Byrd turned in the saddle and pointed ahead. ‘Phriapatius and his army draw near.’
‘About half an hour away,’ added Malik.
‘Will you attack first or fight a defensive battle?’ Domitus asked me.
‘We are not here to fight, Domitus,’ I told him.
He looked at me wryly. ‘Has anyone told the Carmanians?’
Nergal smiled at him nervously though none of us knew what the intentions of Phriapatius were. Nestled in the southeast corner of the empire, Carmania had been untouched by the recent civil war and though its army had been forced to retreat after it had invaded Nergal’s kingdom as part of the alliance of Narses and Mithridates, Phriapatius could still muster a substantial number of soldiers. Perhaps he desired no less than the high crown itself and sought to take advantage of our difficulties with the Romans and Armenians to seize Ctesiphon and Seleucia. I smiled to myself. Soon Seleucia would be nothing but a pile of rubble if it had to endure any more assaults.
Byrd and Malik stayed with us as their scouts went to the rear of the army to rest themselves and their mounts. I saw Byrd put a hand on his lower back and rub it.
‘Are you hurt?’ I asked.
Gallia and Praxima looked at him with concern. He arched his back and then rubbed it again.
‘No. Getting old. Cannot sit in saddle for hours like I used to.’
I had never thought of Byrd as old before. In fact I had never even considered his age. He was just Byrd: ageless, withdrawn and scruffy, someone who was always there when I had need of him. But now, looking at him, I could see that the lines on his face were deeper and more numerous and it made me ponder. I had known him for nearly twenty years and they had passed in the blink of an eye.
My daydreaming was interrupted by the appearance of the Carmanians who at first resembled a thin black shimmering line on the horizon. After a few minutes the line increased in height as thousands of horsemen approached our position, and then I could make out the different troop types as they trotted forward. In the centre of their long line was a formation of cataphracts — men in scale armour wearing helmets, carrying long lances and riding horses that wore half-armour covering their bodies but not their necks or heads.
Either side of these heavy horsemen were dense blocks of mounted spearmen, soldiers armed with lances and carrying large round shields painted red on their left sides. They were equipped with helmets but wore no armour on their legs or arms. They were probably wearing some sort of body armour — leather most likely — though I could not tell at this range. On the wings Phriapatius had placed his horse archers to match our own mounted bowmen.
The Carmanians halted around five hundred paces in front of us and after a tense few minutes in which neither side made any movement a solitary rider emerged from where Phriapatius was mounted on his horse in front of his banner: a huge golden peacock on a red background. The horseman galloped towards us as an officer of my cataphracts similarly left his position to meet him. This was standard protocol and indicated that Phriapatius wished to talk, which was a good sign at least.
The riders halted before each other in the middle of the space between the two armies, and following the briefest of discourses my officer returned to state that Phriapatius wished to talk with me.
‘How many in his party?’ I asked.
‘Four, majesty, including the king.’
I turned to Nergal. ‘I would consider it an honour if you and Praxima would accompany me,’ then I laid a hand on Gallia’s arm. ‘You too.’
We nudged our horses forward and walked them slowly into no-man’s land, our hands clutching our reins and well away from our sword hilts. There was little danger of violence between us but such gestures showed good faith when meeting with potential enemies. I looked behind me to see the lone figure of Domitus, white crest atop his helmet, standing a hundred paces beyond the front rank of the Durans. I felt a pang of sorrow when I looked across at the Exiles where there was no Kronos present.
‘I will find you, Mithridates,’ I heard myself say, ‘and you will pay for all your crimes.’
‘What?’ Gallia was looking at me quizzically.
‘Nothing.’
We brought our horses to a halt ten paces from Phriapatius’ party. He looked much the same as the last time I had met him at the Tigris where he had professed his reluctance at being part of the alliance forged by Narses and Mithridates. Now Narses was dead and Mithridates a fugitive. Their alliance was smashed, which begged the question: now neighbouring Persis and Sakastan no longer threatened Carmania, what action was Phriapatius taking?
Not a particularly imposing figure, the King of Carmania was of medium height with broad shoulders, a thick black beard and a large nose. Like many of the people who inhabited the lands near the Arabian Sea his skin and eyes were a dark brown. He regarded me with those eyes before his mouth broke into a broad grin.
‘We got here as fast as we could,’ he said. ‘As lord high general I thought you might appreciate some assistance.’
I have to confess that relief swept through me. ‘You are most welcome, lord. But I made no demand on your presence in these parts.’
‘When I heard that Mithridates had returned to haunt Parthia I suspected that you might need all the help you could muster, especially with the Romans and Armenians threatening the empire as well.’
‘You thought right,’ I answered.
Phriapatius spread his arms wide. ‘But I am forgetting my manners.’ He bowed his head to Nergal and Praxima. ‘I am pleased that we are meeting under happier circumstances and would welcome closer relations between the Kingdoms of Carmania and Mesene.’
This was an interesting moment as the last time Nergal and Praxima had met with Phriapatius had been after they had chased him and his army out of Mesene and back across the Tigris. He had invaded their kingdom and for an anxious moment I thought that Nergal might throw his peaceful overtures back in his face.
Nergal nodded at Phriapatius. ‘We would like that also.’
Phriapatius looked relieved and grinned once more. He held out a hand to the two younger men sitting behind him. Like him they were dressed in open-faced bronze helmets, short-sleeved silver scale armour cuirasses with sculptured bronze plates bearing peacock motifs on their shoulders, red silk shirts and expensive red boots on their feet. They had been present at our previous meeting.
‘These are my sons,’ said Phriapatius, ‘Phanes and Peroz.’ He looked at the fourth member of his party, an older man in a simple iron scale-armour cuirass with a rather battered helmet on his head. Grey hair showed beneath his headdress but his eyes were clear and alert.
‘And this is Lord Nazir, the commander of my army.’
Nazir gave the slightest nod but his eyes never left Gallia, whose identity was as yet unknown to the Carmanians. Phriapatius also looked curiously at the helmeted figure of my wife.
‘Lord king,’ I said, ‘you are already acquainted with me and the rulers of Mesene, but may I introduce my wife, Queen Gallia of Dura?’
Gallia removed her helmet and bowed her head at a clearly delighted Phriapatius. ‘So, at long last I meet Dura’s warrior queen whose name and fame has spread to the furthest extent of the empire and beyond. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, lady.’
Gallia gave him a dazzling smile. ‘You honour me, lord.’
Phriapatius slapped his hands together. ‘This has been a most excellent meeting. You must all dine with me tonight in my tent before we all journey together to Seleucia.’
‘Alas, lord king,’ I said, ‘we are on urgent business that takes us into the east.’
Phriapatius raised his eyebrows knowingly at me. ‘But perhaps not.’
He turned and raised his hand and I saw three riders emerge from the Carmanian ranks. Gallia and Praxima, suspecting treachery, reached behind them to pull their bows from their cases.