The left flank was made up of Silaces’ horse archers on the extreme left, those of Atropaiene on their right, Hatra’s white-uniformed ranks next to them and two thousand more of Babylon’s horse archers nearest to the centre. The centre itself was composed of the cataphracts of Hatra, Dura and Atropaiene – three and a half thousand heavy horsemen – plus the five hundred men of Phraates’ Babylonian bodyguard and an extremely unhappy Gallia and her Amazons. Like the other kings, etiquette demanded she and Diana be part of the entourage surrounding the king of kings mounted on a magnificent grey stallion with the banners of the kings fluttering behind him. I had to admit he did look like a high king in his burnished dragon-skin armour and golden crown. But he was nervous, constantly looking left and right and behind to ensure his bodyguard was still with him. The trumpet calls of the Romans carrying on the wind were making him even more anxious. Good. He would be more malleable. Even better was the absence of Timo and Ashleen and the insidious advice they gave the high king. My sister, still in official mourning over Atrax, was also absent, which was an additional boon.

  ‘Just like I remember them,’ said Nergal, tilting his head at the Roman army.

  ‘Still as arrogant as ever,’ spat Gallia.

  ‘We have fifty thousand horse archers, more than enough to give you another Carrhae, Pacorus,’ smiled Praxima.

  Phraates smiled nervously. ‘That would be most welcome, lady.’

  All eyes turned to me but I merely kept my gaze focused on the enemy army several hundred paces away. The red-flecked Roman line looked imposing, strong, irresistible. The sun caught the tip of thousands of javelins and reflected off helmets, armour and standards. I saw many figures in white between the ten legions marching towards us – auxiliary slingers, archers and javelin throwers. Mark Antony had prepared his army well with plenty of missile troops to nullify our horsemen. His own horsemen were drawn up on the wings but presented less of a threat. Our horse archers could cut down ten thousand riders easily enough.

  ‘You should have summoned King Spartacus and his soldiers,’ said Phraates suddenly, the ominous sound of Roman trumpets filling the air.

  Aschek looked and shook his head. Silaces, looking ahead, rolled his eyes.

  ‘And instructing the squires to remain in camp was a mistake,’ added Phraates, panic in his voice. ‘We do not have enough men.’

  On the flanks small parties of horse archers were darting in to deliver volleys of arrows against the Roman horsemen. Not heavy or sustained volleys, just enough to empty a few saddles and annoy the enemy to slow them down. In the centre the vast line of red-painted shields advanced remorselessly.

  ‘Are we going to literally embrace the Romans, Pacorus?’ asked Gafarn.

  ‘We must attack,’ shouted Phraates.

  I turned and beckoned Kewab forward. I caught sight of Valak stroking Claudia’s chin and frowned. They seemed oblivious to the fact they were on a battlefield. Kewab halted his horse and saluted.

  ‘Convey my compliments to Prince Pacorus and instruct him to withdraw his men immediately,’ I commanded.

  Kewab saluted, turned his horse and galloped to where my namesake waited with the cataphracts. His presence and Prince Ali’s could have caused difficulties in the chain of command but Aschek’s son was happy to defer to Hatra’s prince as he commanded the largest contingent of cataphracts.

  ‘We will follow the cataphracts and withdraw,’ I announced to everyone.

  A look of utter relief appeared on Phraates’ face, followed by confusion. He turned his horse and followed the banner men.

  ‘We are quitting the field?’

  ‘No, majesty, we are merely retiring a short distance.’

  We fell back around five hundred paces before halting and turning to face the Romans who continued their march forward. Riders came from the flanks to report the horse archers were still probing the enemy’s wings but had stayed beyond the range of Mark Antony’s missile troops when parties of them had been despatched to the flanks. Both of our flanks had also retired so our deployment was as it was before any arrows had been shot. I sent riders to the flanks to instruct all commanders of horse archers to conserve their ammunition, and then ordered another withdrawal.

  We fell back another five hundred paces and a further five hundred a short while later, all the while the Romans following us in the hope of engaging us in battle. Blocks of horse archers on the wings swapped places so the different contingents could take their turn to goad the enemy horsemen, who to their credit stayed in their place and guarded Mark Antony’s flanks. More parties of slingers and archers were sent to reinforce them and so our horse archers retired out of range.

  We continued to fall back to the west. By now it was midday and both sides must have moved file miles or more and still the Romans came on. Gallia and Praxima were bored and testy, Gafarn finding the whole thing hilarious and Silaces and Nergal passing the time betting on how far the Romans would march before realising we had no intention of giving battle. This also dawned on many among the ranks of the cataphracts behind us and soon their representative made his and their feelings known.

  ‘I would speak to you, majesty.’

  Prince Pacorus was beside me, his scale armour glittering in the autumn sunshine, a cockade of red feathers in the helmet he held in the crook of his arm. We had just halted and about-turned after another withdrawal. He nodded to his proud parents on the other side of a now bored Phraates.

  ‘Prince Pacorus,’ I acknowledged.

  He glanced at the Roman legions marching ahead.

  ‘I and the other commanders were wondering how long we are going to retire in the face of the enemy.’

  ‘Me too,’ chipped in Phraates.

  ‘Until I decide otherwise,’ I answered curtly, ‘now kindly return to your men and give the order to fall back.’

  I held his gaze. He was eager to lead Hatra’s and the other cataphracts against the Romans, to smash through their line of shields and mete out death to the invaders. For the nobles who made up Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard to even retire once in the face of the enemy was hard to stomach. To do so again and again must have been torment.

  ‘Do as you are told,’ I shouted, causing Phraates to turn in the saddle.

  Pacorus gave me a slight nod, bowed his head to Phraates, yanked hard on his reins to turn his horse and returned to his men. By the time we had fallen back a further ten miles the cataphracts resembled a group of sullen children who had been denied their toys.

  ‘They’ve halted.’

  I heard Silaces’ voice and looked up to see the Romans had indeed stopped.

  ‘Excellent,’ I said.

  ‘Now we attack?’ asked Phraates.

  ‘No, majesty,’ I told him, ‘now we follow them back to their camp.’

  And so we did, to the chagrin of the cataphracts and the exasperation of Gallia and Praxima. The horse archers continued to harry and probe the enemy as the sun began to wane in the west. As we retraced our steps I began to notice the occasional body on the ground, a Roman rider with one or more arrows lodge in his torso. Occasionally there was a Parthian corpse, the victim of a slinger, but mostly it was Roman dead littering the ground.

  The Romans, maintaining their discipline, marched slowly back to camp, the rear ranks of the legions halting and locking shields when our party of kings, queens and banners trotted forward appearing to prepare to charge. But there was no charge as I called a halt and waited until the enemy resumed their retreat. The horse archers were not shooting any more, being content to shadow their opponents and conserve their ammunition.

  ‘This is no Carrhae,’ grumbled Phraates.

  ‘No, indeed, majesty,’ I said, ‘but on that day it did not matter if I and those I led were defeated and killed. Your father still commanded the main army, the force Surena and I led was a large raiding party only. Today is an entirely different strategic situation.’

  ‘In what way?’ he demanded.

  ‘We lose today and you lose your crown, your kingdoms and perhaps your life,’ I stated bluntly.

  The truth hurt him. ‘I can call on the eastern kings to assist me if we are worsted.’

  ‘They will not come,’ Aschek told him, ‘they are waiting to see what happens at Phraaspa before they pledge their allegiance.’

  Phraates suddenly looked like a frightened, lost child.

  ‘There are many ways of defeating an enemy,’ I assured him. ‘Today we have taken a major step towards defeating Mark Antony.’

  The Romans returned to their camp and desultory siege, the bodyguard of Phraates escorted the high king back to his poisonous advisers and the other kings took their men back to camp, but not before three of us appraised the situation. Gafarn’s Royal Bodyguard waited in silence for their king and queen as the light began to fade with the sun descending rapidly in the west. I smiled when I saw a downcast Prince Pacorus staring at the ground, his horse scraping impatiently at the earth.

  ‘Our new high king needs a victory to give him credibility,’ said Nergal.

  ‘To give him some backbone, more like,’ spat Praxima.

  Diana smiled at her. ‘Not all can be fearless like you.’

  ‘The problem is Phraates reeks of fear,’ said Gallia.

  Clearly the ladies were in an unforgiving mood.

  ‘It does not matter,’ I told them, ‘having discovered we are in no mood to give battle, the Romans will have to retreat back to Armenia, or starve when winter arrives. At least we are receiving supplies from Atropaiene, Media and Gordyene.’

  ‘Do you propose to avoid battle for the duration of the campaign?’ Gafarn asked me.

  ‘If it means Phraates keeping his crown and the Romans leaving Parthia, why not?’ I answered.

  ‘Unless Phraaspa falls,’ said Nergal, ‘then the Romans have a winter base. We shall have to besiege them.’

  I tapped my nose. ‘Talib has gone into the city to determine the state of Prince Darius’ defences.’

  ‘Let’s hope he returns,’ said Gallia.

  ‘He’s very resourceful,’ I replied, ‘he’ll return.’

  Nergal brushed something off his arm and I noticed the late afternoon air was suddenly filled with snowflakes.

  Diana pulled her cloak tightly around her. ‘Let us hope Mark Antony desires the sun of Egypt more than the snows of Parthia and departs speedily.’

  ‘It is not the sun he desires,’ I smiled, ‘rather the queen who rules that land.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Claudia. She seemed blissfully happy wrapped in furs, her bow in its case attached to her saddle. Women! How they shaped the lives of men.

  The weather continued to deteriorate, the flecks of snow in the biting wind becoming thicker as the autumn faded and winter approached. The lack of rain meant the camps no longer resembled large tracts of mud but the cold made everyone wear an extra tunic and go nowhere without a cloak. The squires and farriers strengthened the temporary stables with wood sent down from the mountain slopes by Spartacus, who visited us with Rasha, escorted by two hundred mounted spearmen one blustery afternoon. They were both wrapped in thick capes and Rasha was wearing a grey fur hat with large ear flaps.

  We sat down at the table in my tent and tucked into thick, hot porridge as the wind buffeted the sides of the tent and rattled the poles.

  ‘It was very clever to give Phraates the two Roman eagles you took,’ I said to my nephew.

  Rasha flashed a smile. ‘It was Claudia’s idea. She told us such a gift would make Phraates soft clay in our hands.’

  ‘And did it?’ asked Gallia.

  Rasha gave a triumphant laugh. ‘He apologised for the way I had been treated at Ctesiphon.’

  ‘He also sent an apology to me,’ added Spartacus, ‘so we have forgiven him for insulting us.’

  ‘He is such a foolish boy,’ said Claudia disparagingly, ‘a petulant, boorish boy.’

  ‘And also the high king,’ I warned her, ‘who deserves respect.’

  ‘Respect has to be earned,’ Gallia interrupted.

  I held up a hand covered with porridge. ‘Let us not argue about Phraates. Things are going exceptionally well for us.’

  ‘My brother visited us a few days ago,’ said Spartacus.

  Rasha finished her mouthful of porridge. ‘He is not happy.’

  I looked at her. ‘Oh?’

  ‘He thinks it was dishonourable running from the Romans,’ said Spartacus.

  ‘We did not run, we fell back,’ I informed him.

  ‘And back, and back and back,’ grunted Gallia.

  Claudia and Rasha giggled.

  ‘Father is getting old,’ smiled Claudia, ‘it is why he is unwilling to take risks anymore.’

  I finished my porridge and ordered more to be brought. It was good ballast for the body on a cold day. I wiped my hands on a cloth.

  ‘First of all, it was not my idea but Kewab’s, who is younger than those sitting around this table. Secondly, we inflicted losses on the enemy for hardly any of our own. Thirdly, the Romans spent the whole day chasing shadows, which would have infuriated and exasperated them in equal measure. Patience is a virtue, something I have learned over the years.’

  ‘Eighty thousand men cannot remain here indefinitely, uncle,’ said Spartacus.

  ‘Neither can ninety thousand Romans,’ I smiled at him.

  The tent flap opened and I licked my lips in anticipation of more hot porridge, but instead saw one of the sentries.

  ‘Apologies, majesty, a courier has arrived from High King Phraates.’

  The messenger turned out to be a member of the high king’s Babylonian bodyguard and before I opened the rolled papyrus I walked to the tent’s entrance to peek outside. Seated on their horses, enveloped in cloaks flapping in the wind, was a score of other soldiers of the royal bodyguard. The message must be important. I broke the wax seal and read the words as I walked back to the table.

  ‘Trouble?’ enquired Spartacus.

  ‘More like vindication,’ I retorted, holding up the letter, ‘Phraates requests my presence at his pavilion. I would hazard a similar request also awaits you at your tent. He is summoning the kings because Mark Antony has asked for a parley.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Rasha.

  I walked over to her, cupped her face in my hands and kissed her forehead.

  ‘Why? Because he and his army are at the end of their tethers. But before they retreat Roman honour demands they must save face.’

  ‘Are queens to be omitted from the meeting?’ Gallia was prickly today.

  ‘Alas, my love, this is not Dura or Hatra where queens are accorded equal status.’

  ‘Or Gordyene,’ added Rasha.

  ‘In any case I do not think it would be prudent to remind Mark Antony of a time when the Queen of Dura threatened to kill him,’ I said.

  ‘Why not?’ snapped Gallia.

  ‘I think you have made my point, my dear.’

  ‘So we must dance to the enemy’s tune,’ growled Gallia, Rasha shaking her head in agreement.

  ‘If it meant the Romans leaving Media and Parthia then I would dance naked in their presence,’ I announced.

  ‘Thank you for putting that image in my mind, father,’ said Claudia, ‘I have suddenly lost my appetite.’

  The opposite was true for me. Ultimate victory was so close I could almost taste it. Spartacus and Rasha returned to their forest camp on the mountain and I prepared for the meeting with Mark Antony, set for two days hence. My first task was to don my armour and acquire a new tunic. On a day-to-day basis we wore long-sleeved woollen tunics waterproof due to the natural oils in the material. They were also warm but unfortunately they stank after a few days of constant wear, as did the yellow brown heavy woollen cloaks with hoods the whole army wore as a defence against the elements. To retain their waterproof qualities cloaks, tunics and leggings were regularly treated with boiled flax oil.

  I rode to the meeting with Azad and a company of cataphracts, our ochre-coloured cloaks replaced by the thinner white variety normally worn in much warmer climes. The cataphracts did not feel the cold, encased as they were in their scale armour and full-face helmets topped with white plumes. But I was feeling the chill, especially in my left leg. I constantly rubbed it on the journey to Phraates’ pavilion.

  Azad noticed the rubbing. ‘Are you in pain, majesty?’

  ‘The only problem is the cold affecting my old arrow wound,’ I replied. ‘At Dura it rarely bothers me but here I wake most days with my leg on fire.’

  ‘Cannot Surgeon General Alcaeus prescribe some medicine, majesty?’ asked Kewab whom I had brought along so he could gain experience of treating with an enemy.

  ‘Alas, Kewab, not even Alcaeus can give me a new leg. I count myself lucky I still have four limbs. His treatment saved my leg and I am eternally grateful.’

  I had had a low opinion of Ashleen from the moment I first saw him but I had to admit when it came to pomp and ceremony he knew his task. Phraates’ pavilion looked magnificent on the day he and the other kings met Mark Antony. It was ringed with flagpoles from which flew the banners of Babylon, Persis and Susiana and, in recognition of those kings who had come to fight by Phraates’ side, the standards of Hatra, Dura, Mesene, Gordyene, Elymais, Media and Atropaiene. Blue-robed slaves took our horses at the entrance to the pavilion and others escorted us through the massive rectangular tent with a circular canopy at its centre. Every ten paces stood a spearman in a variety of coloured clothing from long flame-coloured robes to fearsome axe men drawn from the highlands of Susiana in their tight-fitting scarlet tunics.

  ‘I think the Romans will be impressed, majesty,’ whispered Kewab as we were ushered into the throne room.

  He stood on one side of me, Azad on the other, as we bowed to Phraates on his throne and took our position by the side of the dais. The high king looked different today: determined, more mature. He undoubtedly felt more secure in his pavilion surrounded by his sycophants, the scheming Timo and Ashleen. He exuded a more self-assured air, his confidence buoyed by the experience of his first battle, though it could scarce be called that. Still, it had achieved its purpose and the high king had also benefited from it. The only thing still boyish was the golden arrow he held in his right hand.