Over thirty thousand dismounted horse archers, foot soldiers of Persis and Media’s archers and heavy foot waded through the snow towards the Romans, again deployed in a square. The Median professional foot soldiers were still a force to be reckoned with. They had been raised by Atrax specifically to fight Roman legionaries and their appearance replicated the soldiers of Rome. Their helmets had large cheek guards and neck protectors; they wore short-sleeved scale armour tunics and thick leather greaves over leather boots. Their large oval shields were faced with hide painted black sporting a white dragon. Their main weapon was a mace – a short length of wood topped with a spiked iron head – with which they could batter their way through an enemy formation. Secondary weapons comprised a sword and dagger. They had originally numbered five thousand men but to maintain such a number on a permanent basis was expensive and so over the years their number had dwindled to two thousand.

  Had the attack been handled correctly it might have inflicted heavy losses on the Romans but instead thousands of dismounted horse archers were wasted. They began by shooting arrows over the heads of the spearmen and palace guard of Persis and Media’s professional foot soldiers, which kept the Roman slingers and archers at bay. But then Alexander and Darius, seeing the spearmen and mace men collide into the southern side of the enemy square, made the mistake of thinking their men were on the verge of crashing through the legionaries. Instead of ordering the archers to continue shooting into the square the two brothers diverted them to attack another two sides of the square. Unarmoured archers armed with no shields or head protection were cut to pieces by legionaries in close order protected by shields, helmets, mail armour and armed with short swords.

  ‘It saddens me to see men’s lives wasted, majesty.’

  Kewab sighed as we watched the sad spectacle from among the trees covering the mountain slope to the west of the enemy square. Squires and servants were cutting down trees for firewood even though the green branches would produce much smoke. But we had run out of firewood and needed wood to cook food and provide warmth. So parties of horse archers provided guards as men chopped, sawed and loaded camels to take wood back to camp. I felt ashamed to be sitting on a horse watching men die but I would not take part in an attack I knew from the outset would fail, as indeed it was doing.

  ‘A senseless waste,’ said Sporaces beside me.

  The light was fading fast and I could see parties of men walking back from the edges of the still extant Roman square. The battle was over. Soon hundreds of men were tramping south to the cheers, whistles and jeers of the Romans.

  ‘May I suggest a renewal of hostilities during the night, majesty?’ said Kewab.

  ‘Are you mad?’ asked Sporaces, ‘you’ve seen what has just happened.’

  ‘Indeed, lord,’ answered Kewab, ‘but small parties of archers could keep the enemy awake and further weaken him. We must be like a Nile crocodile.’

  ‘In what way?’ I asked.

  ‘When a Nile crocodile grabs its prey it does not let go. That is what we must do from now on. Never give the enemy any respite. Fight him day and night.’

  So we did. During the night I led small parties of horse archers into the plain to annoy the enemy, keeping him awake and fraying his nerves. Each of the hundred parties consisted of five men with a full quiver each. Gallia insisted on leading one and the Amazons made up another ten. Horsemen could ride down widely scattered groups of archers easily. But it was dark, the snow was deep and the enemy was tired, cold and hopefully hungry. The parties approached the enemy on all four sides of his square. The Romans had had no time to erect a camp so every third man stood to arms on shifts, the others eating and, if they could, grabbing a few hour’s sleep.

  The wind had dropped, the clouds had parted and the land was bathed in moonlight. We crept forward slowly across snow churned up and compacted by the thousands of men who had earlier made the abortive attack on the Romans. We crouched low and concentrated on keeping our footing on the hard-packed snow turning to ice. No one said a word as we edged forward, our breath misting in the cold and our hearts pounding. No sounds came from the enemy camp, though it was illuminated by a hundred fires cooking food or from braziers providing warmth. But a small number for such a large army; proof the enemy’s supplies were running low. I had given orders no one was to venture nearer than two hundred paces from the enemy. Our bows could shoot accurately up to a range of three hundred paces so there was no need to get too close to the Romans. A lesson someone should have taught Alexander and Darius years ago.

  I held up a hand and those with me stopped. I reached into my quiver and pulled out an arrow. Traditionally archers employed three-winged bronze arrows but ever since before Carrhae Dura’s armouries had produced arrows with pointed steel heads, which could penetrate Roman shields and mail armour.

  I knelt on the ice and nocked the arrow in the bowstring. At this range it was possible to pick out individual targets but it did not matter. We were here to sow disorder and if we killed a few of the enemy so much the better. I drew back the bowstring, at the same time pointing the arrow into the starlit sky, inhaling as I pulled the sinew cord back level to my cheek. I gently exhaled, let the string slip from my fingers and sent the arrow into the night. My companions did likewise and the plain was suddenly filed with sharp cracks as hundreds of arrows arched into the night sky and then down to land among the Romans.

  I nocked another arrow, shot it and pulled a third from my quiver in quick succession before the enemy camp stirred. Then there was commotion as hundreds of arrows landed among the Romans. Frantic whistle blasts and shouts were carried on the wind. I kept on shooting, loosing another ten arrows before signalling to the trumpeter to sound retreat. The shrill sound of a single trumpet call cut through the icy air and we began to withdraw. I remained in a kneeling position as my companions pulled back, following them and passing one who was kneeling fifty paces behind, who then got up and fell back past another of the group who was kneeling to cover us. This procedure was repeated until we were around five hundred paces from the enemy, the other groups likewise falling back in stages to a safe distance. The Romans sent centuries with slinger and archer support after us but they did not stray too far from their camp for fear of being lured into an ambush. The casualties for our night exercise amounted to one sprained ankle and one broken wrist, both caused by slipping on ice. Kewab had shown me the tactics we should employ from now on but the new day brought news both welcome and unwelcome.

  ‘I am returning to Ctesiphon.’

  If Phraates was expecting us to fall on our knees and beg him to stay he was to be sorely disappointed. We stood in front of him and received his announcement with a stony silence. Aschek had developed a hacking cough threatening to shake him to pieces when it struck. Silaces made no attempt to conceal his boredom, clicking his fingers to demand more wine from a slave holding a jug near him.

  ‘This weather is intolerable and several of my courtiers have caught chills,’ Phraates continued. ‘In any case I see no reason to remain when all that needs to be done to bring this campaign to a successful conclusion is to shepherd what remains of the enemy back to Armenia. I am, after all, king of kings, not a goatherd.’

  ‘Well said, highness,’ remarked Timo, whose face was very pale, no doubt a consequence of the cold and his flimsy religious robes.

  Phraates pointed at me. ‘King Pacorus, you will remain as lord high general to ensure the Romans are expelled from Parthia.’

  ‘You honour me, sire,’ I replied dryly.

  ‘The Romans suffered heavy casualties yesterday,’ announced Alexander.

  I tried to keep a straight face. ‘Really? How many men did they lose?’

  ‘Thousands,’ stated Darius. ‘Of course you would already know if you had taken part in the battle.’

  ‘More to the point,’ said Gafarn, ‘how many men did Media and Persis lose?’

  ‘Last night we raided the enemy camp,’ I informed Alexander. ‘Afterwards my men reported seeing many dead corpses in the snow, most of them Parthian.’

  ‘Have you taken to skulking around in the dark, uncle?’ sneered Alexander, ‘fighting at night like the barbarians do?’

  ‘His army is full of barbarians,’ said Darius, ‘what do you expect, brother?’

  ‘Watch your tongue, Darius,’ threatened Spartacus, ‘unless you wish it to talk your head off its shoulders.’

  ‘Enough!’ ordered Phraates. ‘I have informed you all of my decision. King Pacorus, you will command the army remaining in Atropaiene with authority to act in the high king’s name.’

  I smiled at the two brothers but when I requested they remain after the high king had departed they ignored my invitation and left.

  ‘At least we are in safe hands now,’ said a relieved Silaces.

  ‘And hopefully Alexander will crawl back to Persis,’ added Nergal.

  ‘I don’t want to lose too many men,’ I told them, ‘we still have thousands of Romans a short distance away.’

  Aschek gave me a remorseful look.

  ‘I too must reduce the numbers of my men, Pacorus. Truth is they were already on half-rations and the horses are using up our reserves of fodder. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I too must send men back to Gordyene,’ announced Spartacus. ‘Nearly ten thousand men and horses consume much food and fodder.’

  ‘I understand,’ I told them, ‘but I would ask you leave behind any food and fodder you can spare so those left do not go hungry.’

  I was relieved when Aschek rode back to Urmia because I truly believed if he had stayed with the army he would not have seen the spring, but I was less pleased by the savage reduction in the army’s numbers. When Phraates had captured the vexillum we had surrounded the Roman army with ninety-four thousand men; now I had thirty-four thousand in total to shepherd Mark Antony north. And of those ten thousand belonged to Darius and Alexander. The Satrap of Persis had marched south with twenty thousand men but now he could muster only seven thousand, the rest having died of wounds sustained in battle or from exposure. I doubted those remaining, of which over half were foot soldiers, would make any useful contribution to the rest of the campaign.

  This was confirmed when I held a council of war in my tent the next day. Neither Darius nor his brother was present and Prince Ali represented his father. I told those who did attend of my desire to only seek battle if the circumstances were highly favourable.

  ‘The Romans now outnumber us,’ I told them, ‘though whether they are fit for battle is debateable.’

  ‘We are like two old cripples limping to the Araxes,’ sighed Gafarn, who had been forced to send back a dragon of cataphracts to Hatra because the thousand men, two thousand squires, three thousand horses, five thousand more spare, and accompanying thousand camels were all draining his supplies.

  ‘Which is why I am determined to bring this campaign to an end,’ I said. ‘We will each take it in turns to harass the Romans during the day and night, in order to reach the Araxes before the Romans, so barring their path.’

  ‘We do not have the men to fight a battle against the Romans, Pacorus,’ said Nergal, ‘even if they have been weakened.’

  I nodded. ‘You are right, my friend, but so far the enemy has lost few men compared to our forces. They may be cold and hungry but they still number around eighty thousand at least. I do not wish them to reach Armenia only to recuperate during the winter to return again in the spring.’

  ‘What about Darius and Alexander?’ enquired Silaces.

  I shrugged. ‘What about them? They are obviously intent on following their own course of action and unfortunately the office of lord high general does not give me licence to have them arrested.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ said Gallia.

  ‘But we stand more of a chance with their men than without them,’ opined Spartacus.

  ‘Why don’t you send Gafarn to mediate with them, Pacorus?’ suggested Diana. ‘He and I have always got on with Aliyeh.’

  ‘Fortunately my sister has returned to Irbil,’ I said, ‘but if you think my brother can succeed where I have failed then by all means let us try. What say you, Gafarn?’

  He frowned. ‘I think you are forgetting I was once a slave in Hatra, a Bedouin slave at that, which will hardly endear me to her two sons.’

  ‘You are the King of Hatra,’ I reminded him, ‘and in the hierarchy of Parthian kingdoms Hatra stands well above Media and Persis.’

  ‘What message do you wish me to convey?’ asked Gafarn.

  ‘Tell them they should get their men to the Araxes as quickly as possible.’

  The river was only around fifty miles away, which in good weather and uninterrupted, the Romans could have reached in two days. But there was snow on the ground, the northerly wind carried sleet and snow to blow into their faces, and there were Parthian horse archers on all four sides of their marching square during the day and archers on foot keeping them awake at night.

  The different contingents took it in turns to harry the Romans. On one day Silaces’ men would taunt and skirmish with them and during the night parties of Hatra’s horse archers, dismounted and using the cover of darkness, would try to pick off sentries and generally keep the enemy awake. Tired, demoralised and hungry, the Romans would recommence their march the next day, this time harried by Dura’s horse archers, and at night by the bowmen of Mesene. In this way we slowed the Romans to five miles a day through the snow and sleet. We were also cold and tired but at least we had warm food to fill our bellies and could sleep uninterrupted in waterproof tents without having to worry about enemy arrows. For nine days and nights we tormented the Romans and then disappeared as the sun rose on the tenth.

  As we neared the Araxes the terrain became more mountainous and bleak, the slopes of the mountains largely bare and the plains between them blasted unceasingly by a northern wind driving the snow into our faces. But we won the race to the Araxes and made camp along its southern side, the high mountains of the Caucasus to the north. I sent Talib and his men across the waterway to reconnoitre Armenian territory to ensure we were not surprised by any of Artavasdes’ garrisons.

  The Araxes flows for a thousand miles from its source in northern Cappadocia to empty into the Caspian Sea in the east, and when it is in spate is extremely rapid. It cuts through high-sided gorges with fury when filled with meltwater but on the eve of winter the current is slower after the heat of summer, even more lethargic in the broader sections of the river flanked by expanses of flat lowland. We occupied one such section, the same area the army of Mark Antony had used to commence his invasion of Parthia in the summer. Scouting parties had been sent south to give us prior warning of the approach of what remained of his army. All we had to do was wait, and plan.

  We had been bolstered by the arrival of the foot soldiers of Alexander and Darius, still simmering with anger over the disrespect I and the other kings had shown them but eager to share in any glory battling a beaten Roman army.

  I used a stick to point at the valley to the south, from where the Romans would approach the river. The mountains on either side were covered in snow, their peaks obscured by grey clouds carrying more snow to dump on the ground.

  ‘Our task is simple. The Romans will be forced to abandon their square and assume a battle line to cross the river. We will be deployed between them and the river.’

  Darius looked east and west and behind him.

  ‘This stretch of the river must be ten miles in extent. What is to stop the Romans marching further upstream or downstream and crossing the river unimpeded?’

  ‘A fair question,’ I admitted, ‘but the shortest route back to Armenia is here, where we stand. They will not wish to remain in Atropaiene a minute longer than they have to. Remember they have been marching through snow for days, under constant attack and after having been forced to abandon the siege of a city they desperately needed for winter quarters.’

  ‘And they will be loath to refuse a battle against a numerically inferior foe,’ grinned Nergal.

  Alexander looked at him. ‘Numerically inferior?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied the King of Mesene. ‘We have how many?’

  He looked at me.

  ‘Thirty-four thousand men,’ I answered.

  ‘And the Romans have, what, around seventy-five thousand?’

  ‘Perhaps eighty thousand,’ chipped in Gafarn.

  A look of horror spread across Alexander’s face as the odds dawned on him.

  ‘We are outnumbered over two to one.’

  ‘Perhaps three to one,’ said Silaces.

  I glanced at Spartacus who said nothing.

  ‘Can we win against such odds?’ asked Alexander.

  ‘No,’ I replied starkly.

  ‘In a pitched battle we do not have the numbers to kill every Roman. But the enemy has been deprived of sleep for ten days, their supplies of food will be low and their ammunition is also in short supply.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ said Darius.

  ‘Because for the last three days their slingers and archers have not responded to our own archers probing their defences,’ I told him. ‘When they arrive at this spot our task is to kill as many Romans as possible before they cross the river.’

  ‘You do not intend to pursue them, Pacorus?’ asked Silaces.

  I shook my head. ‘Our supplies are running low too, my friend. Besides, I am too old for a winter campaign in the mountains.’

  Alexander and Darius frowned but the others laughed. I looked at the two brothers.

  ‘One more thing. Avoid the Romans’ eagles like the plague. The enemy will do everything in their power to protect them and unless you get lucky you will lose a lot of men for nothing.’

  ‘You would deny us the chance of glory?’ spat Alexander.

  ‘So there are no challenges to the prestige of King Pacorus of Dura,’ said Darius haughtily. ‘In any case you contradict yourself, uncle. You said the Romans are hungry and tired whereas we are strong and well armed. They will probably surrender when they see us barring their way.’