Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) by Peter Darman Page A

to impede our progress, just a hard-baked dirt surface made of gravel and pebbles that the horses’ hooves kicked up to disturb the soft soil underneath. To our left was an endless expanse of sun-scorched desert that ended at the Tigris some fifty miles to the east, to our front the high walls and towers of Uruk. I prayed we were not too late.
    It took us twenty minutes to near the canal; the muffled sounds of battle coming from the left where boats filled with enemy soldiers were trying to force an entry into Uruk. We were perhaps a quarter of a mile away from the watercourse and I could see the two towers that flanked the canal, though it was impossible to ascertain whether archers were still shooting down from their ramparts. Byrd and Malik galloped up, their horses covered in sweat and their black robes turned light brown by dust. Byrd unwrapped his shemagh as his scouts galloped through my companies and halted behind them.
    ‘City still holds out,’ he said, ‘but canal full of boats loaded with soldiers.’
    I cursed.
    ‘How many soldiers?’
    Byrd looked at Malik.
    ‘Thousands,’ replied the Agraci prince. ‘It is only a matter of time before they storm the city.’
    ‘Byrd, I would ask you to take your men to request that Domitus speeds up his march.’
    ‘What are you going to do?’ Malik asked me.
    ‘To pick a fight, lord prince,’ I answered.
    Byrd replaced the cloth around the lower half of his face and dug his knees into his tired horse, galloping away. Malik reached behind him and pulled a recurve bow from a leather case. I also saw he had three quivers attached to his saddle, their contents protected by leather covers.
    ‘I would assist you, Pacorus,’ he said.
    ‘That looks like a Parthian bow,’ said Vagharsh. ‘I hope you didn’t steal it.’
    ‘I found it,’ answered Malik.
    I was intrigued. ‘Found it?’
    ‘Before you were Dura’s king, Pacorus,’ replied Malik, ‘the high king of your empire sent Mithridates to rule your city. He believed himself to be a great warlord but my father destroyed his army. I took this bow as a trophy of our victory.’
    Vagharsh laughed.
    ‘Let us hope you have more luck with it than its former owner,’ I said. ‘Keep yourself safe, Malik.’
    I turned and signalled for the company commanders to come forward. The sounds of battle were getting louder and they were straining at the leash to get to grips with the enemy but I counselled caution.
    ‘I will take one company forward to reconnoitre,’ I told them. ‘You must impress on your men the importance of conserving their arrows. We have no supply train to draw on so when they empty their quivers there will no replacements. Aimed shots only. Now go.’
    Each archer carried ninety arrows but they could be expended in around fifteen minutes of continuous shooting. Byrd had told me that the enemy army was large. Horse archers without any arrows were useless.
    There was a succession of horn blasts followed by the companies deploying into line, each one of two widely spaced ranks. I reached down and uncorked the water bottle and took a swig. The liquid was warm and barely alleviated the dryness in my mouth. I replaced the cork. It was going to be a long, hot day and I would need its contents in the hours ahead. The lead company came forward and halted a few paces behind me. Each man took an arrow from his quiver and nocked it in his bowstring. I gave the signal to move forward. Malik was beside me and Vagharsh directly behind as our horses broke into a walk and then a canter, the low rumble to the rear indicating that the company was following.
    We were now less than four hundred paces from the canal, the walls of Uruk perhaps a quarter of a mile on our left. Though I could clearly hear the noise of men fighting coming from the city walls the ground to our front was empty. It was most odd. Then I saw a few figures ahead, shimmering individuals on foot that appeared as if by magic. Then more and more