The ballistae were disassembled later that day under the watchful eyes of archers on the walls. Once loaded on carts, they were carried back to camp as the sun descended in the west. The next morning, the air crisp and cool following more rain during the previous evening, the march south began. The horsemen provided a large rearguard and flank protection, while Talib and his men rode ahead to ensure there would be no nasty surprises at the Araxes. There were no Armenian soldiers waiting to ambush us, but there were plenty of black, bloated corpses of their former colleagues providing a rich feast for hordes of ravens, vultures and crows that created a screeching racket fit to raise the dead. The nauseating stench of rotting flesh filled our nostrils and tickled the back of our throats as we were forced to wait at the river until the lengthy process of getting the siege engines, supply wagons and mules, camel trains and foot soldiers back across the river was completed. Finally, after eight hours in the river bend where the battle had taken place only a few days before, the last of the horsemen waded across the Araxes to return to Gordyene and Parthian territory. That night Spartacus feasted his parents, Malik, Gallia and me in his tent.
Castus and Haytham were beside themselves with joy, having defeated and forced a peace on the Armenians, their mother avenged and the treasury at Vanadzor about to be filled by a huge amount of gold. They gorged themselves on freshly killed venison and drank copious amounts of wine, the scruffy Spadines sitting next to them also taking advantage of his lord’s generous hospitality. I wondered when Spartacus would inform him that his days of rape and plunder were over. That would certainly wipe the smirk off his thin face.
Spartacus seemed remote from the proceedings, eating sparingly and barely touching his wine. But he did speak a great deal to Spadines, the Aorsi chief nodding his head and laughing loudly at regular intervals. Spartacus clearly was not ordering him to curtail his raiding habits. Spartacus caught my eye and raised his cup to me.
‘To you and Aunt Gallia, uncle, whose siege engines made the first part of this campaign quick and painless.’
My blood ran cold. ‘The first part of the campaign?’
‘Tomorrow I march west to serve justice on my wife’s murderers.’
Spadines belched. ‘Pontus will burn for its crimes.’
‘You are going to invade Pontus?’ I could not believe what I was hearing.
Spartacus curled his lip into a thin smile.
‘Atrax, Titus Tullus and Tiridates think they are safe behind Sinope’s walls, uncle. But they will discover that Gordyene’s reach is long, as will that hill chief Laodice.’
‘Pontus is a Roman client kingdom, son,’ warned Gafarn. ‘If you wage war against it, you wage war against Rome.’
A broad grin replaced the thin smile.
‘That would be the same Rome that financed Prince Atrax’s attempt to seize the crown of Media, the same Rome that has tormented and invaded Parthia for decades?’
‘The same Rome we now have peace with,’ I said.
Spadines wore a smug expression as his lord raged.
‘Peace! There can be no peace with the Romans. You delude yourself, uncle. The Romans are just using Phraates for their own ends. The high king was foolish to allow his son to be taken by Tiridates, who handed him over to Octavian, who dangles him like a piece of bait in front of Phraates. The high king debases himself by entering into negotiations with his son’s jailers. The boy is dead, uncle, and the world laughs at Phraates’ weakness.’
‘The boy is not dead,’ I insisted.
‘But my wife is,’ he shot back.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gallia and Diana nodding, the knot in my stomach twisted some more.
‘I ask you to reconsider,’ I pleaded. ‘Laying waste to Pontus will not bring back Rasha.’
Spartacus drank some wine. ‘My mind is made up, uncle. I know you embarked upon this campaign reluctantly, but you have fulfilled your part in it. You can leave Gordyene with a clear conscience.’
I glanced at a grim-faced Malik.
‘And you, my friend?’
‘My sword is pledged to Spartacus, Pacorus. I will have vengeance on my sister’s killers.’
‘ We will have justice on Rasha’s killers,’ hissed Gallia.
I once thought Spartacus was the exact opposite of Phraates. Whereas the latter was manipulative and cunning, the former was forthright and straightforward. But the times the King of Gordyene had spent in the company of the high king had corrupted his soul, or perhaps it was always debased, and I chose not to see it. But now I realised he had engineered this evening with one aim in mind only: to reinforce his army with the soldiers of Hatra and Dura. He knew neither Gafarn nor I would agree to march with him into Pontus, but we both had weak spots that he now fully exploited.
‘I wish you both safe journeys back to Dura,’ he said earnestly.
I saw Gallia holding the lock of Rasha’s hair hanging from the chain around her neck and knew we would not be going back to Dura.
‘I will be coming with you,’ said Gallia.
‘Me too,’ added Diana.
My mind went back to the first time we had met Rasha, when a frightened girl had been brought into the Citadel’s throne room when we had first arrived at Dura. From that moment on a special bond had formed between her and Gallia, a bond that had only strengthened as the years passed. A bond that endured still. I turned to Gallia and saw the steely determination in her eyes I had seen so many times before. But I was not defeated just yet. Perhaps I might take the wind out of my nephew’s sails.
‘My siege engines will be going south tomorrow regardless, Spartacus.’
He shrugged. ‘I do not need them. They brought the Armenians to heel but I do not need to capture King Polemon’s capital to get him to surrender the renegades.’
‘How then?’
‘As my friend Spadines says, we lay waste to his kingdom, or threaten to as a start. He will give them up rather than see his kingdom burn.’
I looked at the swarthy Sarmatian.
‘Did your king tell you he promised the Armenians there would be no more Aorsi raids against them? What will you do now, prince?’
Spartacus gave me a wry smile.
‘My lord informed me he would deceive the Armenians,’ Spadines told me.
‘I do not control the Aorsi, uncle,’ said Spartacus. ‘They are my allies, not my subjects.’
‘You gave your word,’ I countered forlornly.
‘My word? To those who were complicit in the murder of my wife? I would tell a thousand lies to trick the Armenians. There will never be peace between Gordyene and Armenia.’
‘Never,’ echoed Castus.
‘Our vengeance has just begun,’ boasted Haytham.
They were so consumed by hatred and a thirst for revenge that everything else became secondary and irrelevant. That was the legacy of the arrow that had killed Rasha on the Diyana Plain. There was no point in pleading for restraint and reason, but I tried anyway.
‘I ask you to be a father to your sons, Spartacus. They have already lost one parent. Would you risk your life, theirs, and the welfare of your subjects, for the sake of revenge?’
‘We march at dawn, uncle,’ he replied, ‘regardless of whether Dura marches with us or not.’
In the morning, a long line of Immortals tramping west out of camp, I sat on Horns with my commanding officers, watching Lucius’ siege engines on carts trundling out of the southern entrance to the camp, heading for Vanadzor. From there they would continue to Irbil and then Assur, before striking west for Hatra and then Dura. Normally Lucius would have gone with them, but I wanted him with us for the journey to Pontus. I had a feeling we would need his knowledge when it came to the return journey.
‘You will be going home, Chrestus,’ said a smiling Lucius.
‘You can look up old family members,’ urged Azad.
‘I have no family in Pontus,’ replied a grim-faced Chrestus, ‘they were killed by the Romans. My family and home are in Dura.’
‘I have looked at the maps we possess on this area,’ said Kewab, ‘and it is at least four hundred miles to Sinope, though how we find a way through the many mountains I have no idea.’
I sighed. ‘Spartacus informs me his Aorsi are intimately acquainted with the many tracks through the mountains leading to both Cappadocia and Pontus.’
‘So, we are in the hands of Spadines and his Sarmatians?’ grumbled Chrestus.
‘A man who would sell his own mother if given the opportunity,’ said Sporaces.
‘If any woman did give birth to such a creature,’ remarked Lucius.
‘Just remember to urge your men to sleep with one eye open,’ Chrestus advised them.
They fell into mirth, but it was no laughing matter. They were professionals, the best that Parthia could muster, though Hatra and Gordyene might disagree, and with some justification. But I had not created and maintained Dura’s army to risk it on some insane foreign venture. And yet here we were, about to invade a Roman province on the flimsiest pretext and risk wrecking the peace that now existed between two mighty empires. In the distance I discerned a rumble in the mountains, which sounded like thunder but must have been the laughter of the gods.
The first part of our new campaign was a delight.
We marched parallel to the Araxes, moving south of the river in Gordyene territory, which was inhabited by the Aorsi. The Sarmatians had now lived in this part of my nephew’s kingdom for nearly two generations and they were firmly established. Their villages were located in narrow valleys next to streams or beside one of the dozens of lakes in the region, their huts having stone walls with thatched roofs. But the settlements were invariably small as the area’s steep slopes, eroded soil and severe winters made farming difficult. In the summer the small fields grew wheat and barley, but barely enough to subsist on. As sixty thousand soldiers and thousands more civilians threaded their way through northwest Gordyene, I realised why the Aorsi resorted to banditry to supplement their meagre existence, and why there would never be peace between them and the Armenians.
But the region was rich in game. The vast forests of oak, ash and juniper that blanketed the hillsides as far as the eye could see were teeming with deer, brown bear, wolves, lynx, hyena, leopards and Caspian tigers. Hunting parties of horse archers were despatched into the woods to kill anything edible, so at night the camp filled with the pleasing aroma of cooking venison, goose, pheasant and grouse. A competition broke out between the horse archers of Dura and Hatra concerning who could kill the most eagles, though the birds mostly flew at high altitudes and perched on lofty mountain crags. But at least there was no need to use up our rations as we lived off the land and cut a swathe of destruction of wildlife as we marched west.
Loath as I was to admit it, the Aorsi provided an invaluable service, scouting ahead and acting as guides to steer the army through the many passes and, crucially, leading us to open spaces at the end of each day to allow us to construct a marching camp. The spirits of the soldiers were high after our easy and relatively bloodless victory in Armenia and the march took on the feel of a training exercise, with pleasant temperatures, an abundance of water sources, grazing and hunting, and an absence of hostile forces.
‘This terrain reminds me of Cisalpine Gaul,’ remarked Gallia, looking around at the tree-covered hillside in front of us. ‘That was filled with game as well. In addition to Romans.’
I plucked an arrow from my quiver and nocked it in the bowstring.
‘And Gauls,’ I smiled.
We were standing by the side of a stream running with clear, cool water, lancing through a valley with steep, tree-covered sides. Half a dozen empty carts stood in a line on the track near the stream. In front of them, some thirty paces from the treeline, stood a much longer line of archers, comprising most of the Amazons and a company of Sporaces’ horse archers. On the other side of the track stood groups of horses tended by every tenth man, or woman, of the companies. Klietas stood on my right next to the commander of Dura’s horse archers, Gallia on my left. Above us, in the dense forest, came the muffled sounds of voices and whistles.
‘Now remember,’ I said to Klietas, ‘the animals will appear quickly and will veer left and right when they emerge from the trees and are startled by our presence.’
‘Yes, highborn,’ he grinned, gripping his bow with his left hand, the fingers of his right ready to pull back the bowstring.
‘And don’t snatch at your target.’
Three companies of dismounted horse archers had been sent into the forest earlier to act as beaters, equipped with whistles, flags and sticks to crack on tree trunks. They also used their voices to drive the game in the desired direction, forming a long line that began at the top of the hill and slowly made its way down – three hundred men hopefully driving dozens of animals towards us.
A bird suddenly flew from the trees, a fleeting shape of frantically flapping black wings, followed by a crack and the animal falling to the ground. I looked left and saw Haya with an empty bowstring and a look of satisfaction on her face.
‘You are getting old and slow, Pacorus,’ said Gallia softly. ‘Did you even see it?’
‘Did you?’ I retorted.
‘Did you see that, highborn?’
I pointed at the trees. ‘Concentrate.’
Beating is hard work: men pushing through dense undergrowth or stepping over fallen branches, all the while trying to stay level with those on their left and right. A line extending some eight hundred paces through the forest, making a lot of noise to drive any animals in front of them down the hill, being careful not to allow any gaps to form through which animals might escape.
All chatter ceased as the whistles and shouts got louder and every archer concentrated on the trees, straining to catch sight of game breaking cover. A deer jumped out of the trees and was immediately hit by two arrows. Gallia struck another deer that ran straight at her, hitting the animal square in the chest, causing it to spin head-over-heels before crumbling in a heap a few paces from her. Sharp cracks filled the air as arrows were shot at the increasing number of animals bolting from the trees: deer, squealing boar and lynx. All felled by multiple arrow strikes.
‘We will eat well tonight,’ I grinned.
Animals were going down to my left and right, arrows hissing through the air to demonstrate the shooting skills of the Amazons and Sporaces’ horse archers – professionals showing their deadly skill with a recurve bow. I caught sight of movement in the trees directly ahead and raised my own bow. To see a brown bear break cover and run straight at me. He must have weighed over a thousand pounds, a great hulking mountain of muscle and claws with rage-filled eyes.
‘Defend the king,’ shouted Sporaces, archers on my left and right directing their arrows at the beast hurtling towards me. I released my own bowstring, the arrow shooting forward to strike the bear in the shoulder, the arrowhead failing to penetrate its thick fur. Two arrows stuck fast but they made no difference to its momentum or direction, the bear giving a mighty roar as it suddenly reared up on its back legs, ready to lock me in a deadly embrace.
The brown bear is a killing machine, each of its paws having claws up to six inches long that are capable of ripping bark off a tree. Their jaws contain teeth that are akin to a saw and can chew through a six-inch-thick branch with ease. Arrows were slamming into it, bouncing off its fur, making it more enraged. I strung a second arrow and shot it into its belly, the metal head penetrating the fur and piercing its flesh. It did not even feel it. I tossed my bow aside and drew my sword, bracing myself for the monster’s deadly embrace, when I witnessed one of the bravest acts I have ever seen.
Klietas, knife in hand, screamed and sprang forward, his voice distracting the bear for a split-second as my squire threw himself at the head of the animal, stabbing the point of his knife into the bear’s left eye socket. The beast roared in pain and anger and swatted Klietas away with his right front leg, my squire shrieking as he was clawed across the chest, knocking him to the ground. The few seconds of distraction allowed Gallia to put an arrow through the bear’s right eye, Sporaces crouching low to shoot another missile into the animal’s throat. The bear groaned, swayed on his hind legs and flopped down onto all fours. I dashed forward and dragged Klietas out of harm’s way, Amazons surrounding the animal to unleash arrow after arrow into the bear, which collapsed on the ground, gave a loud sigh and expired.
‘Cease shooting,’ ordered Zenobia, walking forward to kick the bear with her boot to ensure it was dead.
Animals were still coming from the trees, the archers that had not seen the drama continuing to shoot them down. I knelt beside a bleeding Klietas, the right side of his chest lacerated by the bear’s claws.
‘Is he dead, highborn?’
I glanced at the bear with the knife embedded in his eye socket.
‘He’s dead. Don’t talk.’
Haya, her eyes moist with tears, threw herself on the ground beside him, causing him to smile.
‘You are an ignorant fool,’ she said through sobs, kissing him on the lips just before he passed out.
We staunched the loss of blood with a bandage, used a belt to secure it in place and I held him as Horns took us both back to camp at the gallop, Gallia and the Amazons in tow. We rode straight to the hospital tent, Sophus commanding orderlies to take Klietas to a bed, all but two being mercifully empty. The Greek unbuckled the belt, removed the now bloody bandage and examined the wound, Haya and Gallia crowding round.
‘I must have space,’ snapped Sophus. He looked at Haya. ‘Get out of my hospital, now.’
Gallia ushered a pale Haya from the tent, Sophus shaking his head as he examined the wound.
‘What caused this?’
‘A bear. He saved my life.’
‘How brave. Fortunately, though there are several lacerations, they are not deep. He will have several scars, however.’
‘You will cauterise the wound?’
He frowned at me. ‘Clean bandages, pressure and a regular application of vinegar will suffice. Cauterisation is only used in extreme circumstances, as it can lead to deadly infection. Now if you will excuse me, King Pacorus.’
He waved me away like I was an irritant. Clearly Alcaeus had trained him well when it came to disrespecting royalty.
Outside the hospital tent an anxious Haya was pacing up and down, Gallia standing with arms folded and nostrils flared.
‘Sophus should have more respect,’ were her first words when I exited the tent.
‘Alcaeus waxes lyrical about his medical talents, so we will forgive him his republican tendencies.’
Haya stopped and looked at me with distraught eyes.
‘Klietas will be fine, though Sophus told me he will have scars on his chest.’
A look of utter relief spread across her face.
‘Thank you, majesty.’
‘Report to the Amazons,’ Gallia told her.
Haya saluted and sauntered away, a spring in her step. We followed at a slower pace, around us Durans and Exiles cleaning their equipment and sharpening their swords. The camp was huge, far bigger than the city of Dura, and was infused with the aroma of horses and camels.
‘I would be dead were it not for Klietas,’ I reflected, shivering. ‘A close shave with mortality.’
‘You will reward him?’
‘Of course.’
‘How?’
I gave a sly smile. ‘I will marry him to Haya.’
She was not amused. ‘Amazons are not gifts to give away, not even for kings.’
‘But you saw her distress when he was wounded. They clearly love each other.’
‘Then he must ask her for her hand in marriage, and she must give it willingly. But all talk of marriage must wait until we get back to Dura. Minu is pregnant. She told me last night.’
I stopped in my tracks. ‘Does Talib know?’
‘Not yet, and you are forbidden to tell him. She wants to keep it from him until the campaign is over.’
‘ If the campaign ends.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘After we have finished meting out justice on Atrax, Laodice, Titus Tullus and Tiridates, Spartacus will probably suggest marching on Rome itself to exact reparations from Octavian.’
‘You are being ridiculous.’
‘History always repeats itself,’ I said. ‘Forty years ago, we were obeying the orders of another Spartacus in Italy, and now we are doing the bidding of a second Spartacus in a foreign land. All we need is a descendant of Marcus Licinius Crassus to appear and the picture will be complete.’
When we reached the border with Pontus after sixteen days of marching, all hunting parties were withdrawn and the army was put on high alert. The terrain remained much the same, with densely wooded narrow valleys cutting through the Pontic Mountains. We expected the passes to be contested, but each day our scouts returned to report encountering only deserted mountain villages and an absence of humanity. Spadines told us the Pontic hill men, which we had encountered at Irbil, were cowards who preferred to run rather than face the might of Parthia, but I was not so sure. The hill men presumably knew every pass and track through the mountains intimately and could have launched dozens of small attacks on our stretched-out column, inflicting casualties and slowing down our rate of march to a crawl. But instead the only thing that delayed our progress was logistics: the process of getting thousands of foot soldiers, thousands of horsemen, thousands of mules and camels and dozens of carts through narrow valleys and along rocky tracks. The need to safeguard against ambush combined with severe congestion reduced our rate of advance to a maximum of five miles a day, resulting in an extra ten days of marching before we reached the interior of Pontus.
It was a land of mountains, valleys, spectacular waterfalls, lakes and basins that the gods had sprinkled with small villages. It was summer now, but the temperatures were pleasant, with frequent rainfall and fog that rolled through the valleys at regular intervals like white celestial beings, alternately revealing and covering mountain peaks. It was a beautiful, enchanting land and the more I saw of it the more a sense of impending doom enveloped me, not least because not one Pontic soldier had showed himself since our arrival.
‘King Polemon will muster his army, such as it is, at Sinope, here on the coast.’
Spartacus pointed a finger at a map on the table before us, at the city-port on the Black Sea coast. ‘He lost many men on the Diyana Plain last year, even though he himself was not present. Pontus does not have an inexhaustible reserve of men, uncle.’
Spadines next to him was nodding like the obedient dog he was.
‘Prince,’ I asked him, ‘have your men reported any signs of enemy troop movements in this area?’
He shook his head. ‘The terror of your name sends them fleeing, lord.’
I caught Gafarn’s eye and he sighed.
Spartacus was unconcerned. ‘We avoid the coastal strip and head straight for Sinope, there to force Polemon to give up those we wish to serve justice on.’
‘Just like that,’ I said.
‘Yes, uncle, just like that.’
‘What troubles you, Pacorus?’ asked Malik.
‘Thus far we have encountered no resistance, despite being in the enemy’s homeland. No ambushes, raids, no night-time attacks, nothing, despite traversing terrain ideally suited to ambush. That is what troubles me, my friend.’
‘Even if Polemon wanted to contest our advance,’ said Spartacus, ‘he would have scant forces to do so. He lost his best foot soldiers on the Diyana Plain, and Laodice’s hill men are all but worthless.’
‘He has a point, Pacorus,’ nodded Gafarn. ‘How long will it take to reach Sinope?’
‘Another ten days,’ answered his son.
‘We will be back in Gordyene in another twenty,’ said Spartacus. ‘We have sixty thousand soldiers, that is why Polemon has not dared to face us. He thinks he is safe behind the walls of his capital, but he is wrong. There are many villages around his capital, which we will destroy if he does not surrender the rebels.’
Diana shuddered at the prospect but unless we backed up our threats with actions we would be a like a tiger whose fangs had been removed. I looked at Malik and Spadines, both of whom led warriors very adept at spreading death and destruction. We had the numbers, it was true, and it was also true that Pontus had lost thousands of men supporting Atrax’s abortive attempt to capture Media. But still…
Spartacus beamed at Gallia.
‘And the omens for victory are excellent. After all, Sinope was established by the Amazons and named after their first queen, Sinope. It is surely no coincidence that your Amazons and my Vipers are about to march on the city named after the first queen of the Amazons.’
I thought the connection was tenuous at best, for though Gallia was well acquainted with the mythical history of the Amazons, even she would find it hard to justify a campaign on the grounds she and her female warriors wanted to pay homage to the city of their first queen.
‘What a pity the city is not currently ruled by women,’ was her only comment.
The Aorsi and Agraci provided a plundering vanguard as the army left the mountains and descended into gentle hills filled with evergreen trees and finally the area of great beauty and fertility that surrounded the city-port of Sinope itself. Polemon had obviously evacuated the entire population of the many villages that dotted the lush landscape, either to the city itself or to another stronghold, Trabzon, further east on the coastal strip. It was a rich land, more than capable of feeding our army and all its animals.
As a massive camp was erected less than a mile from the gates of Sinope itself, our horsemen were sent out to pick clean the fruit trees and vineyards that littered the area. They returned with saddlebags bulging with apples, pears, figs, peaches, plums, apricots and cherries. The horsemen were under strict orders not to molest civilians or destroy their property, though the Sarmatians were under no such constraints and when Sporaces reported to me at the end of the first day of our siege of Sinope, he relayed stories of farms and villages burnt and many dead civilians. The lucky ones had either fled into the hills or sought sanctuary inside Polemon’s city.
That night I slept fitfully. Dura’s army had always fought in defence of the Parthian Empire, but now it was part of an army of aggression waging war in a foreign land, a realm that was moreover a client kingdom of Rome. I feared our presence would lead to a cooling of relations between Octavian and Rome, which might even lead to an outbreak of hostilities between Parthia and Rome. This had always been at the back of my mind the moment we had crossed the border between Gordyene and Pontus. But in the morning my nagging doubts were pushed to the back of my mind due to fresh woes revealing themselves.