‘Are you safe, majesty?’

  I smiled grimly. ‘I am but Marcus’ prize possession has been stolen.’

  He looked at me in confusion. ‘Majesty?’

  Poor Marcus. As the enemy conducted a skilful retreat with my horse archers snapping at their heels he rushed over to the wreckage of the battering ram. I followed with Azad, my commander of cataphracts watching the enemy withdraw to the hills to the north, the mysterious rider on a black stallion riding up and down the rear of his men, sword in hand, urging them on.

  ‘It’s wrecked.’

  I looked down at Marcus, holding his head in his hands in the midst of the charred remains of his battering ram.

  ‘Wood can be replaced,’ Azad berated him.

  Marcus scowled at him. ‘They have taken the ram, idiot. How many forty-foot high ash trees have you seen in this region?’

  Azad jumped down from his horse and squared up to him, a powerfully built man in his prime and full armour against a portly Roman in his sixties.

  ‘Enough,’ I commanded. ‘Azad, take your men and see to it the horse archers are not ambushed.’

  He pointed menacingly at Marcus who folded his arms across his chest and defied him to assault him. The squire who had been my shooting partner assisted Azad into his saddle, who barked a command at his company commanders to follow him, plucking his kontus from the earth and cantering north. Marcus went back to surveying the damage, muttering to himself as he scratched his head. I jumped down from Tegha and walked beside him.

  ‘They have taken the ram, iron head as well, which means we can’t batter the walls,’ he said.

  ‘You can’t fashion another one?’

  I saw the anguish in his eyes.

  ‘Even if I could find a tree tall enough I doubt it would be the right type of wood. Because the ramming beam is under compression on each impact, it is essential to use hard woods, such as ash. Whoever was behind today’s assault knew what he was doing.’

  ‘An assault on the town, then?’

  He gazed at the walls and towers. ‘That will cost you many men, especially as our only option is to scale the walls with ladders now we no longer have the ram. It would be better to establish siege lines and starve them out.’

  I shook my head. ‘A relief army, a large relief army, is on its way. We don’t have the time.’

  I told those attending the council of war the same when they gathered in my tent that evening. Chrestus had placed cohorts all around the town in their own fortified camps, both as a defence against a reappearance of our friend on the black stallion and to keep watch on Estakhr itself.

  ‘We have occupied Persepolis as well,’ he informed us, ‘though it is mostly grand statues and a large stone terrace and not much else.’

  ‘So Estakhr is encircled,’ I said, ‘that is something at least.’

  ‘We need to storm the place, butcher all those inside and get our arses back to Dura,’ stated Kalet, still smarting over the loss of five hundred of his men to the enemy the day before.

  ‘I agree,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow we end this. It will undoubtedly be costly but if Phraates arrives before we have breached the town’s walls then it is over.’

  ‘Nothing is over,’ growled Gallia, ‘nothing is ever over.’

  Kalet smiled. ‘I’m with you, princess.’

  ‘Kewab,’ I said, ‘please explain the situation we find ourselves in to the queen.’

  Kewab glanced nervously at Gallia who froze him with ice-blue eyes.

  ‘Go on,’ I urged him, ‘it is an order.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Well, we are nearly seven hundred miles from Dura, in enemy territory, attempting to besiege a town while dealing with a hostile force of indeterminate numbers attempting to thwart our efforts. Finally, there is a relief army marching to relieve Estakhr, also of unknown size but no doubt three or four times the size of our own army, based on the resources of Susiana, Media and Babylon who I assume constitute the components of said army.’

  Gallia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, Egyptian, if you know so much tell us when Phraates’ army will arrive.’

  ‘In four or five days’ time, majesty,’ he answered.

  ‘We assault the town tomorrow,’ I said, ‘kill Alexander and retreat before Phraates gets here. If he chooses to pursue us, so be it.’

  ‘Those who destroyed the battering ram today might return tomorrow,’ said Sporaces.

  ‘Which is why all the horsemen, including your lords, Kalet, will form a cordon around the legions while they are assaulting the town,’ I replied.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Azad.

  We all fell silent and listened for a few seconds. I sighed when I heard a familiar sound: drums. I went outside, the others following, to hear the sound of drums all around. Guards, squires and non-combatants were also peering around as the air was filled with a continuous low thumping sound. We rushed to the ramparts where guards were pointing into the darkness. They snapped to attention when we appeared, a gruff duty centurion tapping his cane against his thigh in rhythm to the drums.

  He saluted and tilted his head at the fires stretching left and right as far as the eye could see.

  ‘They were all lit at the same time, majesty,’ he said.

  I stared in wonder and awe at the dozens of fires forming a cordon around our main camp and all the subsidiary camps containing cohorts ringing the town. It was difficult to estimate how far away the fires were but if they encompassed my whole army – nearly twenty-six thousand men plus two thousand squires and the same number of non-combatants – then there must have been hundreds of them.

  As the ominous sound of hundreds of drums showed no signs of abating I wondered how many soldiers the man on the black stallion commanded.

  In the pale grey light of early morning, the clouds blocking out the sun and the air damp and cool, we saw for ourselves. The fires died down to reveal thousands upon thousands of men on foot and horseback ringing us. Chrestus sent runners to every part of the camp to report back to us as we rubbed our eyes and warmed our bodies on hot porridge prepared by the field kitchens. No one said anything, even Kalet was silent, all of us studying the area between the town and the hills, which was filled with armed men.

  They stood in long lines, spears erect, those on horseback moving between the lines of foot soldiers. And there, directly ahead, was our friend on the black stallion. As I shovelled porridge into my mouth I pointed at him.

  ‘He was the same individual I saw yesterday, the one who took your battering ram, Marcus.’

  My quartermaster was tired, not only because he had had no sleep but because he had found this campaign harder than anticipated. He had not left Dura for many years and here he was, hundreds of miles from his home and papers, surrounded by tens of thousands of enemy soldiers.

  ‘He appears a most astute commander, majesty.’

  I finished the porridge and tossed the empty wooden bowl to the young cook who had brought it.

  ‘Sporaces, Azad, saddle your men so they are ready at a moment’s notice to ride out of camp. Yours too, Kalet.’

  The lord smiled. ‘We will attack the enemy.’

  ‘No, I have eleven cohorts positioned around the town in their own camps, any of which could be attacked by those soldiers out there. The horsemen will act as a mobile reserve, ready to respond to any under attack.’

  He sighed, it was not his idea of how war was supposed to be fought but Kewab nodded.

  ‘A sensible strategy, majesty, and if the enemy attacks then he will lose many men when caught between our ramparts and horsemen.’

  I sent riders to all the smaller camps to reassure their occupants they would be relieved if assaulted, and all the while the enemy banged their accursed drums to irritate and unnerve us. The entire camp stood to arms, quartermasters issuing weapons to non-combatants and squires waiting on horseback with their fully armed and armoured masters, waiting to charge out of camp. My nerves began to fray as I paced up and down in my tent, Gallia toying with a dagger as she sat on a stool, the drumming outside like a toothache refusing to go away.

  ‘Stop pacing,’ she said.

  ‘It relieves the tension.’

  She threw the dagger into one of the tent poles, a couple of feet from me.

  ‘Not for me, it doesn’t.’

  A sentry appeared.

  ‘What?’ I snapped.

  ‘Commander Kewab requests your presence at the northern rampart, majesty.’

  At least the sun had made an appearance to warm the earth as the midpoint of the day was reached. There would be no assault on Estakhr today; indeed, we were ourselves waiting to be attacked. Horse archers sat on the ground, waiting for the order to mount and ride out to engage the enemy. Cataphracts, sweating in the scale armour, stood in groups and grumbled, while the lords and their men chafed at the bit, unused to being penned in camp like goats.

  At the rampart, behind the wooden stakes, flanked either side by legionaries armed with javelins, scorpion bolt throwers interspersed among them along the camp perimeter, stood Kewab. He had a smug smile on his face.

  ‘What are you so happy about?’ I asked him.

  Chrestus saluted. ‘Tell him.’

  Kewab was now grinning like am imbecile. He pointed at the rows of enemy soldiers filling the ground to the north and bending round to the right and left.

  ‘They are fake, majesty.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Probably painted sacks filled with straw and propped up with sticks made to look like spears. I have been observing them for some time and the horsemen are real, as are the soldiers moving among the dummies to give the illusion of a real army, plus the drummers at the ends of lines of course. But the vast majority are scarecrows.’

  Gallia burst out laughing. ‘You have been well and truly duped, Pacorus.’

  I failed to see the funny side of the situation.

  ‘Get Kalet!’ I commanded.

  When he arrived, tired and irritable, I had Kewab explain again how we had been made to look fools.

  ‘Take your men and burn those scarecrows, and kill any enemy you encounter.’

  ‘With pleasure,’ he growled.

  His men flooded from the camp, heading in all directions to burn and kill. I sent Sporaces and his horse archers to reconnoitre the ‘enemy’ to the east and south of the town, just to ensure they too were fake soldiers. Kewab went with them, leaving me to ponder how we had squandered another day, another day bringing Phraates’ relief army closer. The air was soon filled with the aroma of smoke as the lords torched the scarecrows, thousands of them, and the afternoon was filled with countless flickers of flame in the distance as they vented their fury on sacks and straw. But the enemy had long gone.

  They returned that evening, shooting arrows and slingshots into camp to keep us awake and fray our nerves. We crouched on the ramparts, trying to identify targets, arrows and lead pellets hissing past us, a few finding their targets. Kalet wanted to ride out against them but I told him that was what they wanted.

  ‘In any case they are not a threat, more an irritant.’

  A scream pierced the night further along the rampart. Kalet, kneeling, thumped the earth.

  ‘This is more than I can bear.’

  I laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘We must bear it, my friend, for otherwise we will be dancing to the enemy’s tune, which is what he wants.’

  In the pre-dawn light, men with tired eyes yawned and stretched their limbs, with unwashed faces and aching limbs. Squires and cooks brought us hot porridge. Every other man stood down and made his way to the foot of the rampart to sit on the damp earth, lay down his shield and javelins and ponder another day without sleep. As the light slowly improved I stood and surveyed the ground in front of me. Flat and featureless, the slingers and archers who had used darkness as their cover had long gone. But one remained, a bareheaded man in armour riding a black horse. He rode along the northern edge of our camp for a while, turning and riding back as he examined the rampart surmounted by stakes and the legionaries standing behind them. An archer a few feet away, one of Sporaces’ men deployed to the ramparts to shoot back at the enemy slingers and bowmen, raised his weapon.

  ‘You are wasting your time,’ I shouted, ‘he’s out of range.’

  ‘As he well knows,’ said Chrestus, a faint hint of admiration in his voice. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Who indeed?’

  The drop in morale was palpable as I strode back to my tent, Chrestus walking beside me. He looked tired, dark rings round his eyes. My arms felt like lead, my mouth dry and acrid. Tired groups of legionaries and horsemen, their movements leaden but not slovenly, went back to their tents to grab a few precious hours’ sleep. Chrestus read my thoughts.

  ‘There will be no assault today, majesty. Two days without sleep and standing to arms all day and all night means we are looking at the day after tomorrow at the earliest. Longer if the enemy attacks again today or tonight.’

  ‘By which time Phraates will have arrived.’

  I accompanied him as he did his rounds, the both of us putting on a brave face to rouse the flagging spirits of the men. We stopped to talk with groups of legionaries, sharing jokes about the hard biscuits they were chewing on, listening to war stories and asking about their wives and families. My estimation as I left Chrestus to try to grab a couple of hours’ sleep was the army was tired and frustrated. Sleep would take care of the former; victory the latter.

  The hope of sleep receded when I entered my tent and discovered Gallia, Talib and Kewab waiting for me, sitting at the table drinking wine, my wife filling their cups. The men rose and bowed when I entered, Gallia pouring wine into another cup.

  ‘I have good news, Pacorus.’

  ‘Has Alexander surrendered himself? Or perhaps Phraates has decided not to march to the relief of my dear nephew.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, Pacorus,’ she scolded me, ‘it does not suit you.’

  ‘Sit, please,’ I said to Kewab and Talib, flopping down into a chair and taking the cup of wine. ‘So what is this good news?’

  ‘Talib has been undertaking a mission for me while we have been cooped up in camp.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She nodded at my head scout.

  ‘Talib has made contact with the man on the black horse.’

  I was suddenly wide awake. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘His name is Spada, majesty,’ replied Talib.

  ‘Odd name.’

  Gallia tilted her head at Kewab.

  ‘Commander Kewab will enlighten you.’

  ‘Spada was the general term for the army in Persian times but is now used to denote the commander of the forces raised in Persis.’

  ‘Spada fought with Narses at Susa, majesty,’ said Talib.

  ‘And now he fights beside Alexander,’ I said, ‘marvellous.’

  Talib shook his head. ‘Alexander is not descended from the ancient nobility of Persis, majesty. He is seen as an outsider.’

  ‘Then why is he fighting for him?’ I asked.

  ‘You can ask him yourself,’ said Gallia, ‘he is coming here to speak with you.’

  I dropped the cup on the table. ‘Here? Why?’

  ‘To discuss our withdrawal from Persis.’

  I jumped up. ‘Are you mad? We are not withdrawing. How dare you instigate contact with the enemy without my permission.’

  Talib and Kewab squirmed uncomfortably in their seats as I chastised my wife, who was impassive as I raged at her. They excused themselves and speedily exited as I paced up and down.

  ‘I am the king and commander of the army. I alone make decisions that determine the fate of Dura and its army.’

  ‘Do you trust me, Pacorus?’

  I stopped and fixed her with my gaze.

  ‘It is a simple question,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I trust you.’

  ‘Well, then, get some sleep, a clean tunic and prepare for this evening.’

  Before I grabbed some precious sleep I sent word to Chrestus, Sporaces and Azad they were to attend the queen and me the same evening. I further informed them that as the enemy commander had agreed to meet me, hostilities would for the moment cease. Though this did not include Alexander and so I issued orders the gates of Estakhr were to be watched closely.

  I slept fitfully, strange dreams filling my mind. Visions of a smiling, happy Claudia suddenly replaced by the horrid spectre of a drooling, scarred woman who had lost her mind. Then I was alone, standing by a statue of a stone griffin in the middle of a huge desert, the sun beating down mercilessly on the white sand. The sky was a blinding blue, the horizon shimmering. I was the last person in the world.

  ‘You look tired.’

  A figure dressed in black was before me, the hood drawn over the head to make identification impossible. But the voice was female.

  ‘I have failed,’ I said forlornly.

  ‘You have saved the empire, now it is time for you to share the burden you have shouldered alone for too long.’

  ‘I have failed Claudia. It is my fault she was attacked.’

  ‘Sleep now, son of Hatra. Everything will be resolved, that I promise.’

  When I woke it seemed I had been sleeping for an age but Gallia told me I had closed my eyes for no more than two hours. I lay in my cot and heard the commands of officers outside, the laughing of squires leading horses to the stable block and the sounds of marching legionaries. It was most reassuring.

  As the sun began to drop in the west the camp came alive. Men who had been tired and irritable became curious and eager to see the man who had led the army of Dura on a merry dance, the only living individual who had come close to inflicting a defeat on a force reckoned to be invincible. I dressed in my Roman leather cuirass, fitted new goose feathers in my helmet and polished my sword.

  Gallia chided me. ‘You have servants and squires do that.’