Kewab was a genius, a man who could conceivably have risen to become pharaoh of Egypt had not Cleopatra killed his father, General Achillas. But Egypt’s loss was Parthia’s gain, and specifically Dura’s. Over the years I had come across many generals, warlords and kings, all with various strengths and weaknesses. Crassus was rich, intelligent but vain, and it was vanity that had led to his defeat at Carrhae: the belief he could easily conquer Parthia after he had defeated Spartacus. Narses and Mithridates were ruthless and calculating and not without talents. But they both believed they were chosen by the gods to rule Parthia and because of that they grossly underestimated their adversaries. They also took little interest in the organisation, tactics and equipment of their armies. After all, why bother with such trivialities when the immortals are on your side?

  Mark Antony was certainly a charismatic figure who inspired devotion among those he commanded. But he was also a gambler; indeed, when I had first encountered him he was in Syria after fleeing gambling debts. Bright, resourceful and likeable, he was at heart a romantic who believed he could enchant and seduce his way to glory. He almost succeeded, but his obsession with Cleopatra cost him the eastern half of the Roman Empire and eventually his life.

  But Kewab was the complete commander, whose mind could focus on both details and grand strategy. In this way, he came to know the strengths and weaknesses of the troops he commanded, allowing him to plan campaigns and battles to maximise their advantages and minimise their deficiencies. And he never underestimated the enemy. He went out of his way to discover as much as possible about the adversaries he faced: their organisation, weapons and equipment, tactics and logistical support. In Parthia, logistics in general were neglected. Kings issued a summons to their lords to muster their retainers and rendezvous at an assigned place prior to marching off to war. It was left to individual lords to organise supplies for their men, which invariably resulted in troops living off the proceeds of plunder, either that or starve. Ideally, each man rode off to war with two-to-four weeks’ food in his saddlebags and an equivalent amount of fodder on the camel he shared with other men of his village. But the reality was often very different. But Kewab had been tutored in Dura where every aspect of a campaign was pre-planned, with a special emphasis on logistics. When the army marched it did so with three months’ supplies for every soldier, civilian, horse and mule that marched with it. Camels were treated differently as they were hardy, could subsist on meagre fodder and endure long spells without water. To Kewab, warfare became a mathematical equation, a balance sheet of pluses and minuses, and he always made sure his troops had all the advantages before a drop of blood was spilt. And his uncanny ability to put himself in the enemy’s position, to be able to see what was happening ‘on the other side of the hill’, meant the foe would be spilling the majority of blood when battle was joined.

  ‘Our dispositions make no sense,’ complained Castus, staring at the Roman army deploying on the vast meadow to the east of Kayseri.

  ‘They make perfect sense,’ I snapped.

  I turned my attention to the dead volcano and wondered if it and the terrain to the north had been created by the immortals for a giant who lived on Mount Argaeus. If the monster had sat on the summit and stared north he would have seen a green and fertile land stretching before him, fenced in by low-lying hills and snow-capped mountains in the distance. The lower slopes of the volcano were covered in trees, and at its base was the sprawling city of Kayseri. Mere mortals to the west of the city had planted more trees, but these were laid out in neat lines and rows – vineyards and orchards. To the north of the city, on the great steppe itself, were fields growing barley and wheat, while to the east and northeast were vast meadows where livestock grazed. Today, though, very different beasts occupied them: Roman legions.

  By the looks on the faces of Malik, Diana, Gafarn and even General Hovik, I could tell not only Castus was concerned about our dispositions.

  ‘Kewab,’ I said, ‘please enlighten everyone again as to our battle plan.’

  Castus regarded the Egyptian coolly. Like many, he had heard much about the man who until recently had been Satrap of Aria and the man who had held Emperor Kujula at bay. But he did not take kindly to Gordyene’s army, his army, being deployed by Kewab, which entailed it being divided up. Kewab pointed at Kayseri, some two miles to the south, our own camp between it and us.

  ‘Kayseri sits at a crossroads.’

  ‘We are all aware of that,’ said Castus tersely.

  Kewab had much experience of dealing with truculent kings and merely smiled.

  ‘The northern road leads to Pontus and Galatia; the eastern road to Parthia; the southern road to Cilicia; and the western road all the way to Rome.’

  Castus’ cheeks were going red with rage.

  ‘King Archelaus will be arriving by that road,’ Kewab spun in the saddle and pointed north, ‘while our friends from Pontus and Galatia will be appearing from that direction.’

  Beyond the Immortals, arrayed in a battle line facing north, there was nothing but empty terrain, along with the odd flock of sheep grazing on the lush grass.

  ‘You will understand our scepticism, satrap,’ remarked Gafarn, ‘as there appears to be no enemy troops to the north or the west, and yet there are a great many to the east.’

  ‘Seems bloody stupid to me,’ said Kalet, who with his senior warlords were getting itchy, seemingly doing nothing while over thirty thousand Romans were deploying some five miles to the east.

  ‘The Romans are a distraction,’ announced Kewab.

  Castus looked exasperated and even Gafarn was surprised.

  ‘A most potent distraction, satrap,’ said Diana.

  ‘Indeed, majesty,’ agreed Kewab, ‘but a distraction, nevertheless. The enemy knows we regard Rome’s legions as fearsome opponents and assumes we would deploy all our foot and horse to face them.’

  He held out a hand to me. ‘But as King Pacorus illustrated at Carrhae, Roman legions can be contained by the skilful use of horse archers. That is why over thirty thousand horse archers, supported by the camel trains of Dura, Hatra and Gordyene, are currently moving to intercept the Romans.’

  ‘Horse archers will not be able to defeat Roman legions,’ snapped Castus.

  Kewab nodded. ‘But they will stop them and force them to deploy into a square, majesty, giving us time to deal with other threats.’

  ‘What other threats?’ asked Malik.

  Kewab pointed to the north. ‘Those, majesty.’

  There was a slight breeze blowing from the north, barely enough to cause our standards to flutter but enough to carry the drums, horns and chants of a large force of troops approaching. Hovik, who had remained silent thus far, knew instantly what it meant and yanked on his horse’s reins.

  ‘If you will excuse me, majesty,’ he said to Castus, ‘I want to see this for myself.’

  He galloped off to the Immortals, standing in their well-dressed ranks, the Aorsi deployed on their wings to provide some, albeit dubious, mounted support when the fighting began. The ominous noise to the north was slowly getting louder, causing the horses, long used to the sounds of war, to get fidgety. Malik licked his lips.

  ‘It will be good to avenge Spartacus some more.’

  Castus was quiet now, sinking into a sullen silence as he curled a lip at Kewab.

  ‘It won’t be long now,’ said the Egyptian, peering to the west, to where the Durans and Exiles were arrayed in three lines, the first line consisting of four cohorts, the second and third of three cohorts.

  ‘The enemy is to be congratulated,’ he mused, ‘coordinating an attack from three directions in no small achievement.’

  ‘Whose side are you on?’ hissed Castus.

  ‘The winning one,’ replied Kewab.

  Castus was seething with anger, but his ire abated somewhat when Hovik returned to report to his king. The general ignored the rest of us as he bowed his head to his lord.

  ‘A large force of enemy troops advancing from the north, majesty, thousands of Gauls and Pontic soldiers. Mostly foot soldiers, though there are well-appointed horsemen among them.’

  He cast me a glance. ‘I also saw a dragon banner among their standards.’

  ‘Atrax,’ hissed Gallia.

  ‘I would advise reinforcing your soldiers with the Vipers and King’s Guard, majesty,’ Kewab said to Castus. ‘I doubt the Aorsi will hold.’

  Castus smarted at the insult directed at his allies.

  ‘I am quite capable of issuing my own orders, Egyptian.’

  But he nevertheless joined Hovik in riding back to the Immortals, taking the Vipers and King’s Guard with him. Both units were equipped with bows, and though the Immortals had scorpions, the Aorsi were equipped with few bows and Gordyene’s medium horsemen had none. An additional thousand bows in the hands of expert shots would be a significant force multiplier. A rider arrived from Sporaces to inform me the horse archers had engaged the Romans, buzzing around them like angry hornets, loosing arrows at the now-static legions. Kewab nodded approvingly.

  The first part of his plan was working.

  To the mix of chanting, drums and horns to the north was added a new sound: the dull roar of troops advancing from the west. We could not see them because in front of the Durans and Exiles was the expanse of vineyards and orchards, through which the enemy would have to move to get to grips with Dura’s foot soldiers. Moving through trees, even those arranged in neat lines, breaks up formations and slows down advances. It was an inspired move by Kewab to suggest the Durans and Exiles be deployed back from the orchards, from where the scorpion crews could wreak havoc among troops emerging from the trees.

  ‘King Archelaus and his Cappadocians,’ said Kewab, his face lit up by a contented smile.

  Gafarn nudged his horse closer to Horns.

  ‘Is your man a commander or sorcerer? How does he get the enemy to dance to his tune?’

  ‘He has a very analytical mind,’ I replied, ‘he is the most perceptive person I have ever met.’

  Gafarn looked at Kewab issuing orders to two of his subordinates who had ridden back from where our horse archers were battling the Romans.

  ‘If I were Phraates, I would not have dismissed him so lightly. I can’t imagine he is happy being back at Dura.’

  ‘I intend to address that problem when we get home. For his services to the empire, Kewab deserves to be richly rewarded.’

  A roar of war cries erupted just beyond the Durans and Exiles, followed by a succession of cracks as scorpion crews began shooting their weapons. The Cappadocians were exiting the vineyards. And walking straight into a storm of iron-tipped bolts. They would reform at the treeline, bolts piercing bodies and skewering individuals to tree trunks, prior to hurling themselves at Dura’s foot soldiers. I laughed and clenched my fist – little did the warriors of King Archelaus know of the calibre of Chrestus’ soldiers. The first-line cohorts would not stand to receive the mad rush of warriors goaded to distraction by the scorpions but would rather launch their own charge to draw the sting of the enemy. The Durans and Exiles would rush forward, the front ranks hurling their javelins before drawing their swords and racing at the enemy, using their shields to barge individuals to the ground before closing to stab and thrust with their short swords. Then the rear ranks in each century would hurl their javelins over the heads of their comrades locked in a close-quarter mêlée with the foe, creating further mayhem among the enemy.

  We were now fighting three separate battles – to the north, west and east – and nearby two and half thousand cataphracts stood motionless on their horses. The finest horsemen in all Parthia, perhaps in the world, reduced to the role of a reserve along with Kalet’s lords, Malik’s Agraci and Gallia’s Amazons. I looked at Kewab, who was staring south, past our camp staffed by three thousand armed squires, to the locked gates of Kayseri.

  Which suddenly opened.

  From her vantage point in the palace, positioned higher than the rest of the city, sitting as it did on a rock outcrop, Glaphyra would have had a panoramic view of the battlefield. She would have seen the legions, now stationary, being harassed by swarms of horse archers on all sides. To the north, she would have perhaps been disappointed to see the soldiers of Gordyene already deployed to meet the forces of Galatia and Pontus. And she would be very aware of her son’s forces battling the Durans and Exiles immediately east of the sprawling orchards and vineyards and getting nowhere. She would have also noted the thousands of horsemen standing idle north of the great Parthian camp, many of them in shining armour, their horses similarly attired.

  Kewab had pre-empted her thoughts, though, and when the great wooden gates opened, and hundreds of horsemen streamed out of the city, he sent a rider to Herneus and Azad to convey his compliments and request they deal with the city garrison.

  He then turned to Malik. ‘If you would accompany the cataphracts, majesty, I believe the day will be ours.’

  ‘You too,’ I said to Kalet.

  He flashed a smile. ‘I thought you would never ask.’

  Two thousand cataphracts began to move towards the hundreds of horsemen coming from the city, the ground beginning to tremble as hundreds of iron-shod horses carrying big men in scale armour broke into a canter, each hundred-man company arrange in two ranks and deployed in a wedge formation. If a bird was flying overhead it would see twenty wedges bearing down on the foe, akin to steel teeth ready to chew the enemy into pieces. Behind them rode Dura’s lords and Malik’s Agraci, a rabble in comparison but hardy warriors used to the cut-and-thrust of close-quarter combat. Five hundred cataphracts did not move: Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard, staffed by nobles, the sons of nobles and those who had distinguished themselves on the battlefield, an élite force lavishly equipped, riding Hatra’s famed pure white horses. They stayed to defend their king and queen.

  Five thousand Parthian and Agraci horsemen thundered towards the stream of riders coming from the city, which halted and formed into line to meet the cataphracts. They carried round wooden shields faced with hide sporting interlinked swastika motifs, their blue banners emblazoned with an apricot – the symbol of Kayseri. Each man wore a heavy mail shirt, an open-faced helmet, and was equipped with a lance and sword. There were also horse archers among them, which were deployed ahead of the mounted spearmen, so they could shoot at the oncoming cataphracts and destroy the momentum of their charge. But the arrows merely bounced off the scale armour worn by both rider and his mount, scattering the horse archers and leaving the mounted spearmen to receive the full force of two thousand charging cataphracts.

  We were now engaging the enemy in four separate clashes on the battlefield. I had never seen such a thing and could only marvel at Kewab’s foresight and ability to place himself in the minds of enemy commanders. But he was not infallible.

  ‘We have guests,’ remarked Gafarn without a trace of irony.

  ‘Naked men, highborn.’

  Klietas was pointing at a mixed force of horsemen and men on foot around half a mile away, but his eyes had been drawn to those running, who like their hooved animals among them were naked.

  ‘Gauls,’ said Gallia, pulling her bow from its case. ‘Amazons, face right.’

  Zenobia repeated the order and within seconds a hundred riders had turned their horses to face the Galatian horde racing towards us. Each woman strung an arrow in her bowstring and waited for the order to charge. I too pulled my bow from its case and nocked an arrow in the bowstring, as the Royal Bodyguard’s signallers blew their trumpets. As one they closed around their king and queen, and the Amazons.

  ‘Straight into them,’ Gafarn shouted to the bodyguard’s commander, who nodded, spoke to his subordinate, the officer relaying the order to the signallers. Gafarn, the best shot in the Parthian Empire, nocked an arrow in his bowstring.

  ‘Stay close,’ he told Diana, who likewise was holding a nocked bow.

  The Gauls were closing fast, screaming war cries, the naked ones issuing blood-curdling howls.

  ‘They are drugged,’ Gallia shouted, ‘one arrow will not be enough. Have a care.’

  The cataphracts broke into a gallop and lowered their long lances moments before they crashed into the enemy riders, who appeared to be Gaul noblemen, judging by their burnished helmets, round shields, expensive mail armour and the longswords at their hips. They were also armed with spears but the kontus carried by the cataphracts was longer, thicker and far deadlier. The first contact unhorsed around two hundred Gauls, kontus points being driven through armour and torsos with ease. The second cataphract rank killed a further two hundred, more Gauls being thrown to the ground as their horses reared up on their hind legs before bolting away from the steel-clad monsters. For a moment, I thought we would not need our arrows as the cataphracts went to work with their axes and maces, Gauls striking back in a swirling mêlée but finding it difficult to penetrate Parthian scale and tubular armour.

  But then the ‘naked swords’ were among us.

  The majority were armed with two-hand axes and hammers, though a few carried longswords. Their hair arranged in spikes, having been washed in lime water to make it malleable, their eyes blood-shot and bulging, they literally threw themselves at the nearest foe. Hollering and screeching, they hacked at horses with their axes and war hammers. I saw one launch himself at a cataphract, landing behind the royal guardsman and instantly grabbing his helmet to yank it off. I aimed my arrow and shot it into the Gaul’s back, which had no effect on him whatsoever.

  ‘Again,’ shouted Gallia, putting another arrow in his back, the cataphract desperately trying to free himself of the wild beast behind him that had pulled his helmet half off. Then the headgear was flung aside and the cataphract screamed. The Gaul, two arrows in his back, was biting off the man’s ear!

  I shot two arrows into him, Gallia two more and Klietas added a fifth. The Gaul shuddered, went limp and slipped off the horse. The cataphract, clutching at his ear, blood covering his hand and tubular arm armour, turned his horse and retreated from the fray.