‘I agree,’ said Gallia sternly.

  I looked at the large enemy square now firmly anchored in front of the city gates, and at the skirmishers re-fording the river after we had been forced to retreat. Where was the army? I turned to Kalet.

  ‘Ride like the wind and find the rest of the army. Tell Azad and Prince Pacorus we need their cataphracts. Go.’

  He raised a hand, vaulted into his saddle and disappeared with a group of his warlords.

  ‘When they arrive, we will join them to force a way into the city,’ I told Praxima.

  I knelt beside a now shaking Nergal. ‘Hold on, my friend, we are with you.’

  He nodded and tried to smile but he had lost a lot of blood, though at least the tourniquet was doing its job. The senior Mesenian officers gathered around their wounded king, worry etched on their faces.

  ‘Prepare your companies,’ Praxima told them, ‘we will soon be attacking.’

  They bowed their heads and returned to their men. Gallia was briefing Katana, the commander of Dura’s horse archers in the absence of Kewab, concerning the plan to batter our way into the city. He was nodding, his eyes glancing at the injured Nergal.

  ‘Are you paying attention?’ growled Gallia.

  ‘Yes, majesty, apologies.’

  ‘Go, then.’

  Time seemed to slow agonisingly as we waited and Nergal grew worse. I paced up and down as Praxima held her husband and Gallia comforted her friend. The dismounted Amazons were forming a guard around us and somewhere to the northwest was Salar’s army, including fifteen hundred armoured horsemen that we needed badly.

  A strange silence had descended over the battlefield as the main enemy army stood immobile in its square and skirmishers scurried around like ants to surround the city with their scaling ladders.

  ‘Commander Kewab.’

  I heard the call and turned to see Kewab pull up his horse, flanked by Kalet and his warlords. He jumped from his saddle and ran over to me.

  ‘Majesty, Azad and Prince Pacorus are close behind.’

  I pointed at the enemy square. ‘We need to break that to get into the city.’

  He studied the Kushan formation for a few seconds and shook his head.

  ‘Even cataphracts might have trouble breaking a square, majesty.’

  ‘I agree, but with horse archer support we stand a chance. Tell Azad and Pacorus to be wary of the fields of caltrops either side to the city gates.’

  Kewab saluted and turned, stopping when he spotted the injured Nergal. He looked back at me.

  ‘Time is of the essence,’ I told him. ‘Where is the rest of the army?’

  ‘Close, majesty, though still shadowed by the Kushan horsemen and elephants.’

  Elephants? It was all so ridiculous.

  ‘Might I suggest that King Salar’s elephants might aid us against the enemy square, majesty?’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘They look big and impressive but are totally unreliable in battle. I routed them easily enough many years ago.’

  ‘Agreed, majesty, but King Salar has a hundred of the beasts and even if they stampede they might trample on those in the square. Horsemen cannot break a disciplined square.’

  I looked at the square in front of the city gates and knew he was right. All the army’s horse archers might wear down the enemy to allow the cataphracts to affect an entry, but by that time Nergal might have bled to death.

  ‘Very well,’ I said to Kewab, ‘we are in your hands. We need to get into Sigal sooner rather than later.’

  We ignored the hundreds of skirmishers wading across the river to begin to rake the enemy square with arrows. The horse archers of Dura and Mesene were widely spaced when they made their attacks. I led the former, having first asked Gallia to remain with Praxima to give her friend support. We amended our tactics to minimise casualties, the Duran horse archers wearing no armour but those of Mesene attired in red kaftans called saravanas , over which they wore scale-armour cuirasses: short-sleeved garments that reached to the mid-thigh, slit at each side to facilitate riding, with attached horizontal rows of rectangular iron scales, each row partly overlapping the layer below. That said, their limbs and their unarmoured horses were vulnerable.

  I was soaked in sweat when I made my first pass, riding hard towards the square to avoid the arrows shot from it as soon as the Kushans spotted our advance. Their bows were long and were shot by the archers resting one end on the ground before drawing back the bowstring. This gave them great range but meant they were useless for short-range work. So we got close to the locked Kushan shields to shoot our arrows, knowing the enemy bowmen could not hit us.

  I slowed Tegha when I reached the square and turned him right to take me along one of its four sides, pulling arrows from my quiver to shoot them over the shields into the square. Those following did the same while other companies attacked the other sides of the square. No arrows were being shot from inside the square, giving me hope that our own missiles were having an effect. But then disaster struck.

  I reached into my quiver and searched in vain for an arrow, then looked at the other quiver and saw it too was empty. I had no choice but to wheel Tegha away from the square and ride back to the date palm grove. Behind me, one by one the Durans ran out of arrows and withdrew, those of Mesene doing the same. And still the enemy square remained seemingly untouched.

  But my spirits rose when a fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the elephants. Arrayed in a long line, the sun glinting off the polished bronze plates protecting their foreheads and the steel that encased their tusks, I began to believe that the lumbering beasts might just be able to break the enemy square. If not, then surely the thousands of Saka foot soldiers and horsemen of Hatra, Gordyene and Agraci that followed them would. I sat and watched with hundreds of horse archers now without arrows as the elephants commenced their charge.

  It was a disaster.

  The Kushan skirmishers, responding to horn calls, massed directly in front of the line of elephants and then did something no one could have anticipated – they charged. I watched, open mouthed, as thousands of lightly armed men ran towards the wall of grey meat, bronze and steel, seemingly charging to their own deaths. But how I and everyone else had underestimated these Kushans. Each skirmisher carried three javelins and when they neared the elephants and their bodyguards, they proceeded to hurl their missiles at them. The archers in boxes strapped to the backs of the elephants cut down many Kushans, as did the slingers, but thousands more launched their javelins, to cause chaos among the beasts.

  Ironically it was not the javelins that bounced off the bronze plates covering the animals’ foreheads that caused mayhem; rather, missiles that struck those spearmen guarding the beasts. The shrieks and screams of men being speared caused alarm among the elephants, compounded by a few of the beasts being struck on their legs. Two reared up on their hind legs – which was a wonder to behold – turned and ran away from the rain of javelins. Two collapsed from what can only be ascribed to heart failure, and more swerved left or right to trample their guards and career into the elephants next to them.

  And still the Kushan skirmishers hurled their javelins.

  The mahouts – the trainers who sat on the necks of the elephants – had seen enough. They used their voices and bull hooks to withdraw their charges, those that were not in the grip of fear and panic. These men had spent years with their animals and were not about to see their lives tossed away for no purpose. I had to admit they executed their withdrawal with some aplomb, steering their beasts away from the Kushans and also from the bulk of Salar’s army behind them retreating from the northwest.

  The Kushan skirmishers began cheering, whooping and beating the insides of their shields, but they soon stopped when a wall of iron and steel cantered towards them out of the dust. I clenched my fist in triumph as Prince Pacorus and Azad led the cataphracts of Dura and Hatra straight at them – fifteen hundred armour-clad riders lowering their long lances and making the earth tremble as they picked up speed. The men must have been roasting in their heavy scale armour suits, their horses similarly protected by thick hide and iron scales, but their discipline was impeccable as two lines of heavy horsemen broke into the charge less than a hundred paces from the skirmishers. The latter scattered in all directions but that did not save many from being skewered on the end of a kontus , hacked in two by an ukku blade or having their skulls reduced to bloody pulps by a mace or axe.

  As the skirmishers scattered the first line of the cataphracts slowed to allow the second line to close on the Kushan square. The intermingling of the heavy horsemen and skirmishers had prevented the archers within the square from using their long-range bows and now the cataphracts were too close to the square for them to be employed. The second-line cataphracts slowed their horses as they neared the square to ram their lances into the spearmen forming the walls of the formation. The kontus is a long weapon – up to eighteen feet – longer than the spears of the Kushans, and so each cataphract was able to thrust his lance into an opponent, the momentum of moving man and horse making shields useless as points were driven through hide and wood and into flesh and bone.

  I could not see but Azad told me afterwards that when seven hundred cataphracts hit the northern side of the square, the formation buckled and nearly broke. But he and Prince Pacorus had issued orders to their men that they were to stay in formation and so after the initial strike, the horsemen retired. But the commander of the square decided to take no chances and moments after the cataphract attack the entire formation began to retire south.

  ‘Mount up,’ I shouted, ‘the way to the gates is clear.’

  Nergal, pale and lapsing in and out of consciousness, was put back on his horse, Gallia and Praxima either side of him. Then we galloped for the gates, the Amazons, the only ones who had any arrows left, spearheading our charge. We crossed a ground littered with dead skirmishers, but the enemy did not harass us and so we reached the gates unimpeded. To find them shut.

  ‘Open the gates,’ I shouted at the top of my voice.

  ‘Open the gates, open the gates,’ pleaded those around us.

  I glanced nervously over my left shoulder, towards the Kushan square that was still shuffling away from the city. Between it and us the cataphracts were reforming, their horses now blown, to form a defensive screen, albeit a tired one. I heard a loud groan and saw the gates slowly open inch by inch. There were now thousands of horsemen clustered outside the city entrance and enemy bowmen within the accursed Kushan square were still in range, though mercifully they did not unleash any volleys against us. They were either out of arrows or were saving their ammunition. I gave thanks to Shamash for either. Then the gates were finally opened.

  ‘Get Nergal to the fortress,’ I told Gallia and Praxima.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Gallia asked me.

  ‘I will stay here to ensure the rest of the army gets into the city. Go!’

  They needed no second prompting. The queens of Dura and Mesene led the procession of horsemen into the city towards the citadel. I dug my knees into Tegha and cantered towards where the cataphracts were standing, the Kushan square having now stopped around four hundred paces from the city gates. Behind me Zenobia held my griffin banner and behind her rode the Amazons, commanded by Gallia to remain with their king. Azad and Pacorus raised their hands when I halted beside him. Azad’s face was flushed and sweat was pouring down his face, his helmet in the crook of his arm. He pointed to a mass of skirmishers reforming either side of the square.

  ‘Whoever is in charge of those soldiers, he knows what he is doing.’

  ‘The rest of the army will be arriving soon,’ Gafarn’s son assured us, ‘all we have to do is keep the enemy away from the gates.’

  ‘They appear to be rooted to the spot,’ I said.

  They were, until the rest of Salar’s army arrived, together with the horsemen of Malik, Gafarn, Spartacus and the baggage train carrying arrows, weapons, food, fodder, tents, tools and spare armour. Salar remained with Shapur as his commander organised his foot soldiers. He deployed his swordsmen in a great semi-circle, the bowmen standing behind them, in front of the city gates to allow the horsemen, squires and camels to get into Sigal. But as they did so the Kushan square began to march back towards the city gates, to be joined by enemy horsemen who commenced a withering rain of arrows against the Saka foot.

  Salar’s archers shot back and for a while managed to keep the hundreds of enemy horse archers at bay. But then the enemy longbowmen inside the square began to use up their remaining ammunition, cane arrows arching into a vivid blue sky to fall among the Sakas. The swordsmen in their leather caps holding ox-hide shields began to fall. I sat on Tegha near the gates and admired their courage as they died where they stood, Salar riding up and down, sword in hand, shouting encouragement and defiance against the enemy. He knew as I did that as long as they did so the horsemen and supplies could get back into Sigal.

  Azad pulled up his horse. ‘Someone should get him back into the city before he is killed.’

  An arrow thudded into the ground a few feet away. Another struck a camel carrying tents, the beast collapsing in a heap and refusing or being unable to get up despite the pleadings and threats of its thrown owner.

  ‘Get your men into the city,’ I commanded.

  He saluted and left, more swordsmen falling but Salar’s archers shooting volley after volley to keep the enemy horsemen away from the gates. And still camels were waiting to get into Sigal.

  Gafarn and Spartacus were already in the city, dismounting their horse archers and deploying them on the city walls to lend weight to Salar’s archers, who would soon be out of ammunition. They stood on the ramparts above the gates, bows in hand, Rasha alongside them. I looked up and raised my hand in recognition.

  The Sakas, under withering volleys of arrows, were still standing in what remained of their ranks, Salar and Shapur urging them on. It was a magnificent display of courage in the face of adversity but now the last of the camels and horsemen had reached the sanctuary of Sigal and it was time to save them. I rode forward into the rain of arrows, which were fortunately being directed against the swordsmen and bowmen. The latter were still shooting back and had actually forced the Kushan square to withdraw for a second time. But the enemy’s horse archers, who darted in to shoot their arrows against the thinning shield wall to fall back unharmed, were doing the real damage.

  ‘The army is inside the city,’ I called to Salar, ‘it is time you and your men followed it.’

  He spun in the saddle, his eyes full of fire. I had seen that look a thousand times on the battlefield. The fury and exhilaration of combat had possessed his every sinew and all he cared about was facing the foe, irrespective of the consequences. He would never show his back to the enemy, even if it meant the death of his foot soldiers and even his own demise.

  ‘Salar!’ I shouted, ‘get your men inside the city. Now!’

  He was shaken by my tone and for a moment fury flashed in his eyes and his sword moved a fraction.

  ‘King Pacorus is right, majesty,’ said Shapur, reining in his horse beside his liege lord.

  Salar was fuming but rather than sit and debate I grabbed his reins and wheeled Tegha around.

  ‘Get your men inside the city,’ I said to Shapur.

  I looked at an angry Salar. ‘If you are going to kill me, do it now. Otherwise, get your arse inside your city. Your kingdom, queen and people need you.’

  He yanked his reins back and screamed at his horse to move, which it did with gusto, taking the king through the gates and into the city. An arrow slammed into the ground a few inches from Tegha ’s right front leg. I dug my knees into his flanks and he too sped back to the gates. I left him with a guard and raced up the steps to the battlements where the archers of Hatra and Gordyene waited.

  ‘Nergal has been badly wounded,’ I told Gafarn.

  ‘How badly?’

  He looked at my face and had his answer.

  ‘I will kill this Kujula,’ said Spartacus, more in frustration that in boast.

  Horn calls sounded in front of the walls and the Saka foot soldiers, previously rock-like in their immobility, about-faced and withdrew back to the city, Shapur screaming at them to stay in their ranks. To their credit their withdrawal never turned into a rout but when they were inside the city and the gates had been shut, the scale of their losses became apparent. In front of the entrance to Sigal was a semi-circle of yellow-clad corpses.

  Spartacus drew back his bowstring, aimed his arrow high and released the sinew cord. The arrow arched into the sky before falling harmlessly into the ground, the Kushan horse archers having withdrawn to a safe distance beyond the range of our arrows, not that I had any. Spartacus roared in rage and shook his bow at the enemy.

  Gafarn laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Save your strength, you will need it.’

  ‘Is that him?’

  Rasha was pointing to a group of horsemen cantering towards the Kushan square, the formation that had caused us so much trouble earlier. It had suffered casualties but had performed admirably. Indeed, it compared well to the Durans and Exiles, and I reckoned those two formations to be the best ground troops in the whole Parthian Empire, perhaps the whole world. Among the horsemen was a huge red banner showing a gold cobra, its hood flared and its fangs bared.

  ‘Kujula, I assume,’ I said.

  The group reached the square and after a few moments it broke apart, its units marching to the river to refresh themselves. Groups of skirmishers established camps around the city but there were no more aggressive moves by the enemy that day. Tents began to spring up near the river next to the date palm groves and campfires were lit as the enemy consolidated their positions.

  Sigal was now under siege.

  Chapter 8

  I went straight to the fortress, to the palace where Alcaeus was tending to Nergal. The streets of the city were crowded with soldiers, horses, camels and frightened citizens, though I was strangely detached from the doom-laden scene. My only concern was for my friend. Other wounded lay in the fortress’ courtyard, groaning with pain as slaves and too few physicians tried to bandage their wounds and give them water. The cobblestones appeared to be slowly turning red as the sun waned, though perhaps it was just my tired eyes and imagination that conjured up the scene. In the palace, worried stewards fussed around and slaves offered to relieve me of my armour, but I brushed them away. We did leave our weapons and helmets outside Nergal’s bedroom, a distraught Praxima, her eyes red with tears, looked pale and wan as we entered.