Mark Antony was still trying to manoeuvre his troops to shield his army’s crossing of the river, moving his auxiliaries again from the rear to the flanks when he realised the Parthian horsemen behind his men were but a token force. Unfortunately for him the movement of the slingers and archers coincided with the cataphract attack.

  Pacorus formed his men into a wedge, Hatra’s bodyguard at the tip, and launched them at an angle of forty-five degrees against the left wing of the Roman army. A neutral observer would have regarded such an assault as suicide but the prince had seen the uneven Roman formations, their disjointed movements as they approached the river and gambled a powerful, unexpected thrust would succeed. He was right.

  Seventeen hundred horsemen thundered across the snow-covered ground, every kontus lowered as they approached the auxiliaries taking up position in front of the far-most legions in the enemy’s second and third lines. The auxiliaries halted, stunned to see a wall of armoured horseflesh charging at them, then turned and ran. But the cataphracts were among them in moments, skewering them with their long lances and then hacking with their maces and axes. The auxiliaries that did not die in the initial clash ran wildly away from the horsemen, straight into their Roman allies.

  The first-line cohorts of the legion receiving the crush of panicking slingers and archers wavered and then collapsed as any semblance of discipline evaporated. The legionaries ran towards the river now tantalisingly close, only to be cut down by Parthian weapons. The sound of trumpets and whistles filled the air as the Romans tried to save their left wing, legions wheeling left to present a wall of shields to the cataphracts in their midst. But Pacorus had no intention of being drawn into a battle in the centre of the Roman army, where his men would eventually be surrounded and cut down. He kept them moving, cutting a swathe of death and disorder as they hacked their way south, straight through the left flank of the enemy army. In all my time of campaigning I had never seen a more glorious sight.

  The cataphracts reformed to the rear of the Roman army, company commanders turning their men and deploying them in line in case the enemy attempted a pursuit. But the Roman horsemen had disappeared, either dead or shamefully fled across the river, and the legions were in no state to mount an assault. Then a new sound was carried on the wind, the sound of thousands of men chanting in unison.

  ‘Pacorus, Pacorus.’

  It was not my name the horse archers of Dura, Hatra and Mesene were chanting but the son of Gafarn and Diana. They raised their bows in salute and called his name in admiration, his men likewise saluting their commander.

  The Romans were now crossing the river, hundreds of frozen men wading through the icy water while thousands more waited their turn. But now panic spread like wild fire through Mark Antony’s army and those cohorts nearest the river attempted to cross the Araxes without waiting their turn. To the west of the river bend the banks were high, which meant men tripped and fell as they tried to negotiate the slopes, but at least the water was not deep. It was a different matter downstream where the banks were low but the water was deep and where many drowned.

  I sent riders to our left wing to call together the kings for a hasty meeting. In front Mark Antony had succeeded in restoring some sort of order by forming an arc of five legions into a convex line to face us. They acted as a shield for the rest of his army to cross the river. The air was thick with snowflakes, making visibility increasingly difficult.

  ‘This snow will aid the Romans,’ complained Silaces.

  ‘Can’t help it,’ I replied, ‘in any case my men are nearly out of arrows.’

  ‘Mine too,’ added Nergal.

  ‘What now, then?’ asked Gafarn, squinting as the flakes buffeted his face.

  Spartacus looked at the ground littered with Roman dead.

  ‘Keep harassing them until they are all across the river. A rider from Darius reported the river is filled with their corpses.’

  I looked around at the group of kings, their escorts and banners.

  ‘Where is Darius, and his brother for that matter?’

  Silaces gave a grim laugh. ‘Organising the butchering of their men by the Romans.’

  ‘Idiots,’ I hissed.

  ‘That’s the word,’ agreed Silaces.

  The snow was covering the hundreds of bodies littering the ground as far as the eye could see, a distance fast diminishing with every minute.

  ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘let us usher the enemy across the river while at the same time avoiding any unnecessary losses.’

  I rode back to Sporaces and Gallia, the horse archers and their beasts now wearing a layer of snow.

  ‘Well?’ asked Gallia impatiently.

  ‘The battle is all but over. With the snow blowing in our faces and visibility rapidly reducing to launch any more assaults is foolish. The best we can do is continue to pick them off.’

  So that is what we did, companies riding forwards slowly, threading their way through the dead and dying on the ground. Gallia and her Amazons took great delight in shooting any wounded they came across. But it was difficult to see in the snowstorm and we nearly collided with the enemy when a line of red painted shields sporting yellow lightning bolts suddenly loomed into view, less than twenty paces ahead. I raised my bow, drew back the string and released the arrow at a face, the missile piercing the legionary’s eye socket. A javelin came at me, narrowly missing my left shoulder. I shot another arrow, as did the men either side of me, but now the centurions blew their whistles, shouted commands and more javelins were hurled in our direction.

  A Duran screamed and toppled from his saddle. A series of cracks announced a volley of arrows felling half a dozen Romans, followed by more screams and yelps as javelins struck horses and their riders. For a short while we duelled with the enemy at short range. I pulled arrow after arrow from my quiver and shot them at the enemy soldiers directly ahead. A centurion ran at me, gladius in hand, determined to gut Tegha and butcher me afterwards. I aimed the arrow, released the bowstring and saw the missile glance off his helmet as he slipped on the wet earth. He regained his footing, grinned savagely and lunged forward, falling face-first in the snow when an arrow slammed into his chest. I turned and saw Sporaces beside me.

  ‘Time to withdraw,’ he said, ordering the signaller behind him to give the command.

  I reached into my quiver and searched in vain for an arrow. A javelin missed me by inches to land behind Tegha in the snow. I turned him and screamed at him to move as withdrawal was sounded.

  My part in the Battle of the Araxes was over.

  Chapter 11

  It did not freeze during the night but the wind continued to blow, which resulted in the snowfall during the battle not covering the dead. In the cold light of a bitter new day the sight greeting us when we returned to the field of carnage was ghastly. The wind had lessened and the sun had reappeared but the air was painful to inhale so cold was it. Hungry ravens were already feasting on frozen corpses, picking at dead flesh with frenzy and only reluctantly flying away as we approached.

  I rode with Gallia, Claudia, Kewab, Sporaces, Azad and a hundred cataphracts and Amazons to where we had fought the enemy. Hundreds of Romans were lying along the riverbank, their faces and limbs white as snow. In the bend of the Araxes itself were hundreds more, many having been trodden underfoot by their panicking comrades. There were also bodies floating in the water near the riverbank. Our horses were nervous and skittish around such numbers of dead and I had to admit the bleakness of the terrain, the cold and eerie silence unnerved me too.

  ‘This place is like the end of the world,’ said Sporaces.

  ‘The end of the Roman world, certainly,’ Gallia told him.

  I caught sight of another group of riders, a great yellow banner in their midst.

  ‘It’s Nergal,’ I said.

  ‘How appropriate,’ remarked Claudia.

  I looked at her. ‘Appropriate?’

  ‘In the old days, in the southern areas of the great empire of Mesopotamia, Nergal was the god of death and the underworld. It is appropriate we should behold a vision of the King of Mesene on such a day.’

  We rode over to where Nergal was watching a figure going among the dead. Gallia squealed with delight when she saw the red hair of her friend.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  Praxima looked up. ‘Before I left Uruk I promised Rahim I would bring him a sack of fifty Roman ears. I always keep my promises.’

  Kewab stared in horror as the Queen of Mesene bent down and cut off the ear of a dead legionary with her dagger. One of Nergal’s bodyguards held the sack open for her to toss the body part into. She saw his face and pointed her dagger at him.

  ‘You think I am a barbarian. Egyptian?’

  ‘I, er, no, majesty, not at all.’

  ‘I do not wish to see my kingdom reduced to a land of Roman slaves like my homeland was. ‘What is your queen but a Roman whore like…’

  She was going to say like she had been but stopped herself. Even after all these years the hatred and bitterness of what had happened in her youth was plain for all to see. Made worse by the fact her ill-usage at the hands of the Romans had denied her the chance to have any children.

  ‘Queen Gallia is my queen,’ said Kewab, ‘none other.’

  Gallia jumped down from her horse and embraced her friend.

  ‘You always were the finest Amazon.’

  They both looked at the dead littering the snow-covered ground extending away from the river.

  ‘A good day’s work,’ said Praxima grimly. She looked at me. ‘A pity Mark Antony escaped.’

  ‘There must be ten thousand Roman dead on this ground,’ said Nergal, ‘it is a victory to rival Carrhae, Pacorus.’

  I had to admit I felt immensely pleased with myself. An army of one hundred thousand Romans and their allies had been evicted from Parthia after having suffered heavy losses.

  ‘This will have delivered a substantial blow to the Romans’ pride,’ agreed Kewab.

  Praxima spun and glared at him. ‘Pride? Arrogance, more like. They have no pride.’

  ‘They won’t be back any time soon,’ said Azad.

  ‘How many ears have we collected?’ Praxima asked the soldier holding the sack.

  ‘Forty-eight, majesty.’

  ‘Let me gather the last two,’ offered Gallia.

  I shuddered as my wife lopped off the ears to make up the shortfall, Kewab frowning and Azad and Sporaces laughing. I felt a tinge of remorse for the Roman dead. Our own slain, in the minority, would be collected for cremation but the enemy corpses would be stripped of anything useful and left to rot in the open. I stopped and looked down at a dead legionary face-down in the snow, wondering if he had a wife and family waiting for him. Waiting in vain. Yesterday he was alive and within touching distance of sanctuary and now he was dead, left to wolves and ravens in a foreign land.

  ‘Something troubles you, majesty?’

  I looked at Kewab and nudged Tegha forward. ‘Nothing.’

  On the way back to camp we encountered a large group of cataphracts, the King of Media and his banner at their head. I had hoped Darius would be in a good mood after our success but his face wore a scowl and Alexander’s next to him was just as dour. Their eyes were full of cold disdain when they halted and looked at us.

  ‘So the Romans escaped,’ said Darius.

  ‘Back to Armenia where they can recover and rebuild their forces,’ scoffed Alexander.

  ‘Look around you,’ I said. ‘The Romans have lost all their equipment, carts, mules and thousands of men. The men who fled back to Armenia will need months of recuperation before they are fit to fight in another campaign, and they will have to be re-equipped to become soldiers once more.’

  ‘If you had brought your foot soldiers we could have destroyed the enemy army,’ spat Darius.

  ‘We have destroyed the enemy army,’ said Kewab, trying to be helpful, ‘in the sense it has become a mob rather than an organised, disciplined force of soldiers.’

  The two brothers looked at him in astonishment.

  ‘Who is this foreigner who dares to speak in our presence?’ sneered Darius.

  ‘You might want to listen to Kewab,’ I told him, ‘he is one of the most intelligent men in my army.’

  ‘Is that any recommendation?’ said Alexander.

  ‘If it was not for my father’s army and those of his friends you both would be prostrate before Mark Antony,’ Claudia chided them. ‘Media would have been reduced to a land of slaves.’

  ‘Watch your tongue, bitch!’ snapped Alexander.

  ‘You watch your tongue, boy,’ snarled Praxima, ‘or I will cut it out.’

  Alexander smarted at the insult and his hand went to his sword.

  ‘Careful, boy,’ Nergal warned him, ‘you pull your blade and you might die.’

  Behind the two brothers I heard the scraping noise of swords being drawn from their scabbards as Darius’ bodyguard rode forward to flank their king. As one the horse archers behind us nocked arrows in their bowstrings and raised their bows.

  ‘Hold,’ I shouted, ‘we have not spent weeks fighting the Romans only to turn on ourselves.’

  ‘Quite right,’ smiled Darius, waving back his bodyguard. ‘We forget Princess Claudia is a child of the desert. I’m sure she did not mean to upset you, brother.’

  ‘Claudia,’ I said, ‘you will apologise to Alexander.’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘It is quite all right,’ said Alexander, ‘I know she is only part-Parthian. I must learn to make allowances.’

  ‘We ride back to Irbil today,’ Darius told us.

  ‘You will not be staying for the celebratory feast?’ I asked.

  Darius looked at us with barely concealed contempt.

  ‘No, I am finicky when it comes to company when eating. Besides, our mother will be desirous to see us.’

  ‘Even if no one else is,’ smirked Claudia.

  ‘You said something, princess?’ enquired Alexander.

  ‘I was merely wondering how many Roman eagles you will be taking back to Irbil to show your mother.’

  I gave Claudia an angry stare but she ignored me.

  ‘I heard it was Queen Rasha, an Agraci, who took the two Roman eagles at Lake Urmia,’ she continued, ‘another who saved you and your brother from Roman bondage.’

  Alexander, his nostrils flared, dug his knees into his horse to urge it forward, followed by his brother and their Median bodyguard. Claudia smiled triumphantly as they rode past us but I was fuming.

  ‘If you do not have anything constructive to say keep your mouth shut. I do not want relations between Dura and Media to become any more strained than they already are.’

  ‘There are no relations between Dura and Media, Pacorus,’ said Gallia, ‘you cannot worsen something that does not exist.’

  Darius and Alexander departed during the afternoon, surrounded by cataphracts, trumpeters, banner men and five hundred men of Alexander’s palace guard, survivors of the thousand that had marched from Persepolis. The two brothers’ horse archers, foot soldiers and hundreds of walking wounded followed in their wake, those unable to walk being left to their fate. Alcaeus was spitting blood when he visited me in my tent after the two brothers had departed.

  ‘What sort of king leaves his wounded behind?’

  ‘A ruthless one. How many have been left behind?’

  ‘Two hundred, perhaps more.’

  I told him to take a seat. ‘How many will die in the next few days?’

  He sighed. ‘Around half, more if they are not given food and shelter.’

  ‘See to it,’ I told him, ‘we will stay here until the rest are fit to be moved. What about our own wounded?’

  ‘Two hundred have light wounds, broken bones and sprains; fifty more are suffering lacerations due to blades, arrows or spears.’

  This meant our total losses were fewer than five hundred, a remarkably small number considering the size of the forces involved.

  ‘You did well, Pacorus. Clever tactics.’

  ‘I would like to take the credit,’ I said, ‘but the truth is it was Kewab who directed much of this campaign.’

  ‘Your Egyptian prodigy?’

  I nodded.

  ‘The rumour is he will be a future commander of the army.’

  ‘He has the talent but it is early days. We will see.’

  Though it pained me to do so, we were forced to relocate our camp four miles to the west the next day on account of the Roman corpses still in the river, contaminating the water downstream. The move resulted in the deaths of fifty of the Persians but there was nothing to be done. Prince Ali took his leave, taking his men back to Urmia, leaving what food and fodder he could spare. Spartacus and Rasha also departed, riding from camp as the snow once again began to fall. After an emotional farewell between Gallia, Diana and Praxima, Nergal and Gafarn decided to go with them, stopping off in Vanadzor to restock on food and fodder before travelling on to Hatra. The water in the Araxes was fringed with ice and soon we would all have to march home before the full fury of winter arrived.

  I embraced my friends and sat on Tegha to watch them and their soldiers ride away south. There were still nearly ten thousand men in camp, a combination of soldiers and civilian camel drivers, attendants, veterinaries and medical orderlies from Dura and Elymais. Silaces stayed with us not because he was expecting the Romans to return but because it gave Claudia and Valak more time to spend together. He not only trusted the commander of his bodyguard but also treated him like a son, and Gallia and I had come to like him greatly. He was brave, courteous but above all honest. Even Alaric liked him. How I was to regret remaining at the Araxes.

  I was scraping ice from Tegha’s horseshoes when Kewab searched me out, concern etched on his face. Before he spoke I knew something was wrong.

  ‘Lord Azad requests your presence immediately, majesty.’

  ‘On what business?’

  ‘A matter of utmost urgency, majesty.’

  The scene of carnage had been discovered by a patrol of horse archers riding near woods a few miles south of the camp. They would have ridden by had it not been for a figure staggering out of the trees on the mountainside, tumbling down the slope a short distance in the snow. When they reached him Alaric was dead but the commander ordered a full reconnaissance of the trees and found the others. They too were dead, their bodies scattered among the trees, their horses also dead and covered with terrible wounds. Many of the soldiers, men of Silaces’ bodyguard, had been decapitated, including Valak. I stared down at the head of what would have been my son-in-law while Gallia comforted Claudia.