‘Hail, Vardan,’ said my father, shaking the hand of the king.
‘Hail Varaz and Pacorus.’ Vardan wore a simple open-faced steel helmet and dragon-skin armour on his body. He also wore thick steel shoulder plates adorned with sitting bulls and at his hip he wore a sword that had a pommel in the shape of a bull’s head.
‘It is good to see you, my friend,’ said my father.
‘You too, Varaz.’
‘How is Axsen, sire?’ I asked.
He smiled at me. ‘She sends her love to you and Gallia. Is she with you?’
‘No, sire. She has had to return to Dura.’
‘She’s pregnant,’ said my father, ‘though she only discovered this after she had fought in battle. It seems I am going to be a grandfather.’
Vardan beamed with delight. ‘Excellent news, we will all celebrate in my tent tonight.’
That night the campfires of Vardan’s army carpeted the horizon as his men pitched their gaudily coloured tents along the banks of the Euphrates. No neatly arranged lines of tents enclosed in a palisaded camp for the army of Babylon; rather, a disorganised assembly of tents, horses and camels. The only order that existed among the multitude was the king’s tent and the tents of his bodyguard circled around it, the horses of the royal bodyguard being quartered in a stable block immediately behind the royal enclosure, the stalls formed by poles and canvas wind breaks. The air was filled with wood smoke and the aroma of roasting meat as I rode with Nergal to the king’s tent, our horses being taken from us by purple-clad grooms. The tent itself was a massive structure, actually a pavilion hung with brightly coloured tapestries. Inside, fifty thick wooden columns held the roof in place, oil lamps hanging from each one. Carpets were spread over the floor and couches were arranged in a circle in the centre, while soldiers of the king’s bodyguard stood around the circular wall. Incense burned on tables and a host of purple-attired servants ferried silver platters heaped with meats, bread, fruit and pastries to guests. Others poured wine into silver and gold cups. It was a far cry from the austere regime of Domitus and his legion or my palace at Dura.
My father and Vistaspa were already relaxing on couches near Vardan and his senior commanders when we entered. Vardan beckoned us both over with his hand. He was reclining on a large couch stuffed with cushions. Nergal and I sat opposite him.
‘King Vardan tells me that Chosroes is also on the march and will be joining us shortly,’ said my father.
I accepted a cup of wine from a beautiful servant girl with flawless olive skin, one breast exposed and a gold chain running from her pierced ear to her nose. She smiled to reveal a set of perfect white teeth.
‘Excellent,’ I said, sipping the wine, which was exquisite. Vardan certainly knew how to travel in style on campaign, I gave him that.
‘Pacorus wishes to fight Narses and his army,’ remarked my father.
Vardan shook his head. ‘I doubt it will come to that. Some sort of negotiated peace seems more likely.’
‘That’s what I told him.’
I drained my cup and held it out to be refilled. ‘There will be no peace until Narses is dead.’
Vardan frowned. ‘Killing kings only creates bad blood, Pacorus. Did you know, for example, that Porus had two sons who will seek vengeance for his death?’
I smiled, but Vardan did not know that the sons of Porus had died fighting beside their father.
‘And the matter of the killing of King Balas also has to be addressed,’ added my father.
‘Ah, yes. A tragedy. The Romans have too much arrogance,’ mused Vardan. He looked at me. ‘Where is your Roman?’
‘Attending to his duties, sire.’
‘Well, let’s hope that he is not the vanguard of a Roman invasion into the empire.’
Chosroes arrived two days later at the head of his army, a ragged band of horse archers dressed in dirty tunics sitting on skinny mounts and foot archers and spearmen attired in a variety of filthy tunics with leather caps on their heads. Though the king’s bodyguard of a thousand mounted spearmen had wooden shields and leather armour, the rest of the army was sadly deficient in armoured horsemen. He did bring five hundred archers mounted on camels as well, men whose faces were wrapped in turbans and who wore long flowing robes. In addition to the fighting men, Chosroes brought a horde of camp followers — harlots, beggars, traders and thieves who trailed in his army’s wake. I estimated the numbers of his fighting men to be ten thousand, no more, and their quality left much to be desired.
I was standing beside Domitus at the entrance to our camp as the army of Chosroes filed past to set up their tents two miles north of us. I saw the disdain on Domitus’ face.
‘They are our allies, Domitus.’
‘I would rather they were our enemies,’ he sniffed. ‘If we fight a battle in the coming days, try to ensure that they are as far away from my legion as possible.’
‘You think they will run?’
‘I know they will run. And when they do the poor bastards standing beside them will discover that they suddenly have no flank protection.’
I knew he was right, but that evening Vardan and my father welcomed Chosroes to the army and toasted his loyalty. Dressed in a red flowing gown adorned with gold strips, his eyes were cold and calculating but he was cordial enough if a little curt. He seemed far from enthusiastic at having to muster his army for this campaign, but he too had voted for Phraates and so had a vested interest in seeing him retain his throne. I also learned that Porus had raided his lands.
‘I heard about your victory over Porus,’ he said, picking at some roasted goat on a silver plate that he held with his long, bony hand. ‘A most welcome development.’
‘Thank you, sire.’ Technically I was his equal, but I was always aware that the rest of the kings were middle-aged men or older and that I was a mere boy compared to their years and experience, so I was more than happy to defer to them, rebels aside.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Chosroes, ‘most welcome.’
Vistaspa, on the next couch to mine, leaned over. ‘What he means is that he is glad he did not have to fight them himself.’
‘You mean he is a coward?’ I was shocked as I watched my father walk over to Chosroes and embrace him, then put an arm round his shoulder in a brotherly fashion and lead him away, the two of them deep in conversation.
‘No, no, nothing like that’ replied Vistaspa, ‘but Mesene is poor. You must have deduced that from the condition of his troops. His kingdom does not benefit from the Silk Road and his people eke out an existence from the land. In the south, where the Euphrates and Tigris flow into the Persian Gulf, there are great marshes populated by a rebellious people, which adds a further drain on his resources.’
‘Domitus has a low opinion of his troops.’
Vistaspa nodded. ‘He’s right in his opinion. But at least Chosroes is here, and for that reason alone we must be grateful.’
‘Domitus also believes that if we have to give battle the soldiers of Chosroes will be the first to run.’
Vistaspa laughed out loud, causing Vardan and my father to look at him quizzically. ‘I like your Roman; he’s a man after my own heart. And he’s right again. Hopefully it will not come to that.’
My father’s words had obviously cheered Chosroes up, for he sat back on his couch and raised his cup to Vistaspa and me, smiling as he did so. We raised ours in return.
‘Perhaps we could convince him to fight for the enemy,’ remarked Vistaspa, smiling at the King of Mesene.
But Chosroes did not desert and so his army formed the rear of a vast column that made its way towards the Tigris and Ctesiphon. Our progress would have been seen miles away, for the thousands of animals and men kicked up a vast cloud of dirt that got in our eyes and covered our clothes, so that after a day we resembled the men of Chosroes’ army. We had scouts riding ahead, including Byrd and Malik, but they reported only an empty land and no sign of the enemy. Indeed, when we finally reached the Tigris at Ctesiphon, the city itself on the western bank of the river, directly opposite the large palace complex on the other side of the river, Byrd reported that Narses and his army had hurriedly departed eastwards, towards Susa. Curiously he had left the bridge across the river intact, and there was little evidence of damage to the city itself or the brick wall of the palace compound.