I admired the long blade. ‘I prefer to do it myself. You clean your own sword.’

  I glanced at her and noticed she was wearing a dress, her hair shining and falling free about her shoulders. The Amazon had been replaced by a vision of feminine beauty.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Tonight I am Queen of Dura, not one among thousands in armour.’

  ‘I approve.’

  A large rectangular tent, although it would be more accurate to call it a canopy with cloth walls, was erected outside the camp, three hundred paces from the northern entrance. The enemy arrived as the day was waning, pitching their tents in a circular fashion around the commander’s tent, as was the Parthian and ancient Persian way. Gallia informed me she had invited Spada and his senior commanders to attend the meeting. I therefore told Chrestus, Azad and Sporaces they should also be present, along with their senior commanders. Fortunately, Kalet and his comrades had absented themselves, which saved me the uncomfortable task of barring them from the meeting. The lords were a valuable asset to Dura but were no diplomats, being too free with their tongues, especially when any wine flowed.

  The temperature was pleasant as we walked from camp, the Amazons on their horses riding ahead as a vanguard and two companies of horse archers providing flank protection. Behind us marched a century of Durans, while Chrestus, Sporaces, Kewab, Azad and those selected from their officers, walked beside us. Gallia in her white dress, gold earrings and gold arm bracelets was most conspicuous among the armour and leather.

  The rectangular canopy was open at both ends to allow both parties to enter separately, the men of Persis entering via the northern exit, we the southern entrance. Oil lamps fixed to tent poles illuminated the bare interior of the canopy, both sides leaving their weapons at their respective entrances as a sign of good will and no ill intent. The atmosphere was relaxed and I was curious to see the man who had outwitted my commanders and me.

  He was tall with a round face, his beard and hair neatly cropped like the facial hair of his subordinates. I estimated his age to be around forty, perhaps older. The most striking thing about him was his armour, a combination scale-and-mail corselet with the chest and shoulders protected by rounded iron scales and the stomach shielded by mail. He tilted his head at Gallia and then fixed me with his dark brown eyes.

  ‘King Pacorus, it is an honour to meet you, and you Queen Gallia. Long have I wished to meet the most famous monarchs in the empire, whose courage and wisdom have forged a kingdom both unique and feared.’

  ‘You honour us, General Spada,’ I replied, ‘though I am ashamed to admit my knowledge of Persis and its lords is sketchy at best.’

  ‘And yet here you are,’ said Spada, ‘at the head of the famed army of Dura, intent on subduing a kingdom that has never offended Dura.’

  ‘Debatable,’ snapped Gallia.

  ‘General,’ I smiled, ‘we are here to serve justice on Prince Alexander for the crimes committed against Princess Claudia, my daughter, and Commander Valak, her intended husband.’

  ‘And you stand in our way,’ snarled Gallia, whose demeanour was rapidly turning aggressive.

  Spada remained polite. ‘I know nothing about the crimes you speak of, King Pacorus. I am merely a soldier tasked with the defence of Persis and its ruler, a ruler appointed by King of Kings Phraates, I might add.’

  ‘You will not withdraw?’ demanded Gallia.

  Spada gave her a confused look.

  ‘Forgive me, Queen Gallia, but the message I received from you requesting this meeting concerned your withdrawal from Persis.’

  I too was confused and looked at my wife but Gallia appeared unconcerned.

  ‘Will you withdraw your army, General Spada?’ she demanded.

  ‘I will not,’ he stated firmly.

  ‘Then the meeting is at an end. Kalet!’

  It happened in a blur. The cloth sidewalls fell to the ground, the arrows shot through the air from both sides and Spada and his men dropped dead, their bodies pierced by missiles. The shouting and screaming came half a minute later, from outside the tent where Dura’s lords and their men were doing murder. Kalet himself grinned gloatingly at Gallia as he surveyed his handiwork, his henchmen sprinting forward to check Spada and his subordinates were dead. They began rifling through their tunics for anything of value.

  ‘Leave them!’ I shouted, walking forward, disbelieving, to kneel beside the man I had been conversing with less than a minute before. Blood oozed over the iron of his scale armour around the shafts embedded in his chest, the armour giving no protection from arrows shot from so short a range. I closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash he would forgive Gallia for this outrage. I opened them and turned to look at her, hard disregard etched on her face.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  Chrestus and the others had rushed to retrieve their weapons as the enemy’s tents began to burn as the slaughter continued. Kalet had moved to Gallia’s side, his men forming a cordon around her, arrows nocked in their bowstrings. Outside the horror was unending as his fellow nobles and their followers butchered every one of the enemy who had accompanied Spada. Gallia approached, looking down at me with cruel eyes.

  ‘Why? Because we are here to avenge Claudia and I grew tired of being the plaything of this fool. Now we can get into Estakhr and do what we came here to do.’

  I stood, quivering with rage. ‘You have violated a truce and in so doing have stained my honour.’

  ‘Honour? Who cares about honour? Only you, Pacorus, but what about our daughter’s honour? Does that not count?’

  I was seething. ‘When news of this sad episode spreads Dura will be viewed with contempt?’

  Her icy gaze did not falter. ‘I do not care if the whole world views Dura with contempt. I care about my family and friends, nothing more. You are the one who concerns himself with honour and affairs of the empire, and where has it got you? The very person whom you have spent so much time and effort putting on Ctesiphon’s throne is at this very moment marching against you.’

  Her rebuke stung me more than an arrow piercing my side. Had it all been in vain? Had I wasted my whole life fighting to uphold a corrupt and worthless system? Was Gallia right? I had no answers to these questions. I felt numb, empty, bereft of hope. Chrestus and the others returned to my side as Kalet and his men escorted a gloating Gallia back to camp. The night was silent now, the area lit by dozens of burning tents and dotted with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of corpses, all food for ravens in the morning.

  ‘Well, the queen has certainly solved one problem,’ observed Chrestus matter-of-factly. ‘One remains – getting into the town.’

  I stayed outside camp that night, sleeping on the ground near to the dead and the charred earth where their tents had been, rather than share a tent with Gallia. I could not bear to look at her so incensed was I over her behaviour. Chrestus and the century stayed with me, cooks bringing us porridge in the cold morning light when the full horror of the preceding evening was revealed. Ravens were already clustered around the dead, plucking at flesh with their sharp beaks. They scattered when a host of bearded vultures arrived to partake of human flesh. It was hideous and I commanded the enemy dead were to be cremated immediately.

  ‘It is not healthy to stay here, majesty,’ said Chrestus. ‘We risk catching pestilence being so near to so many dead.’

  Reluctantly I agreed to go back to camp, legionaries raising their javelins in salute as we walked through the entrance. We received more applause as we walked to my tent in the centre of the camp. I saw only the smiling faces of soldiers, squires and non-combatants.

  ‘At least spirits have improved,’ observed Chrestus.

  ‘For some,’ I answered.

  But the truth was the army’s morale had increased markedly as a result of Gallia seizing the initiative, the slaughter of Spada and his men was seen as a great victory. Kalet and his fellow lords were delighted, even more so when I despatched them to the hills in the north to seek out and destroy any remaining soldiers of Spada’s army. I had devised it as a punishment for to venture into the hills was to invite ambush, but they were still filled with bloodlust and relished the opportunity to scour the enemy’s land. With them gone and Talib and his scouts sent west and east to provide warning of the approach of Phraates’ army, I assembled a council of war to plan our next move. Gallia, dressed in mail armour and leggings, sat opposite me at the table. I avoided her gaze.

  ‘As the men’s spirits seemed to have improved,’ I told them, ‘we will attack the town tomorrow.’

  Marcus looked alarmed. ‘Assaulting the walls without preparation will be costly, majesty, as I have informed you.’

  ‘Time is not a luxury we enjoy, Marcus, I assume we have enough scaling ladders.’

  ‘More than enough, majesty.’

  The ladders had been fashioned before we had left Dura, their length determined by Marcus’ exhaustive research of Estakhr and its defences.

  ‘The scorpions will provide cover, Marcus,’ Chrestus reassured him.

  ‘And my horse archers,’ added Sporaces.

  ‘Not all of them,’ I said, ‘half will be screening the army to ensure we are not surprised by the remnants of Spada’s men.’

  ‘Will not Kalet and his men hunt down those who still live, majesty?’ asked Azad.

  ‘Perhaps, though they cannot be relied upon.’

  ‘They are loyal,’ snapped Gallia.

  ‘To you, my sweet, certainly,’ I said sarcastically.

  Everyone looked down at the table as Gallia and I stared unblinking at each other.

  ‘We attack at dawn,’ I told them, ‘the meeting is over.’

  They departed speedily, leaving husband and wife together.

  ‘Still sulking, Pacorus?’

  ‘Still pained at your gross violation of protocol,’ I told her.

  ‘Protocol,’ she sniffed, ‘what is protocol but a game invented by courtiers who have nothing better to do? How short is your memory.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘You had Mithridates killed.’

  ‘Executed,’ I corrected her. ‘And you killed Crassus.’

  She laughed. ‘We are both killers, Pacorus. We have killed countless men in battle so what does it matter if a few more have been added to the list?’

  I did not have the stomach to argue with her so I gave up, drank some wine and flopped on to my cot. She did the same. We were both tired. Like the rest of the army we rested, ate, drank and prepared for the morrow when we would do some more killing.

  Chapter 13

  Conditions were perfect: a slight breeze, the sun shining intermittently from behind large white clouds and visibility unimpeded by rain or mist. The well-dressed walls of Estakhr, forged from yellow sandstone, were lined with soldiers, the bronze helmets denoting Alexander’s palace guard and the bare heads and soft felt caps indicating slingers and archers. There were more manning the battlements of the round towers sited at each corner of the town’s walls and more at regular intervals along their length. On one of the towers stood Alexander himself, a great banner held behind him and his senior commanders around him.

  I turned away from the town’s defences to consult with my commanders. Their mood, and the army’s, was sombre and no wonder. Assaulting the town using scaling ladders would result in substantial casualties. I knew it and so did every man in armour arrayed around Estakhr. I was equipped as one of them: mail armour, gladius, shield and simple helmet. I would be in the vanguard of the assault. Perhaps a display of courage might wash away the shame of what had happened to Spada at least; if not, then a good death.

  The assault would be against the southern and eastern sides of the town because the River Pulwar hugged the northern and western walls, the Greek architects who designed Estakhr using geography with some skill. To try to offset the advantages enjoyed by the defenders Marcus had placed his scorpions well. These machines looked like a large bow lying parallel to the ground on a wooden bolt carrier, the whole on a wooden stand. Just under the height of a man’s chest, the scorpion was a complex piece of equipment, the two arms firing the two-feet long bolt being pushed through ropes made of animal sinews, which were then twisted to create a hugely powerful tension device to push each arm forwards. The arms were then pulled back by means of a bowstring, the bolt was placed on the carrier and the bowstring released. The bolt had a range of around five hundred feet and though it could inflict terrible damage on the densely packed ranks of an enemy on the battlefield, when storming a stronghold, it was useful for clearing ramparts of soldiers. Each century was supported by a scorpion, which meant a total of a hundred and twenty deployed against Estakhr. Also in support would be half of Sporaces’ horse archers – twenty-five hundred men – who would be dismounted and would shoot arrows at the defenders on the walls. Not a sound came from the thousands of Exiles, Durans and horse archers standing in their centuries and companies before the walls, nor from the hundreds of cataphracts and Gallia’s Amazons sitting on their horses nearby. Kalet and his robbers were still in the hills to the north and Talib was keeping watch on the east and west, so there was no hope of relief for the town, at least not until Phraates appeared.

  ‘Perhaps we might try negotiations before we attack, majesty,’ suggested Kewab.

  I slapped him on the arm. ‘As my terms demand Alexander surrender himself so he can be executed I doubt he will be willing to listen to a plea for negotiations.’

  I looked at Chrestus. ‘Your men have been briefed on their target once they have breached the walls?’

  He nodded. ‘Every centurion knows his task, majesty.’

  The citadel was positioned in the centre of the town and was the place where Alexander would make his last stand. All efforts were therefore to be directed at seizing it. Once we had possession of the citadel, and Alexander, further resistance would end. I looked left and right at the town’s southern wall, around a mile in extent.

  ‘Let us begin, then.’

  I shook their hands before they left, leaving me alone with Gallia. Her eyes were moist. She knew trying to talk me out of participating in the attack would be in vain so she embraced me.

  ‘The gods be with you,’ she whispered.

  ‘They have so far,’ I smiled, kissing her on the cheek. ‘For Claudia.’

  I walked forward with Chrestus, like Domitus before him always in the forefront of any action. We did not speak as we walked between two centuries to take our places in the front rank. He turned and offered me his hand before standing at the head of the century on the left. I nodded and walked to the century on the right and stood beside the centurion who barely acknowledged me. There were ten of us in the front rank and nine legionaries behind every one of us. Every file was equipped with a ladder with which to scale the walls. No one carried a javelin, which would impede climbing ladders, and every shield was equipped with a strap to enable it to be slung on the back once the walls were reached. If the walls were reached. But for the dash to the walls we would hold our shields above our heads as a protection against the deluge of sling shots, arrows and rocks that would come at us. Hopefully the scorpions and archers would keep enemy heads down, but even if they did archers standing to the rear of the walls would still be able to hit us by shooting over the battlements. I blocked such thoughts out of my mind. It was in the hands of the gods now. I clutched the lock of Gallia’s hair around my neck and nodded to the centurion. I felt hot in the leather vest all my legionaries wore beneath their mail armour. He pressed the whistle to his lips and blew. We began to walk forward, centuries flanking us doing likewise as shrill whistle blasts broke the silence.

  We started out around four hundred paces from the walls, the crews of the scorpions in between centuries shooting bolts as soon as we commenced the advance. The dismounted horse archers followed behind the centuries, not shooting until they were within at least a hundred paces of the walls. At such a distance they would be in range of the slingers and archers on the walls, but they would be concentrating their efforts on the legionaries directly below them.

  The pace was measured at first, the enemy lining the walls seemingly frozen in time as we walked forward. But when we had advanced to within three hundred paces of the walls arrows began to appear in the sky, flying high before dropping to slam into the ground in front of us. Subconsciously the pace quickened with men eager to reduce the time they were under missiles before they reached the walls.

  ‘Shields!’ shouted the centurion.

  As one everyone hoisted shields above their heads, slowing the advance as men tried to maintain an unbroken roof of wood and leather over them while hauling ladders. I heard thuds and felt an arrow slam into my own shield.

  I also heard high-pitched yelps as men were hit. A few groaned as a lead pellet hit their face, fracturing their cheekbone if they were lucky; if not, killing them outright. The pace quickened – no one wanted to be under enemy missiles longer than they had to. From behind I heard the reassuring sounds of bowstrings cracking as our own archers shot at those lining the walls.

  Then we were at the wall, legionaries behind me manhandling ladders against the stone surface. There was a loud crunch. I stared in horror at the bloody mess, once a head encased by a helmet, now red gore after being hit by a rock. I felt a sharp blow to my back.

  ‘Move!’

  The file behind me was waiting for me to begin climbing the ladder. I slung my shield on my back, clutched the rungs and climbed. My heart was pounding in my chest and not because I was a man in his fifties. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man hit by a rock flipping him backwards, tumbling into the man behind, who lost his footing and swung outwards, away from the ladder, which collapsed sideways. The wall wasn’t high – perhaps twenty feet – but high enough to give the defenders time to knock many men off ladders. Bodies began to pile up at the foot of the wall along its length but there was no time to think of others.

  I scrambled up the ladder, missing a rung in my desire to get to the top. My leg slipped between the rungs and I hung on for dear life. It saved my life for in that instant a rock glanced off my shield; two seconds earlier and it would have hit me on the head.