Amazon by Peter Darman

Author:Peter Darman [Darman, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-02-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Uruk was estimated to be five thousand years old, a city of legend whose high, mud-brick walls had reportedly been constructed by the famed warrior king Gilgamesh, a man possessed of super-human strength who built the walls himself. The truth was probably less heroic but it was known that Gilgamesh was a real person who had defended Uruk gallantly. No doubt his story was embellished over the centuries by the rulers of the city positioned some five miles from the Euphrates, being connected to the great river by a series of canals that brought water to Uruk. The crossing point we had used was to the south of the city, which was the direction the main gates into the city faced.

The column of horsemen approaching slowed to a walk when they got within twenty paces, the man I recognised as Karys raising an arm to signal a halt. Now in his fifties, he had a ruddy complexion and thick hair and beard. Aside from the red plume in his helmet he was dressed like the horse archers behind him, his red kaftan and scale armour being no different to those of a common soldier. The same could not be said for the man next to him who sported a magnificent shining muscled cuirass fringed with white leather shoulder tassels and strips to protect the thighs. His short-sleeved tunic was scarlet, as was his cloak and saddlecloth, but my eyes were drawn to his boots, which were white leather.

‘Greetings, King Pacorus and Queen Gallia, Mesene welcomes you,’ said Karys.

I looked past the horsemen to the Roman legion arrayed before the city.

‘I see we are not the only visitors to Mesene, general.’

Karys extended an arm to the Roman beside him. ‘This is Legate Quintus Dellius, majesty, sent to Mesene by the governor of Syria, Quintus Didius, to support Mesene in its war against the tyrant Tiridates.’

The Roman removed his helmet and flashed a smile. ‘It is an honour to meet you, King Pacorus, and you, Queen Gallia.’

He had the face of a poet, and a handsome one at that, with the carriage of a soldier.

‘I see you have a full-strength legion at your disposal, legate,’ I observed.

Another smile. ‘Six thousand, including auxiliaries and non-combatants. Would you care to inspect them?’

I looked at Gallia, expecting a biting comment directed at the Roman, but she just shrugged.

‘Our allies fought well against Tiridates’ satrap, majesty,’ said Karys.

So we diverted from our journey into Uruk to inspect the Roman legion seemingly magically conjured up from the desert. I have to say its soldiers looked magnificent, not a man without helmet, scutum, gladius, dagger and two javelins. Their ranks were impeccably dressed and their standards stood proudly, none more so than the silver eagle glinting in the autumn sun. I halted Horns before it, admired the craftsmanship and felt the reverence in which every legionary present held it.

‘Bet you never thought you would get so close to an eagle without having to spill blood.’

I turned in

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