Sons of the Citadel by Peter Darman

Author:Peter Darman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, spartacus, ancient rome, roman empire, parthian empire
Publisher: Peter Darman

Chapter 8

Gafarn grabbed my arm as I slipped on the wet undergrowth.

‘Careful, at your age a fall can be most debilitating.’

I yanked my arm free. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You are welcome.’

‘Ssshh,’ Sporaces gave us an angry look as we moved forward through the forest of beech.

It was already bitterly cold, a sharp northerly behind us moving through the trees extending left and right. We had left the army with a flying column of horse archers to head north into the highlands, my own scouts and those of Spartacus leading us through the passes. The idea had been Kewab’s and was an excellent one. While Phraates had been thinking of adding more Roman eagles to his collection and I had been worrying about how to defeat ten Roman legions backed up by horsemen and auxiliaries, my Egyptian commander had been studying how Mark Antony would lay siege to Phraaspa now his engines and siege towers had been destroyed. We were stalking through the forest because of his reasoning.

The mountain plain in which the city lay was windswept and bleak but the mountainsides around Phraaspa were covered with beech and oak forests providing enough wood to build many catapults, siege towers and wooden walls to surround the city. We were here to deny the Romans building materials.

It was as well we were threading our way through beech, as the forest floor is decidedly sparse among such trees, though the foggy, wet weather made it slippery. I heard curses around me as men slipped on wet leaves and moss and the angry hisses of Sporaces. It was only a matter of time before the enemy heard our approach, that much was certain, as five thousand dismounted horse archers crept forward, drawn from the armies of Dura, Hatra, Gordyene, Mesene and Elymais. Another thousand guarded the horses high up the mountain, in a steep-sided gorge giving access through the peaks where there was a modicum of cover from the wind.

We heard chopping. Muted because it was downwind of us but unmistakable – like an army of woodpeckers furiously tapping at the trees. We continued on, men instinctively taking more care now we were within earshot of the enemy. There would be sentries to guard the work parties and perhaps patrols scouring the forest.

Gafarn raised an arm and we froze, crouching against trees, making ourselves as small as possible. The King of Hatra tilted his head ahead.

‘You see him?’

I studied the sun-dappled forest to the front and at first saw nothing. But then I saw him move, an archer with an arrow knocked in his bowstring. He must have been at least three hundred paces away and was barely visible through the plethora of grey tree trunks. Gafarn pulled back his bowstring.

‘You’ll never hit him from here.’

A smile creased his lips. The whole empire knew the King of Hatra was an excellent shot, perhaps the best in Parthia, no small boast in a land where boys could shoot a bow before they could walk. My father once

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