Carrhae (45 page)

‘Are you hurt, lord?’ I asked.

Ahead of us Spartacus loosed an arrow that went into the eye socket of an Egyptian. Haytham pointed his sword at him.

‘That young puppy saved my life.’

‘My nephew has his uses,’ I replied. ‘Where did these Egyptians come from?’

‘Emerged from behind that great group of spearmen in the centre. Speared hundreds of my men and forced us back. I sent Yasser and most of my other lords to support your archers on the left after they had smashed the enemy in front of them.’ He shook his head. ‘That appears to have been a mistake.’

He had had a narrow escape but as my men sat in their saddles with arrows nocked in their bowstrings the sounds of battle in front of us began to recede.

‘Keep watch,’ I shouted, ‘the enemy might return.’

Sure enough there came the sound of hooves pounding the earth to our left and so I redeployed my men to face the new threat, with Haytham and his Agraci formed up behind. The riders drew closer and out of the dust came hundreds of black riders – Agraci!

‘Stand down,’ I ordered as Yasser halted his horse in front of his king and hundreds of Agraci warriors fell in behind Haytham. He looked at the dead bodies spread across the ground.

‘The enemy have been broken, lord. Those who have horses are fleeing west; the others are being killed at our leisure. What happened here?’

‘We had our own private battle,’ was all that Haytham said.

I rode with him, Malik and Yasser forward to where small groups of the enemy were desperately trying to defend themselves against Agraci attacks, supported by Peroz’s horse archers on the left and Spandarat and his men on the right. The phalanx had collapsed and great piles of enemy dead lay where they had been killed, most by the spears and swords of the Agraci after they had attempted to run and had been cut down.

As we continued to ride forward the dust began to clear and I saw Peroz and his senior officers in front of their horse archers. A company would ride forward and unleash arrows against a group of Egyptians, after which the waiting Agraci would ride in and hack the survivors to pieces like a pack of ravenous wolves.

I peered across to the left where Agraci and Parthians were intermingled in a great chaotic mêlée against isolated groups of enemy foot soldiers. And from the right came Vagises accompanied by a company of horse archers. He raised his hand to me and then Haytham.

I pointed at the confusion on the right. ‘Spandarat and my lords are enjoying themselves, it seems.’

‘Do you wish me to stop it?’ he asked.

‘No, let them have their fun.’

Haytham slapped me on the shoulder. ‘We will make an Agraci out of you yet, Pacorus.’

I ordered Vagises to organise a pursuit of the enemy horsemen with a thousand of his men after the rest had surrendered their arrows to him. They were to pursue and kill as many of the enemy as possible, not engage in any battles. If more enemy horsemen appeared they were to withdraw.

The slaughter petered out with the onset of nightfall. I have no doubt that some among the enemy survived, either feigning death and waiting for night before making their escape west, or slipping through the roving bands of Agraci, Duran and Carmanian horsemen in the haze. Nevertheless the bulk of the Egyptian army lay dead on the bloodstained earth and with it any chance it may have had of capturing Palmyra.

Haytham was ecstatic: I had never seen him laugh and grin so much. Though his good humour did not extend to the few enemy soldiers who had been captured. The next morning he had them stripped naked, flogged severely, buried in the ground up to their necks, had their eyelids cut off and left them to die in the sun. Our own losses had not been light, particularly among the Agraci who had lost over two thousand men, but with ten times that number of enemy dead covering the earth Haytham did not care. He had won a great victory, Vehrka had been avenged and his reputation as a mighty warlord had been enhanced.

Duran losses amounted to less than a hundred horse archers, though Spandarat and his lords had suffered nearly nine hundred dead and wounded – the consequence of launching ill-disciplined attacks against the enemy.

‘They died fighting,’ was all that he said, ‘what else can a man hope for?’

‘To live into old age?’ I suggested.

He spat on the ground. ‘Old age is like a living death, mark my words.’

Peroz, who had kept his men under tight control throughout the battle, had likewise suffered only light casualties: two hundred and twenty killed and a hundred wounded. Vagises returned to us two days later to report that he had added around five hundred or more of the enemy to the butcher’s bill but had called off the pursuit when he had neared Emesa.

‘What was left of them would no doubt inform that fat king that King Haytham and his army would soon be besieging his city.’

When we returned to Palmyra Haytham gave a great feast to celebrate his victory. He seemed to have invited the whole army as every inch of ground inside and outside his tent seemed to be occupied by his lords, their warriors and Dura’s soldiers. Byrd brought Noora and the radiant Rasha stuck by Malik’s side and dazzled us with her smile. As the evening wore on Haytham gathered his lords around him in front of a huge raging fire and called on me to come forward. When I did so he put an arm around my shoulder and called for quiet.

‘Years ago a man rode from the city of Dura into my kingdom with his wife, a scout and a young girl. He was a Parthian, a member of the race that is the sworn enemy of the Agraci. And yet, disdaining certain death, he brought my daughter back to me.’

There was loud acclaim. Haytham raised his hands to still the noise. He continued.

‘That man stands before you, a man I am proud to call brother, and the scout who rode with him that day,’ he pointed at Byrd, ‘is now one of my most trusted advisers.’

Malik slapped Byrd on the arm and Noora hugged him close.

‘And now my brother Pacorus,’ continued Haytham, ‘has brought his warriors to fight by my side and together we have destroyed a great army that was sent to enslave us. I therefore declare that Pacorus, King of Dura, is now officially my brother and may make decisions concerning the Agraci in my absence, so much do I value his judgement.’

I was taken aback. This was indeed a great honour and I was about to thank him when he yanked his dagger from its sheath, grabbed my right hand and drew the sharp blade across my palm. I winced in pain as he likewise cut his own palm, pressed it onto my bloody hand and then held it aloft. The crowd erupted into wild cheering.

Haytham waved forward two women who brought dressings to bind our wounds.

‘You do me a great honour, lord,’ I said to him, wondering how long it would be before I could shoot a bow or wield a sword again.

‘You are to call me brother from now on,’ he told me.

Once the women had finished applying the dressings Haytham raised his hands again and the commotion faded way, the only noise the spitting of burning logs behind us. Haytham searched out Spartacus standing next to Scarab and beckoned him forward. My nephew, who had probably drunk too much already, stepped forward, smiling at Rasha as he did so. Haytham’s daughter was beautiful tonight, dressed as she was in a flowing blue silk robe with jewel-embroidered wide sleeves. Her headscarf was also blue silk and from the centre parting of her hair was tied a silver
teeka
that rested on her forehead. She wore silver bracelets and anklets and around her neck hung a simple silver necklace holding an exquisite and priceless pear-shaped blue diamond. It had been brought from the lands east of the Indus and was called the ‘idol’s eye’ and must have cost Haytham a small fortune.

The Romans believed that diamonds were tears of the gods, others like Dobbai thought them useful talismans to ward off evil, while some wore them to attract others. Rasha held my nephew’s eyes with her own as he paced forward to her father and I could only think that she wore this rare precious stone to entrap his feelings.

Haytham raised the right arm of Spartacus.

‘This boy saved my life in battle and now I repay the debt I owe to him. Ask what you will of me, boy, and I will grant it.’

The crowd chanted his name and the hairs on the back on my neck stood up. I never thought that I would hear the name ‘Spartacus’ be acclaimed again but that night the air rang with the name of my dead friend and lord once more and I looked at Vagises and Vagharsh among the assembly and they smiled at me. Like me they had been transported back in time to another place when we had stood with Gauls, Dacians, Germans, Greeks, Thracians and Parthians and chanted the same name.

Haytham stilled the tumult. ‘Speak boy.’

I knew what he was going to say and closed my eyes as the brave young fool looked at his beloved.

‘I wish the hand of your daughter in marriage.’

His declaration was met by a deafening silence as Haytham’s lieutenants looked at each other in disbelief and then back at Spartacus who stood with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Rasha wore a smile of victory and stepped forward.

‘I accept.’

Haytham spun round and glared at her.

‘Stay where you are,’ he bellowed, causing her to jump.

He whipped his sword from its scabbard and held the point at Spartacus’ neck.

‘The debt is paid,’ he said menacingly.

My nephew looked at the blade and then at Haytham in confusion. ‘I do not understand, majesty.’

Malik was shaking his head and Byrd was frowning with disapproval as Haytham pressed the point of his sword into my nephew’s neck.

Haytham smiled savagely. ‘You saved my life and now I have saved yours by not cutting off your head for your insolence.’

Agraci laughter greeted this pronouncement though neither Spartacus nor Rasha were smiling.

‘We love each other,’ proclaimed Rasha forlornly.

‘It is not becoming for the daughter of a king to have feelings for a lowly squire.’

‘I am a prince,’ said Spartacus with difficulty, the point of Haytham’s sword still pressing into his neck.

‘It is true, lord, er, brother,’ I said, ‘he is a prince of Hatra.’

Haytham looked at me and slowly lowered his sword. ‘It makes no difference. I will never permit my daughter to marry a Parthian. You may be my brother, Pacorus, but there is too much hatred between our two peoples to allow the blood of each to be mixed. A child of such a match would be an outcast from both races.’

Rasha’s head dropped and she visibly wilted at her father’s refusal to countenance their union. I sometimes forgot that most Parthians hated the Agraci and vice versa. Poor Rasha.

‘But I am not Parthian,’ declared Spartacus.

Haytham regarded him warily. ‘What trickery is this?’

‘No trickery, majesty,’ he replied, his cockiness quickly returning and declaring. ‘I am a Thracian.’

Haytham’s face was blank. He looked at me as his men shrugged their shoulders in indifference.

‘It is true, brother,’ I said. ‘He was born in Italy to Thracian parents. I was one of those who brought him to Parthia to be raised as a prince of Hatra. But he is the son of the general I fought under against the Romans.’

Rasha, given fresh hope, now looked at her father imploringly. Haytham slid his sword back into its scabbard and looked thoughtfully at Spartacus and Rasha, then smiled slyly.

‘It is not enough.’

Rasha’s eyes misted with tears and Spartacus’ shoulders sank, but to his credit he did not give up on his love.

‘Name the conditions which will win me the hand of your daughter, majesty, and I will fulfil them.’

Haytham, momentarily taken aback by his fresh impertinence, glared at him and I was about to step between them to prevent him lopping off my nephew’s head, when Haytham smiled cruelly.

‘You’re brave, boy, I will give you that, and so, in light of your valour in battle and your strange pursuit of lost causes, I make you this offer.

‘Years ago, word reached me of a battle between the Romans and Parthians and the tale of how a young prince from the city of Hatra had taken a silver eagle standard from the enemy single-handedly. I have heard that these silver eagles are sacred to Roman soldiers and that they would lay down their lives to protect them.’

Haytham pointed at me. ‘My brother was the man who stole that eagle from under the noses of thousands of Roman soldiers and it now sits in the temple of his forefathers in Hatra.’

He looked at Spartacus. ‘You have seen this thing?’

‘I have, majesty.’

‘And now the Romans once again threaten our borders and King Pacorus once again marches against the eagles.’

He stood before his assembled lords and warriors and raised his arms.

‘I, Haytham, King of the Agraci, hereby make this offer to the boy who saved my life in battle. If he wants my daughter then he will bring me one of these Roman eagles that he has taken in battle to lay it on the ground before me. This offer stands for one full year, after which I will give my daughter to the son of one of my lords.’

He spun round and pointed at Spartacus. ‘You have one year, boy. One year in which to do this thing. But know that when you leave Palmyra after this night and return to Dura you are prohibited from entering my kingdom, on pain of death, unless you bring a silver eagle with you for company.’

The Agraci cheered and laughed at Haytham’s words and Rasha looked most concerned, with good reason. To capture a Roman eagle was all but impossible, notwithstanding that I had done so in my youth, and then only due to a combination of sheer luck and youthful folly. Spartacus had enough of the latter but the gods alone would decide if he would have any of the former.

Haytham was both clever and cruel. He dangled the prospect of a union between Rasha and Spartacus knowing full well that Spartacus would probably die attempting to win the one thing that would give him Rasha. Haytham laughed along with his warriors as my nephew considered what he had agreed to.

The next day, as we rode back to Dura, he was unusually quiet.

‘It was brave of you to declare your love for Rasha in front of Haytham and his lords,’ I told him. ‘I was most impressed.’