Publius was perplexed. ‘I was not informed that you would be joining me.’
Roscius smiled. ‘You have a campaign to prepare for, sir, now that Parthia has declared its hostility to your father. I have learned that King Artavasdes will be arriving at Antioch sooner than expected and I assume your father will require you to escort the retinue of a valued ally into the city.’
Publius glanced nervously at me. ‘I see. Well, it would seem that I must take my leave of you here, sir.’
I smiled at him. ‘You and your father have been excellent hosts, Publius. I thank you for your courtesy.’
He clasped his clenched fist to his chest. ‘Hail and farewell, King Pacorus. It has been an honour.’
He wheeled his horse about, clasped forearms with Spartacus and then signalled for his men to follow him. They rode back to the city leaving me with Roscius and his soldiers, who now took up position on the flanks of my own soldiers.
‘Nice lad, that Publius,’ remarked Vagises loudly. ‘Not like most Roman officers who are arrogant bastards.’
Roscius looked angrily at him but kept his mouth in check.
‘We must be one our way,’ he said curtly, yanking the reins of his horse to turn it around before trotting forward.
I gave the signal to follow and we recommenced our journey east. The weather was finally improving and the sun’s rays began to filter through the grey clouds above us to warm the earth. There was still coolness in the air, though, and so we kept our cloaks wrapped around us. Roscius rode ahead of Vagises and myself which was not only bad manners but also highly irritating. After a mile I had had enough.
‘Legate,’ I called to him, ‘is our company so disagreeable that you deem the only things worth showing to us are your horse’s arse and your back?’
Vagises laughed and Spartacus behind us guffawed. Roscius instantly halted his horse and sat still. I looked at Vagises in bewilderment and then heard a scraping noise. And then the killing began. The scraping sound had been Roscius drawing his sword that he now raised in the air as he wheeled his horse around and screamed at his men to charge. Fortunately the animal reared up on its hind legs, giving me a chance to react as behind me the air was filled with screams and shouts.
Instinctively I threw off my cloak and reached behind me to grab my bow in its case as I turned in the saddle to see my men being speared and killed by Roscius’ men. They thrust their spears into mail shirts, thighs and arms before my men had a chance to react and within no time the ground was littered with dead and dying horse archers. Vagises’ reflexes were quicker than mine and he had already nocked an arrow in his bowstring, which he released to send the missile into the back of a spearman who was thrusting his lance into the chest of a horse archer lying on the ground. The Syrian gave a yelp and then toppled from his saddle. Vagises shot another spearman, then another and another as he strung arrows in his bow and released them in a blur.
I shot Roscius’ horse in the chest as it began its charge, causing it to collapse and spill its rider who sprawled on the ground. I heard a scream behind me and saw Scarab gallop past and then leap from his saddle to fall on top of Roscius. They tussled on the ground in a life-and-death struggle but I had no time to intercede as the Syrian horsemen, having butchered my men, were now regrouping to finish the only Parthians left alive — myself, Spartacus and Vagises. But they had grossly underestimated our skill with a bow and shooting from a stationary position we loosed arrow after arrow at the horsemen who were less then a hundred paces away.
We each carried three full quivers and released arrows at a rate of seven missiles a minute. We killed the first group of riders — a dozen men — with ease and then shot at the group behind, our arrows piercing eyes and noses as we aimed at our opponents’ faces. A hundred of my men were dead but the number of enemy bodies lying beside them was rapidly increasing as I emptied my second quiver and plucked an arrow from my one remaining full one. Spartacus was shooting with deadly accuracy as he urged his horse forward to get closer to the enemy, who had decided that they had had enough and promptly turned tail and ran. They galloped back down the road in the direction of Antioch but he raised his bow and let loose a final arrow that hissed through the air and slammed into the back of the rearmost rider, who threw out his arms before falling to the ground.
‘Nice shot,’ I said to him.
‘Pacorus,’ I heard Vagises say behind me. I turned Remus around to see Marcus Roscius standing around fifty paces away holding a wounded Scarab as a shield in front of him. My squire was bleeding heavily from a wound to the belly and he also had a red stain on his mail shirt at his left shoulder where he had been stabbed by a blade, no doubt the bloodied spatha that Roscius was holding in his right hand. His own horse was lying a short distance away, groaning in pain form the arrow I had put into it, but there was another horse further away that was standing still observing our little scene. Roscius had seen it and was heading for it.
I nocked an arrow in my bowstring and jumped down from the saddle and walked towards the Roman who was dragging the injured Scarab with him.
‘Let him go,’ I ordered, shortening the distance between Roscius and me.
The Roman, his left forearm at Scarab’s neck, stopped and pulled my squire closer, only half his face showing behind him. The Nubian was wilting, his mail shirt now soaked in blood, his breathing very shallow.
‘Those riders will return with reinforcements, Parthian, and when they do you will join the rest of your men,’ he gloated.
‘Let him go,’ I said calmly, ‘and you will live.’
He continued to inch towards the horse. ‘You are finished, Parthian, you and the rest of the horse thieves in your motley empire. Even as we speak the Armenians are marching on Hatra, the city of your birth, and will take it easily. You think you are so clever but you know nothing. We have friends in Hatra, members of your own people who have sword allegiance to Rome. You and Parthia are finished.’
I raised my bow and pulled back the bowstring.
‘Slave,’ he sneered as the string slipped from my fingers.
The arrow went into his right eye socket and the point exited the rear of his helmet. He stood, dead, the arrow sticking out of his eye and blood spurting onto Scarab’s face.
‘He’s dead Scarab,’ I said as I ran over to my squire.
I kicked the body of Roscius away and grabbed Scarab whose knees buckled under him.
‘Get that horse!’ I shouted at Vagises as Spartacus slid his bow back into its case, vaulted from the saddle and ran over to me. I rested Scarab on the ground and supported his head with my hand.
‘Is he dead, majesty?’
I smiled at him. ‘Yes. Do not talk. We will get you out of here.’
Spartacus knelt beside Scarab and looked with alarm at his wounds as Vagises arrived with the spare horse.
‘Spartacus,’ he said, ‘get your bow.’
He nodded back down the road and I turned to see a rider galloping towards us, a man dressed in a turban and black robes who was holding his arms aloft.
‘Do not shoot,’ he was shouting, ‘I am a friend.’
Vagises raised his bow but I told him to lower it as the mystery rider slowed his horse and halted around twenty paces away.
‘State your business,’ Vagises ordered.
Another two riders appeared, also dressed in black robes, and halted a hundred paces away. They appeared to be carrying no weapons.
‘My name is Andromachus,’ the first man said, ‘and I am the brother of Noora, Byrd’s wife.’
Vagises looked at me and lowered his bow.
‘Byrd sent you?’ I asked.
Andromachus shook his head. ‘No, lord. I have offices in Antioch and a network of informers. I heard a tale that your life was in danger and came as quickly as I could.’ He looked at the dozens of dead bodies on the ground. ‘You must come with me, quickly. The Romans will be sending out patrols to hunt for you when they learn of what has happened.’