My father nodded to Vistaspa.
‘We have received other news, though its accuracy as yet cannot be confirmed,’ said my father’s second-in-command flatly, ‘of a great army assembling at Ctesiphon and another at Persis.’
‘Three armies?’ I said.
My father pointed at Vata. ‘Get a map of the empire and bring it here.’
‘We do not have a map of the empire, majesty,’ said Vata apologetically.
One of his stewards, a gaunt man in his forties dressed in a long brown robe, stepped forward and bowed his head to Vata.
‘The chief archivist may know of such a chart among his documents, lord.’
‘Go and tell him to search his archives, then,’ ordered Vata.
The man bowed and scurried off, leaving the four of us standing before my father and feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
‘You must be thirsty after your great victory,’ said my father mockingly. He nodded to another servant who brought us silver cups filled with wine, serving my father and Vistaspa first.
My father rose from his seat and held his cup aloft.
‘What shall we toast? Victory, or a glorious war before Atropaiene, Media, Babylon and Mesene are all crushed, their cities reduced to ashes and their peoples either killed or enslaved?’
We shuffled on our feet and said nothing. My father drained his cup.
‘Why so bashful? Pacorus, you of all people should be glad that the eastern half of the empire is now marching west. Have you not desired this war for a long time, a final reckoning with Mithridates and Narses?’
‘I have only desired justice,’ I replied through gritted teeth.
Our further discomfort was spared when the steward returned with a stooping man in his sixties at least who was clutching a rolled-up map. He had thinning white hair and took small steps as he shuffled towards the dais.
‘You have a map of the empire?’ my father asked him.
‘Yes indeed, majesty,’ he replied, bowing and dropping the map on the floor. My father rolled his eyes.
‘Place it on the table,’ he instructed.
The archivist bowed again, picked up the map and then shuffled over to the table and unrolled it, brushing away cobwebs from its edges. The hide map was intricately detailed, showing all the empire’s major rivers, kingdoms, cities and mountain ranges.
‘It has been in the library here for at least fifty years though I suspect it is older,’ reported the archivist as he admired it. ‘I believe that it was produced by a Greek whose name escapes me, though he was clearly influenced by his fellow countryman Hipparchos, who I believe lived for most of his life in Greece but who travelled widely in these parts.’
‘Thank you for being most informative,’ said my father, stepping from the dais and walking to the side of the table. ‘You may go.’
The archivist bowed and ambled from our presence.
‘Please join me,’ said my father, his tone indicating it was a command rather than a request.
With our full cups still in our hands we gathered at the table to stare at the map.
My father began to speak, uttering his thoughts rather than engaging us in a conversation.
‘Messages sent from Hyrcania and Margiana indicate that four kings have marched through the Caspian Gates — Monaeses of Yueh-Chih, Tiridates of Aria, Cinnamus of Anauon and Vologases of Drangiana. This host is made up of only horsemen so it may move quickly, and it is heading in our direction.’
He pointed to the area between Lake Urmia and the Caspian Sea.
‘They mean to attack Media, Atropaiene and then Hatra, all the kingdoms that have supported Dura against Mithridates.’
His hand moved further south across the map.
‘If the reports concerning Mithridates and Narses are true, then they are gathering another army at Ctesiphon. This can only mean that they will once again strike at Babylon.’
I looked at Orodes and saw alarm etched on his face.
‘Mesene can aid Babylon, father,’ I said.
My father looked at me and then at Vistaspa, who now spoke.
‘Word is that King Phriapatius of Carmania is moving west with his army and has reached Persepolis.’
‘Which means,’ continued my father, ‘that he will attack the Kingdom of Mesene, which in turn will prevent King Nergal from assisting Babylon. Thus does Mithridates gather the whole of the east to attack us.’
I looked at the map and my heart sank. I had been so preoccupied with planning and preparing my own campaign against Mithridates and Narses that I had given no thought to the notion that they might be doing the same. But now it seemed I had underestimated them once again. The silence in the hall was deafening as we stood rooted to the spot. Atrax broke the silence.
‘I must return to Media, lord.’
‘Let us hope, lord prince,’ said my father, ‘that there is still a Media to return to.’
Atrax left the next morning with his bodyguard. He came to see me in camp before his journey, promising to aid Surena when he could but fearing that the great army moving towards the borders of his father’s kingdom would absorb all his time, to say nothing of Media’s resources. I stood with Domitus and Orodes and watched him and his men ride from camp. I placed an arm on Orodes’ shoulder.
‘Do not fear, my friend, the walls of Babylon are stout and high.’
He smiled wanly. ‘Even the strongest city cannot hold out indefinitely, Pacorus.’
I knew what he was thinking: that he should ride south with his men and be by the side of Axsen when the storm broke against Babylon’s walls. But I needed his men with me where they would be more use rather than cooped up inside a city. That said, if he decided to ride to his beloved there was nothing I could do. I prayed that for the moment his head would rule his heart.
We went back inside the tent and took our seats at the table, an air of uncertainty hanging over us. Domitus extracted his dagger from his sheath and began toying with it.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘are we marching back to Dura?’
‘That would seem to be the most logical course of action,’ added Orodes. ‘If the Kingdom of Babylon falls then Nergal at Uruk will be cut off and Mithridates will be able to reduce Mesene with ease. And after that Dura will be attacked.’
He was right, but I was loathe to leave my father’s kingdom knowing that a great army was marching in its direction. And yet if Babylon fell then Nergal would also be destroyed and after that Dura would feel the wrath of Narses and Mithridates. I suddenly realised that I had only one chance to make the right decision, for otherwise all would be lost. How the gods must be enjoying this.
‘Hatra’s army is strong,’ I said. ‘We will march south to aid Babylon. There may be three armies attacking our friends and allies, but only one of those is important, the one led by Mithridates and Narses. Destroy that and we win the war.’
Orodes was nodding and Domitus had stopped playing with his dagger.
‘It is agreed, then,’ I said. ‘We march east to the Tigris and then down its west bank to Babylon, and then we will have a final reckoning with Mithridates and Narses.’
I heard the sound of horses’ hooves outside and then men’s voices. The flap of the tent opened and my father walked in followed by Vistaspa and two agitated sentries.
‘It is fine,’ I told them.
They disappeared as my father helped himself to a cup of water from the jug on the table and then sat in one of the chairs, Vistaspa standing behind him.
‘This is an unexpected pleasure, father. Have you come to inspect my camp?’
‘A courier arrived two hours ago with news concerning the army advancing from the east. It has divided just west of the Caspian Gates. One half under Monaeses and Tiridates is moving northwest towards Media and Atropaiene; the other led by Cinnamus and Vologases is heading directly west towards Hatra.’
‘The enemy splits his forces,’ remarked Domitus.
My father smiled at him savagely. ‘That is right, Roman, he divides his forces, so confidant is he that he will be victorious. And by doing so he gives us a small chance, a glimmer of hope, to avert disaster.’