‘The enemy king was right, majesty.’
I nodded. In my heart I knew Polemon had been telling the truth, but I sent Talib and his scouts out anyway, just to put my mind at rest. I pointed at the stool to indicate my chief scout should sit, Klietas handing him a cup of water. It had been another beautiful summer’s day, the wind blowing off the sea fresh and invigorating, the temperature warm but not unpleasant. In camp morale was high. Why wouldn’t it be? The land was fertile and teeming with fruit and game, the enemy was cooped up inside Sinope and the ease of our march here had lulled everyone into a false sense of security. It was the most pleasant trap I had been lured into.
Gallia was all ears as Talib reported what he and his men had seen earlier.
‘The foothills that we used just days ago are swarming with soldiers,’ he told us. ‘Tens of thousands of them, mostly men on foot, lightly armed with spears and shields, hill men from Pontus, like the ones we encountered on the Diyana Plain last year. But there are also others, lord.’
He glanced at Gallia. He was reluctant to speak for some reason.
‘Spit it out,’ I told him.
‘Gauls, majesty, thousands of them.’
‘Gauls?’
‘Galatia derives from a Latin word meaning “land of the Gauls”,’ Gallia told us. ‘It is the stuff of legends. Over two hundred and fifty years ago, three tribes of Gauls, the Trocmi, Tolistobogil and Tectosages, were invited into this region to aid a king called Nicomedes. They stayed.’
‘The leader of the Gauls, King Amyntas, has a reputation as a great warlord,’ reported Talib. ‘He has boasted he will tie the severed head of King Pacorus to the saddle of his horse.’
‘How do you know this?’ I asked.
‘My men mixed freely with the Gauls, majesty, who have made camp at the base of the hills. They told them they are waiting for the Parthians to come to them.’
‘Sensible,’ agreed Gallia. ‘On the plain they would be vulnerable to our horsemen. But in the hills…’
‘In the hills, conversely, we would be vulnerable to constant ambushes launched by lightly armed warriors,’ I said.
‘The soldiers of King Archelaus of Cappadocia are also approaching, majesty,’ said Talib.
‘A pity Byrd is not with us,’ mused Gallia, ‘he could have paid a bribe to Archelaus to let us pass through his land.’
‘A pity we are here, more like,’ I said bitterly.
The sun was dipping in the west when I called together the other kings and queen and their senior commanders, plus Kewab and Karys, who deserved to hear first-hand about the grave situation they were now in. I admit I was in a testy mood, not least because Spartacus seemed oblivious to the great danger we all faced. He was flanked by his sons and Spadines, the agreeable Hovik standing behind his king. Kewab and Lucius were deep in conversation with a concerned Karys, while a grim-faced Chrestus was shaking his head as he conversed with Malik. Gafarn and Diana stood with Herneus and Orobaz, the general examining the scruffy Spadines with barely concealed contempt. We all stood, as I did not intend the meeting to last long. The atmosphere in my tent was stuffy and was about to get heavier.
‘As you all know, last night I met with King Polemon outside Sinope,’ I announced. ‘He told me a large army composed of Cappadocians, Galatians and Israelites was marching north to trap us between the mountains and the sea. Following scouting parties conducted by Talib and his men, I can confirm that army is now in the foothills of the mountains, using the same tracks we traversed to reach this accursed place.’
‘What is your inclination, Pacorus?’ asked Gafarn.
‘Retreat,’ I answered, ‘though I am open to suggestions regarding the route we should take back to Parthia.’
‘What?’ roared Spartacus. ‘Why speak of retreat when we can slaughter our enemies with ease? Once this army of Rome’s puppets reaches the plain we can unleash our soldiers against it. Polemon can watch the slaughter from the walls of his city.’
Castus and Haytham laughed. I did not.
‘Except Rome’s puppets will not be entering the plain. They will stay where they are and wait for us to try to force our way through them.’
‘And you know this how, uncle?’ queried Spartacus.
‘Talib’s scouts spoke to the soldiers of Archelaus and Amyntas this very morning. They may be Rome’s puppets, but they are not fools. They know our strength lies in our cataphracts and horse archers.’
‘And Immortals,’ said Castus.
‘Have you ever conducted a campaign in the mountains, Prince Castus?’ I said heatedly. ‘Fighting on every narrow pass, in every valley and defile? In such terrain, a man armed with only a spear is at least equal to a cataphract.’
‘We must leave, that much is certain,’ said Diana. ‘Even I, a mere woman, can see that to stay is to endure a lingering death. We have to get through the mountains to get back to Parthia, so instead of bickering among ourselves I suggest you turn your minds to how we are going to achieve it.’
‘There is one way,’ said Chrestus.
All eyes turned on him in expectation, including my own.
‘When I left Pontus thirty years ago, and those of the Exiles who made the journey more recently, the route we took was west of here, via Galatia and going through Cappadocia before reaching the Kingdom of Hatra. If you want to hear my opinion…’
‘We are depending on it, general,’ said Diana.
‘We leave tomorrow and strike south to the Gokirmak Valley,’ continued Chrestus, ‘passing the ancient track that was once used by the Hittites and Persians to continue on south. We keep west of a river called the Halys, which marks the boundary between Pontus and Cappadocia. From there we continue south.’
‘How long will the journey take?’ enquired Kewab.
‘It took me a month walking on foot to reach Hatran territory,’ replied Chrestus, ‘but I was young then.’
There was a ripple of laughter.
‘At least a month, probably longer,’ said Chrestus, ‘and that is hoping we will have a head start on the enemy.’
‘Who will soon be snapping at our heels,’ remarked Malik.
‘We leave in the morning,’ I told them.
‘What about the criminals we came here to apprehend?’ asked an angry Spartacus, pointing at the tent’s entrance. ‘They are in Sinope, laughing at us. If we leave Pontus they will escape justice.’
It was true. We had come to Pontus to capture Atrax, Titus Tullus, Laodice and Tiridates. We had failed to do so. But at least if we managed to extradite ourselves from the situation we currently found ourselves in, we might serve justice on them at a later date.
‘We cannot have vengeance on anyone if we are dead, Spartacus,’ I told him. ‘Dura’s army will be leaving in the morning. You can do as you see fit.’
He probably hated me at that moment, but I did not care. If I included Malik’s warriors, the horsemen of Kewab and Karys, and Dura’s squires, I had brought nearly thirty thousand fighting men and boys to Pontus, in addition to hundreds of cameleers, muleteers, servants and wagon drivers. I would not allow them to perish in this foreign land. I looked at Gafarn who gave me a slight nod. Hatra would be marching with me, which meant Spartacus would have no choice but to follow.
The legions and Immortals left camp before dawn, preceded by Talib’s scouts, half of Sporaces’ horse archers, all of Kalet’s horsemen plus Malik’s warriors. As we were only a mile from the walls of Sinope, it would not have taken a genius to work out we were marching west instead of east. All we could hope for was Polemon would be uncertain as to our intentions, and I prayed that he might even believe it was a ruse to lure the large relief force on to the coastal plain where we could engage it. Guessing the intentions and thoughts of the enemy was a risky business, and so the cataphracts of Hatra and Dura, reinforced by Kewab’s mounted archers-cum-spearmen, were deployed near the gates of the city, to deter any attempt by the garrison to launch a raid. I led the rest of Hatra’s horse archers and the horsemen of Mesene east to keep the enemy relief army in the foothills. Behind us, Orobaz with Hatra’s horse archers provided a sizeable reserve to assist either Kewab or myself. Spartacus, still sulking regarding our intention to quit Pontus, had declared his forces would stay with the wagons, camels, mules and foot soldiers to provide flank and rear protection for the army.
Klietas’ arm was no longer in a sling, which meant he could ride in the saddle, though his wound was still bandaged and dressed every day. As such, it made shooting a bow difficult for him. But he was in a happy mood, whistling to himself as we trotted across the verdant terrain, much to Gallia’s chagrin.
‘Silent! Keep watch,’ she hissed.
Over the centuries the trees had been cleared from the plain, to be replaced with neat vineyards, fields and orchards. White-washed stone farmhouses dotted the land, along with villages composed of stone huts with thatched roofs. The hillsides were different, being blanketed with trees: oak, beech and maple. Higher up were great stretches of birch and pine, the track we had used to descend on to the plain weaving its way up the hills like a long yellow snake.
I held up a hand when a strange noise reached my ears, like a thousand woodpeckers tapping at tree trunks. Then we saw them, just a few at first, small groups slowly exiting the treeline, increasing to a multitude as more and more came into sight. Karys ordered his men to deploy into company columns and Sporaces did likewise. Ahead, around four or five hundred paces, more and more warriors exited the trees.
‘Gauls,’ spat Gallia bitterly.
As they got closer they began to taunt us in a language I barely recognised. It was Gaulish, but it had been so long since I had heard it that it was like listening to a foreign language. Even though Gallia was a Gaul, she rarely spoke it, saving for when she was cursing or hurling insults.
‘They are calling us women, sons of whores and frightened children who dare not fight them on foot but prefer to sit on our horses, so we can run away quicker,’ she reported, as the horde made a fearful racket.
And then horsemen appeared, just a minority compared to the huge throng that had vomited forth from the trees, but well attired in what appeared to be bronze armour, helmets and mounted on horses with shiny coats. They rode to within around a hundred paces of our position, one jumping down from the saddle and striding forward, before spreading his arms and venting his spleen. He was around fifty paces from where I sat on Horns, my horse flicking his ears in annoyance in response to the king’s booming voice. He was a great slab of a man, his cone-like helmet decorated with what looked like a pair of eagle wings. His over-sized chest was covered with a burnished scale-armour cuirass, beneath which he wore a long-sleeved blue tunic. His baggy grey leggings were striped, and his hair and thick beard were ginger. In his right hand he held a mighty war hammer. Gallia translated for me as his voice thundered across the grass.
‘I am Amyntas, King of Galatia, and I demand to speak to Pacorus, ruler of a land called Dura. I see his griffin banner but where is this Pacorus? Is he hiding behind his warrior women?’
The insult was for the benefit of his tribesmen, who began to whistle and whoop derisively, some sticking out their tongues or turning around and bending over to show us their buttocks. It was very boorish and infantile, but I was more than pleased to indulge it. I nudged Horns forward,
‘You are wasting your time, Pacorus,’ said Gallia, ‘all he wants is to ridicule and belittle you.’
‘Exactly,’ I smiled, ‘the more time the Gauls spend insulting me, the longer the army has to get into the hills. I would appreciate a translator.’
Gallia urged her horse forward.
‘If he tries anything with that hammer, drop him,’ she told Zenobia.
‘With pleasure,’ replied the commander of the Amazons, though as she carried my standard it would be others who would shoot the Gaul dead if it came to it.
When we left the line of Amazons the Gauls gave a mighty cheer and began banging their spear shafts on the insides of their shields. Those shields were a variety of shapes – square, oval and hexagonal – being wood covered in hide with metal ribbing, spines and edges and decorated with spirals, circles and animal motifs.
Gallia rolled her eyes as the noise reached a crescendo, our own soldiers in contrast sitting in silence on their horses. The hubbub died down when we halted our horses less than ten paces from the man mountain that was King Amyntas. His large brown eyes flitted between Gallia and me. Then he grinned.
‘King Pacorus and Queen Gallia, we meet at last,’ he said in perfect Greek.
He saw the surprise in my eyes. ‘You thought I was a brainless barbarian? Never underestimate an opponent. Surely a commander as long in the tooth as yourself must know that?’
He was brimming with confidence and energy, his eyes always moving as they examined me, Gallia and the companies of horse archers behind us.
‘Are you going to sit on your horses and speak down to me?’ he asked, feigning hurt.
‘Our weapons are sheathed, lord king,’ I answered; tipping my head at the huge two-handed hammer he gripped in his hand.
He tossed it aside. ‘My apologies.’
I slowly dismounted, as did Gallia.
‘I assume you will now demand our surrender.’
He shook his giant head. ‘I know too much about you and your Gaul queen to waste my words. To be honest, I just wanted to meet the pair whose fame has spread far and wide. You are older and smaller than I expected, but that is the nature of meeting legendary figures. They invariably disappoint.’
He beamed at Gallia. ‘It is an honour to meet you, lady. I promise that when this campaign is over, and the soldiers of Parthia are either dead or enslaved, you will have free passage to travel back to Dura.’
He looked past us. ‘You and your women.’
‘There is no need, lord,’ she smiled, ‘because if, by some quirk of fate, you and your allies are victorious, I shall be dead. A great man once told me it is better to die on your feet than live on your knees.’
He roared with laughter. ‘The stories do not do you justice, lady. Is the man you speak of standing beside you?’
‘No, his name was Spartacus,’ she told him.
‘The slave leader, I have heard of him. Even now, he provokes rage and disgust among the Romans. But we stand here because of another who shares the same name. Octavian wants him dead,’ he stated bluntly.
‘Wanting and having are two different things,’ I replied casually.
He jerked a thumb behind him.
‘King Archelaus and his soldiers are but a few hours’ march away. When they arrive and join with my warriors and the soldiers of King Polemon, our combined forces will overwhelm your own troops. Not that I need the help of Pontus and Cappadocia, you understand. There is no escape.’
‘We do not seek to escape, lord king,’ I said, ‘rather conduct a leisurely withdrawal in pleasant weather and in scenic terrain, after our summer holiday in Pontus.’
His warriors and mounted warlords were silent now, many Gauls leaning on their fearsome two-handed war axes as they watched their king converse with the enemy. Amyntas looked at Horns.
‘I heard you rode a white stallion.’
‘He died.’
‘After you are dead, King Pacorus, I will take your horse and provide him with many mares to service. He will be happy, I promise you.’
‘I assume we are done here,’ said Gallia.
Amyntas bowed his head to her. ‘I am a man of my word, Queen Gallia. Your life shall be spared.’
She gained her saddle. ‘If we meet in combat, I will show you no mercy.’
He beamed at her again. ‘I would not expect any less of a fellow Gaul.’
I hauled myself into my saddle. ‘Farewell, King Amyntas.’
‘Until the next time we meet, King Pacorus.’
He retrieved his hammer, whistled to his warlords who turned and galloped to their subordinates. When we had walked our horses back to the waiting Amazons and turned them around, the Gauls had disappeared back into the trees, Amyntas halting at the treeline to raise his hammer in salute before he too vanished. We stood on the grass for another hour to ensure it was not a ruse to entice us into the hills. But the Gauls did not reappear and so we too departed, cantering through the fields and vineyards to re-join Lord Orobaz and his waiting horse archers. We had bought the army some time, but whether it would make any difference remained to be seen.