river flows south and then east to create a bend just over a mile in length. The bend in the river slows the current, making it safer for an army to cross.’
I studied the map. ‘The Armenians will also be aware of this, and to undertake a river crossing in the face of enemy resistance is no small thing, Spartacus. Foot soldiers and horsemen wading through water are very vulnerable to enemy slingshots, arrows and spears. And they can be struck when they are just exiting the water, when they will be disorganised and at their most vulnerable. It could quickly turn into a disaster.’
‘Pacorus has a point, son,’ said Diana.
Spartacus gave her a reassuring smile.
‘Which is why, mother, we will not be crossing at that point. Rather,’ he indicated a spot to the east, ‘the horsemen will cross five miles downstream. The current is stronger and the water deeper, but it is possible to get horsemen across without too much difficulty. Is that not true, Prince Spadines?’
The wild man of the north gave a leer and nodded.
‘True, lord.’
I groaned when Spadines walked forward to speak.
‘We have used this crossing place many times to raid Armenia.’
‘Small parties of horsemen, I assume?’ I said.
He smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, lord.’
‘Ever seen a camel swim, prince?’
His smile disappeared as he looked at me warily.
‘I do not understand, lord.’
I drank a mouthful of wine. ‘Horses can swim if they get into difficulties, but I have never seen a camel swim, which is unfortunate as we will need camels to supply the horse archers with spare arrows.’
‘We can leave the camel train behind, uncle,’ said Spartacus. ‘The horse archers can carry additional quivers. The most important thing is that our horsemen get across the river while the rest of the army holds the attention of the Armenians in the bend of the river. Then our horsemen will strike the enemy from behind and push them into the river.’
I took another mouthful of what was a most excellent wine.
‘It is a good plan, my congratulations,’ I told Spartacus, which elicited smug smiles from Spadines and the two princes. ‘Fixing the enemy’s attention by a secondary operation while the most important element marches to envelop the foe’s rear, thereby severing his lines of communication and making his position untenable. If it is successful.’
‘The army of Gordyene has never tasted defeat,’ boasted Spadines, making Hovik wince with embarrassment.
‘The risks are high,’ agreed Gafarn. He looked at his son and the Aorsi chief. ‘I assume the Armenians also have scouts who are monitoring our own movements?’
‘It is a good plan,’ insisted Spartacus.
‘It is a risky plan,’ I corrected him, ‘but one that we should adopt in the absence of an alternative. Having marched all the way here, we cannot now dither. I will get my scouts to undertake a thorough reconnaissance of the two crossing points to satisfy myself the river is at least fordable.’
‘There is no need for that,’ insisted Spadines, ‘my men know the river like the backs of their hands.’
‘Crossing a desert at night under a full moon requires much concentration,’ stated Malik, who thus far had remained silent, ‘but fording a river is fraught with risks. What about rocks and boulders on the riverbed?’
‘The riverbed is just mud and sand at that point,’ Spadines told him.
I ignored him, as I did not want to waste my time arguing with a bandit. I looked at Hovik, the careworn commander of Gordyene’s army who looked like an over-worked shop owner but who had forged that army into a war-winning instrument.
‘General, I would hear your opinion on this operation.’
Hovik’s red tunic had seen better days and his boots could have done with a clean, but he was one of those individuals who garnered instant respect, not only for his keen mind but because he had been a common foot soldier when Balas had ruled Gordyene, a mere teenager armed with a spear. In a career spanning four decades he had fought the Romans, Armenians and indeed other Parthians when Orodes had defeated Surena before the walls of Vanadzor. He cleared his throat.
‘One way or another, we have to cross the Araxes, defeat the Armenian army and encircle the city of Artaxata to bring this campaign to a successful conclusion, or at least exact reparations from the Armenians for what they did in Media last year. We are all agreed on that.’
He looked at Gafarn and me in turn. ‘I understand your misgivings, majesties, but we must strike now, while the iron is hot, so to speak. Therefore, and to reduce the risks involved, I propose the horsemen should cross the river in two days’ time. At night.’
Absolute silence met his words and I wondered if he was attempting some sort of levity.
‘It will be a full moon,’ continued Hovik, ‘and visibility will be adequate. More to the point, even if they are watching the river, the Armenians will not be expecting us to attack at night.’
‘Crossing a river at night is risky at the best of times, general’ said Gafarn.
‘That it is, majesty.’
‘And yet you still propose it?’ I asked him. ‘Why?’
‘Because Dura, Hatra and Gordyene have the best trained troops in the world, majesty,’ he told me, ‘and it makes sense to make the most of their talents. Speed and surprise will get us across the river.’
‘And then?’ I asked.
‘The road leads directly north to the Armenian capital,’ said Spartacus.
‘We do not desire the deaths of Artaxias or his family,’ stated Gafarn bluntly, ‘or the annexation of Armenia by Gordyene. We are here to enforce the territorial integrity of Media.’
‘And to avenge Rasha,’ said Gallia, to the satisfaction of Spartacus and his sons.
‘I do not covet any Armenian territory,’ declared Spartacus, ‘but rather desire to see the Armenians respect others’ borders.’
‘I think General Hovik’s plan is a good one,’ said Gallia. ‘We have all fought at night before.’
‘But I still insist my scouts carry out a reconnaissance of the area beforehand,’ I added, ‘so they may familiarise my commanders with the terrain.’
Spadines was going to say something but Spartacus shook his head.
‘As you wish, uncle.’
‘There is one more thing,’ I said, ‘I wish to be overall commander during the campaign. I say this not out of a desire to order anyone about but rather because I have had experience of being the leader of armies composed of disparate elements.’
I expected Spartacus to argue that he should lead the expedition, but he merely shrugged.
‘As you desire, uncle.’
Malik nodded.
‘I always knew you would make lord high general again, Pacorus,’ joked Gafarn.
Spadines, his nose put out of joint, insisted his men accompany Talib and his scouts during their reconnaissance. So, for the remainder of that day and the next, small parties of scouts rode up and down the river, on the opposite bank parties of Armenian horsemen shadowing their movements. It was clear the enemy was very aware of our presence, though unless they had troops across the Araxes they would have no idea of our numbers.
There were now sixty thousand Parthian soldiers massed five miles south of the Araxes, three thousand more if one counted the Aorsi, which I did not. With their shabby appearance, wild assortment of weapons and armour, most of it either stolen or gifted, they presented a sorry spectacle. The fact their ranks included many women did not concern me, but their lack of tactics, discipline and training did. They were born raiders, thieves, cutthroats and brawlers good only for mopping up after victory had been secured. If that.
‘That Sarmatian was right, majesty, the river is shallow enough for a man on a horse to wade across, though at night the risks are magnified many times.’
I gestured to Talib he should sit on one of the stools arranged by Klietas around the table in my command tent. The light was beginning to fade outside and Talib looked tired. He and his men had spent the afternoon carrying out a detailed reconnaissance of the southern shore of the river. Klietas filled a cup with water and handed it to him.
Karys, Chrestus, Kewab and Lucius were also in attendance, along with Gallia and Malik. Klietas hovered over us like a hornet, water jug in hand ready to refill empty cups. Everyone ignored him as he did so.
‘Did you see any Armenians?’ asked Chrestus.
‘Yes, lord. A few horsemen, scouts, I assume.’
The general looked at me. ‘I don’t like it, majesty, any general worth his salt would know the river is fordable in many places and would plan accordingly.’
‘We must make a lot of noise and a great display at the main crossing point,’ said Kewab, ‘to focus the enemy’s attention on that spot rather than further downstream.’
‘How many horsemen will be crossing at night?’ asked Malik.
‘Ten thousand,’ I answered, ‘divided equally between the Agraci, Kewab’s soldiers, the horsemen of Mesene, Duran horse archers and Gordyene’s medium horsemen.’
Chrestus exhaled disapprovingly.
‘We don’t need the horsemen of Gordyene, majesty, we should stick with the soldiers we know and trust.’
‘You don’t trust Spartacus’ men, general?’ queried Gallia.
He ran a hand over his cropped crown.
‘They are good soldiers, majesty, no doubt about that. But operations at night are risky and if I was taking part in one I would prefer to have soldiers around me who I knew and trusted implicitly.’
‘I agree,’ I told him, ‘but for diplomatic reasons we must include a contingent from Gordyene.’
‘The key to success will be to distract the Armenians,’ said Kewab, thinking out loud.
‘That is where you come in, Chrestus. The Durans and Exiles will leave camp before dawn, link up with the Immortals and march to the main crossing point, making as much noise as possible. When the sun comes up the rest of the horsemen of the army will join them. Use every whistle, drum, horn and trumpet to make as much a racket as you can. Gafarn and Spartacus will instruct their soldiers to do likewise. As soon as you see us on the opposite bank, attack.
‘If we do not appear, you will know we were surprised at the river and butchered.’
Klietas, who had been taking a keen interest in what was being said, laughed.
Every pair of eyes turned on him, making him blush.
‘You think the death of your king is funny, boy?’ growled Chrestus.
‘No, highborn, my apologies.’
‘If the king falls, I will take you to the river myself and drown you,’ threatened Chrestus.
‘Let’s concentrate on killing Armenians, shall we?’ I advised. ‘Besides, I do not intend to fall, unless it’s into the water if Horns panics in the dark and throws me.’
‘Perhaps you should stay on this side of the river,’ advised Gallia, ‘and let younger men carry out the river crossing.’
‘A commander leads from the front,’ I replied, ‘besides, I’ve never forded a river at night.’
Hovik was right about the full moon, which appeared overly large in the night sky above us: a huge grey disc casting the land in an eerie silver light. The brightness certainly aided our journey from camp to the crossing point five miles downstream of where the main force would ford the river, but such was the brightness that we became very visible. I scanned the mountains and craggy hills on the opposite side of the river and imagined them filled with Armenian soldiers ready to report our presence as soon as we came into view. It was also very quiet, unnervingly so, and I worried that the jangle of bridles, the snorts of horses and the dull crump of thousands of hooves on the ground would carry long distances, to the ears of our enemies.
‘It looks wider at night,’ I said to those with me.
We had halted at the riverbank, around us officers organising the horsemen into five columns to ford the river, using hand signals instead of shouting orders, the use of horns and trumpets prohibited.
‘Darkness acts as a strong stimulus to the imagination, majesty,’ Kewab told me, ‘and exaggerates a feeling of insecurity. Objects seem bigger and distances greater.’
‘It looks a mile wide,’ said Karys, pointing at the river, which resembled a massive black snake slithering through the mountains and lowlands. Black and dangerous.
‘The other riverbank is empty, that is something,’ said Malik, his tattooed face like a black mask in the moonlight.
I turned to the commander of Spartacus’ medium horsemen, a man in his early thirties with a thick black beard.
‘Your men are ready?’
‘Yes, majesty.’
I looked at Sporaces beside him.
‘Ready, majesty.’
‘Then let us get wet. May whatever gods you follow be with you this night.’
After Malik had clasped my forearm I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer to Shamash, requesting the Sun God smile on our efforts and watch over Gallia. I opened my eyes and saw Klietas.
‘Keep close to me. Can you swim?’
‘No, highborn.’
‘Then don’t fall off your horse.’
I turned Horns and nudged him forward to join Sporaces’ horse archers, which were divided into four long columns, each five hundred strong. Beyond them were Malik’s Agraci, then Karys’ horse archers and Kewab’s eastern recruits. Finally, some half a mile away but still visible in the luminous silver light, were Gordyene’s medium horsemen, each rider carrying a spear, the points of which looked like pale torches in the ethereal landscape.
I stroked Horns’ neck and whispered into his ear to walk forward. He grunted and entered the cold, black waters of the Araxes. In Armenian tradition, the river was named after Arast, a great-grandson of the legendary hero Hayk, the nahapet, and the original patriarch of the Armenians. According to legend, two-and-a-half thousand years ago Hayk led his household of three hundred from servitude in Babylon to Armenia, being pursued by his lord called Bel. A great battle ensued in which an arrow shot by Hayk killed Bel, thus ushering in the beginning of Armenian history, or so legend would have it.
Horns slowly entered the water and began to move forward, the cold water lapping around my legs and covering his limbs and lower half of his belly. As we left the riverbank I prayed it would not rise any further. Our bows and quivers were slung on our backs, which meant if we were attacked before we reached the opposite bank we would be helpless. Now spring was over the river was no longer raging, though in its many gorge-like sections along its nearly seven-hundred-mile length the torrent was always strong. But here the river was wide – over one hundred yards – though even here in early spring the river would be raging. For this reason, there were no bridges along the entire length of the Araxes.
Mid-point and my legs were chilled, which meant Horns would also be feeling the cold. His breathing was short and hurried but I reached forward to stroke his neck and speak soothing words into his ears. I glanced at the approaching riverbank to try to discern any movement. Praise Shamash there was none. I looked right to see the other columns, now slightly ragged but still intact, Malik and his Agraci ahead of mine. The depth of the water remained unchanged and I grudgingly recognised that Spadines had been right – this was an excellent crossing place. And there were no hidden obstacles on the bottom to impede our movement.
I felt the water around my legs drop and heaved a sigh of relief when Horns exited the water, urging him forward. In front of us, around a mile distant, reared up a large rocky hill. I turned to Sporaces.
‘Get a couple of companies ahead to scout that rock, and two more east and west to guard the track.’
It was around three hours before dawn and when all the contingents had left the water, a council of war was held on the riverbank. Filling our minds had been whether we would be able to cross the river safely and would the crossing be contested. Now we were on the north bank of the Araxes and had suffered no casualties save for a score of men who had drowned during the passage. We shivered in the cold night air, our legs soaked and a slight breeze chilling us further. I rubbed my hands and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in my leg.
‘We wait until dawn and then ride west to attack the enemy in the rear.’
‘We should attack now, Pacorus,’ suggested Malik, ‘while we have the element of surprise. Ten thousand horsemen can kill a lot of Armenians.’
‘You are right, my friend,’ I agreed, ‘but we are the sting in the scorpion’s tail and our success depends on the rest of the army drawing the Armenians into the bend in the river, so they can be surrounded and annihilated. A little patience now, my friend, will save many Parthian and Agraci lives later.’
‘And with the dawn the sun will be behind our backs,’ said Kewab, ‘increasing our chances of success.’
Malik was not happy but accepted my point, and so we established patrols and a defensive perimeter, stuffed ourselves with strips of cured meat, re-fastened our quivers and bows to our saddles, paced up and down to keep warm and waited for the sun to appear in the east. Klietas was beside himself with excitement.
‘If I do well in the battle and kill an Armenian, will you tell Haya, highborn?’
‘You can tell her yourself.’
‘It would sound better coming from you, highborn.’
‘Ah, so you want me to embellish your exploits.’
‘Embellish?’
‘It means to exaggerate, Klietas. In any case, you are the king’s squire, a position of some importance. I’m sure if you switched your affections to someone else, Haya would be more amenable to your advances.’
The idea dismayed him. ‘Why would I want to do that, highborn?’
‘To make her take more notice of you.’
‘By loving someone else?’
‘Well, by showing some interest in someone else.’
‘I do not want anyone else, highborn.’
‘I know that.’
‘Then why do you suggest I love someone else?’
‘I didn’t.’
He looked totally bemused and lost.
‘I will mention to Haya that you are a brave and loyal squire. In return, I command you to take great care during the battle and stay by my side.’
‘Yes, highborn,’ he replied.
He stared down at the ground.
‘I thought…’
‘You thought that after your little trip to Zeugma Haya would fall into your arms like a grateful girl.’
‘Yes, highborn.’
‘When men see the Amazons, they are drawn to their alluring looks, shapely bodies and lustrous hair. They think the bows, swords and daggers they carry are just for show, and they smirk when they see them wearing helmets and armour. But the weapons and armour are not for show, Klietas, they are the tools of the Amazons’ trade, and that trade is killing. An Amazon is like a wild horse, which needs a lot of taming. Some can never be tamed.’
‘Can Haya, highborn?’
‘That is something you will need to discover for yourself.’
It was now very cold, and my leg was throbbing like fury, causing me to wince with pain and hobble when I walked. But the eastern horizon, previously black, hinted at salvation as white light peaked over the crags. Within minutes the light had increased and the sky, previously black and twinkling with a thousand stars, began to turn purple and blue. Dawn had arrived. The atmosphere, previously calm and subdued, suddenly became frenetic as officers spoke in hushed tones to their men and horses became agitated as they sensed their masters’ heightened tension. Within minutes the warlords were around me, waiting for me to gain Horns’ saddle, which I did with some difficulty after my leg’s immersion in cold water and then being chilled by a cool night breeze.
‘You are getting too old for all this, Pacorus,’ grinned Malik, himself no teenager.
‘That is why I retired, my friend,’ I groaned, settling myself into the saddle, ‘and look how that turned out.’
The sun was rapidly rising behind our backs to herald a beautiful early summer’s day, for some among us their last on earth, and hopefully the same for many more Armenians.
‘Any questions? I asked.
We had spent most of the previous day working out our plan of attack once across the river, the latter causing more concern than the former. Our tactics were simple enough: ride west along the riverbank in two columns. In the vanguard of one, Gordyene’s mounted spearmen. Leading the other Malik and his Agraci. Behind both would be the horse archers – six thousand mounted bowmen ready to lend missile support should we encounter trouble. Once we had arrived at the bend in the river where the main force would cross, we would attack the rear of the Armenian army, hopefully lured into the bend by the racket made by the legions, Immortals and Gafarn’s kettledrummers. Then we would strike the rear of the enemy, with any luck inflicting many casualties and spreading panic. At the same time, our own foot soldiers would be wading across the river, though not until we had arrived.
‘Shamash be with you all,’ I said. ‘Time to go.’
The crisp morning air was filled with the rumble of ten thousand horses cantering over the ground, men controlling the urge of their horses to break into a gallop. The ground was moist because of the rain that had been falling during the previous days, which meant there was no choking dust cloud enveloping us. It also meant visibility was excellent, though the same was also true for the enemy.
The Armenians would have heard us before they saw us, but it made no difference. When we arrived at the giant bend in the river we achieved almost total surprise. Shamash was smiling on us this day for my expectations of victory were not only met but exceeded. Malik led his warriors straight into the attack with no regard for tactics or discipline, his men hollering war cries as they rode straight at the mass of enemy soldiers facing south to meet the attack of our foot soldiers.
The width of our army’s crossing point in the bend was around a mile and a half, the Armenians filling this extent with their foot soldiers. As our columns galloped west, swung south and fanned out into line – apart from the Agraci who attacked in a mob – the enemy foot archers deployed behind the spearmen, turned around and loosed a few volleys into our ranks. Riders fell from saddles and horses collapsed on the ground when arrows hit them. But archers on foot are very vulnerable and after two volleys at most they scattered, running back to the spearmen for protection.
They were not quick enough.
The Agraci and Gordyene’s mounted spearmen were among them in minutes, skewering them with their spears and cutting them down with their swords. With Horns’ reins wrapped around my left wrist, I pulled out my bow from its case, plucked an arrow from my quiver and nocked the missile. Around me Sporaces’ men, according to Duran doctrine, formed into several columns, ready to shoot at the enemy shield wall that would inevitably be formed to meet enemy horsemen.
But there was no shield wall.
Klietas beside me whooped with delight when he saw his arrow hit a spearman around fifty yards ahead, the missile striking his torso, causing him to crumble to the ground.
‘Did you see, highborn, did you see?’
‘I saw.’
I also saw no enemy shield wall; indeed, no enemy army to speak off, just desperate men trying to escape the carnage unfolding around them. Kewab threw his armed spearmen straight into the mêlée, dozens of Armenians dying on the ends of those lances as his horsemen cut their way through to the river to link up with Dura’s legions and Gordyene’s Immortals exiting the water, thereafter forming a screen around them. There was no need. The Armenians, the majority levy spearmen carrying rectangular wicker shields as their only protection, were already trying to flee. But they were trapped between the horsemen that had crossed the river the night before and the foot soldiers emerging from the river.
Sporaces and Karys, keeping a tight control over their men, abandoned company columns deploying their soldiers into lines to shoot at the Armenians running hither and thither in their desperate efforts to escape. For men trained to hit targets riding at the gallop and twisting left and right in the saddle as they did so, sitting stationary in the saddle picking off men wearing no armour was not war; it was sport. A series of trumpet calls announced the cessation of shooting and suddenly there were no Armenians still standing, only hundreds of corpses strewn over the ground, some twitching and others crawling pitifully and moaning in pain, their bodies pierced by one or more arrows. The ‘battle’ was over in around fifteen minutes. The arrow I had first nocked in my bowstring was still there.
I sat on Horns in the centre of what had been the Armenian battle line, if such a term could be used to describe the rabble we had easily brushed aside. At the river, around half a mile to the south, the Durans, Exiles and Immortals were slowly emerging from the water, along with horsemen, which included Spartacus, Gallia, Gafarn and Diana. The banners of Gordyene, Dura and Hatra fluttered in the morning breeze to announce our invasion of Armenia. Malik arrived next to me, his face flushed with triumph, his sword covered in blood.
‘If that is what we can expect from the enemy, then Armenia will fall to us with ease.’
Kewab and Karys arrived to report, the former scanning the ground around us with professional eyes.
‘These were civilians pressed into service, majesty, and suffered accordingly,’ said Kewab. ‘It is very strange.’
‘Strange?’ Malik’s voice was mocking. ‘There is nothing strange about slaughtering one’s enemies.’
‘Losses?’ I asked.
Malik smiled contentedly. ‘Too small to worry about.’
‘Insignificant,’ said Karys.
‘The same,’ added Kewab.
‘Unfurl your banner,’ I told Karys, ‘the standard of Mesene should be flying beside the others.’
Karys beamed with delight. ‘Yes, lord.’
I reached over to kiss Gallia when she and the Amazons arrived, Gafarn and Diana offering me congratulations and Spartacus viewing the dead Armenians with satisfaction.
‘How far to the Armenian capital?’ I asked.
‘About twenty miles,’ Spartacus told me. ‘Through these hills and we will be on the Ararat Plain, good campaigning land.’
‘It will take the rest of the day to get the troops, camels and wagons across the river, and another to reach the Armenian capital,’ I said.
‘The Armenians were foolish to build their capital so close to Parthian territory,’ commented Diana.
‘Artaxata was built one hundred and fifty years ago, mother,’ Spartacus informed her, ‘when Armenia fancied itself as a great power.’
‘Now it is your plaything, lord,’ gloated Spadines, who had appeared with half a dozen of his motley followers.
‘We should get scouts out,’ suggested a concerned-looking Kewab, who suddenly held up a hand.
Spadines observed the Egyptian with barely concealed mirth but Kewab had a keen ear and I too became aware of something on the wind, a faint humming noise.
‘What is it?’ asked Malik.
‘The army of King Artaxias,’ replied Kewab without hesitation, shouting in frustration. ‘That is the reason we encountered only light resistance, to delay the army’s crossing so we could be trapped against the river with only half or less of our soldiers on this side of the Araxes.’
The humming had given way to the familiar sound of drumming and in the distance, heading from the north between the two mountain ridges that flanked the valley, was a black line – Armenians.
‘We must retreat back across the river,’ said Kewab.
Spartacus glared at him. ‘Impossible, to do so would give the enemy an easy victory and I did not come here to withdraw.’
He pointed ahead, to the space at the neck of the bend, a span of around half a mile.
‘We defend the gap there with our foot soldiers, and once the Armenians have wasted their strength on trying to break through, we unleash the horse.’
Gafarn looked at the gap, turned to stare at the Immortals and Dura’s legionaries still wading through the water and shook his head at me. His son saw the gesture.
‘Perhaps those who are too old and cautious should seek shelter back across the river.’
‘Have more respect for your father,’ I reprimanded him.
He threw back his head and laughed, then spoke with a very loud voice so all nearby could hear.
‘Is this the same King Pacorus who won the Battle of Carrhae against a Roman army five times larger than his own, who defeated the Armenians but last year on the Diyana Plain?’
‘Are you insane?’ I shouted in a most unseemly manner. ‘We know nothing of the strength of the enemy bearing down us, but we do know less than half of our own army is yet to cross the river.’
Hovik had ridden over to his lord. His face betrayed his anxiety and I hoped he would voice his concern. But the veteran general knew not to cross his master when his Thracian blood was up. Before he could open his mouth, Spartacus was issuing orders.
‘The Immortals will form a line across the neck of this bend.’
‘It will be a thin line, majesty.’
‘Unless we have assistance,’ replied my nephew, turning to stare at me.
What could I do? Abandon him and his army to their fate, along with Gafarn, Diana and the thousands of other troops exiting the river to march into what could easily become a death trap?
‘I will need your medium horsemen,’ I told him, turning to Gallia.
‘Ride to Chrestus and order him to deploy as many Durans and Exiles as possible next to the Immortals.’
I pointed across the river as I spoke to my wife. ‘Next, you and Gafarn must lead all the cataphracts along the riverbank, cross the river in the same place we used last night and attack the Armenians in the rear.’
I looked at Gafarn. ‘You agree?’
He was already turning his horse. ‘Consider it done.’
I reached over to grab Gallia’s hand ‘Shamash be with you, and in the name of the Sun God hurry.’
‘And you?’
‘I am going to buy us some time.’
I ordered Kewab and Karys to deploy their men either side of Sporaces’ men, in company columns.
‘What of us?’ demanded Malik.
‘Alas, my friend,’ I said, ‘this is a task for horse archers alone. But comfort yourself that you have no need to sheath your sword. We are about to be deluged by the Armenians.’
Though the earlier action had been an easy affair, the horses were tired from the exertions of a night march and their riders had had no sleep the night before and should have been looking forward to a day’s rest. Instead, six thousand horse archers cantered across the grass towards the thickening mass to the north, while around them Immortals and Duran legionaries frantically tried to create a battle line. I glanced at my bow, which was still nocked with the original arrow I strung earlier.
‘Looks like you will see some use today after all, old friend.’
‘We go to kill more Armenians, highborn?’ beamed Klietas.
Unless we get killed first.
‘That’s right, Klietas. Remember your training and don’t waste your arrows. Keep close.’
‘Yes, highborn. If I do well, you will tell Haya?’
‘I will.’
He grinned with delight, unaware we were riding into the jaws of a monster. If we survived that, then we would have to fight for our lives to stop the Armenians from pushing us into the river.
The Battle of the Araxes was about to begin in earnest.