Carrhae (67 page)

‘A hundred thousand foot and fifty thousand horse,’ replied Byrd without emotion.

Domitus pointed his cane at me. ‘I thought you said we would be outnumbered four to one? I make it six to one. You sure you didn’t count some of the enemy twice, Byrd?’

Byrd patted his horse on the neck. ‘You take my horse and count them for yourself if you no believe me.’

‘We’ve seen enough armies to be able to estimate their strength, Domitus,’ said Malik.

Domitus raised his cane to salute his old friend and then looked at me. ‘You still want to fight them?’

I looked at Gafarn in his cuirass of steel scales and helmet adorned with Hatra’s crown. ‘It is your city and your crown, brother.’

Gafarn may have found the demands of kingship taxing but today his face was a mask of determination. It was as if he could finally dictate events rather than them ruling him. ‘We fight. They will arrive soon and it would be a grave discourtesy not to be here to greet them.’

‘Good,’ I said, ‘the Armenians have treated Parthia with contempt for too long.’

I looked at Domitus and Chrestus. ‘I am afraid that your men will be acting as the seawall against which the Armenian waves will crash. You will have Vagises’ archers for support but it is imperative that you hold their attack.’

‘You are certain they will attack, majesty?’ asked Vistaspa.

I smiled. ‘If I had one hundred and fifty thousand men under my command I would wish to sweep the enemy from the field. They will attack, especially when they see how few we are.’

I looked at Gafarn and then Peroz. ‘You must use your horse archers to goad the enemy so they will launch their horsemen against you. Once they do withdraw to allow Lord Vistaspa to commit his cataphracts. The heavy horsemen of Hatra and Dura are the empire’s finest and nothing the Armenians possess can match them. When Lord Vistaspa charges with his cataphracts the enemy’s horsemen will be shattered, then Peroz and Gafarn will commit their horse archers.’

Vistaspa nodded approvingly and Peroz looked thoughtful.

‘Remember, lord prince, goad the enemy, entice him to attack. Use the tactics you have learned at Dura.’

‘Yes, lord,’ Peroz beamed.

I next addressed Vagises. ‘As soon as the legions are engaged in a mêlée get your men mounted and pull them back to my position here. They will act as a reserve just in case events take an unexpected turn.’

‘You mean if we get our arses kicked,’ said Domitus.

‘In which case,’ I added, ‘the horsemen will act as a shield to allow the legions to retire to the city.’

Domitus slapped Vagises hard on the back. ‘Don’t worry about us; we’ll be dead most likely so you and your horse boys don’t need to concern yourselves with our safety.’

Peroz was horrified. ‘My men and I will never abandon you, Lord Domitus. We will never dishonour our homeland by fleeing.’

Domitus squinted at Peroz. ‘You remind me of Orodes and Pacorus with all that nonsense about honour.’

‘You honour me, general,’ smiled Peroz.

Domitus looked at him and shook his head. ‘See what I mean.’

The kettledrums were getting louder and the horizon was now filling with small black shapes as the Armenians approached.

‘To your positions,’ I said, ‘and may Shamash be with you all.’

Peroz and Gafarn raised their hands in acknowledgement and then galloped back to their men as their escorts grouped round them. Vagises and Chrestus were deep in conversation as they made their way back to the legions deployed in the centre, while Domitus took off his helmet and brushed its white crest.

‘You take care of yourself, Pacorus,’ he said.

‘I will take care of him, Domitus,’ replied Gallia.

Satisfied that the crest looked presentable, he replaced his helmet on his head and raised his cane at us before ambling back to take command of his men.

‘He looks as though he is taking an afternoon stroll,’ remarked Vistaspa, though not in a mocking way.

‘He is the finest soldier I have ever met,’ I said. ‘One day mothers in Parthia will tell stories to their children of Lucius Domitus, the Roman centurion who forged the army of Dura into an invincible weapon that put all of its enemies to the sword.’

I heard the shrill blast of trumpets and saw ten thousand legionaries hoist up their shields and javelins and form ranks as the Armenians flooded the ground to the front of the army like ants swarming from a huge nest. The infernal din of kettledrums filled our ears as the enemy manoeuvred into position. Spearmen clutched their weapons, archers tested bowstrings, slingers pulled lead shots from their pouches and horses scraped impatiently at the earth as tension and foreboding gripped tens of thousands of men who were about to fight the Battle of Hatra.

Chapter 16

I knew that we were greatly outnumbered but also knew that every one of the soldiers who faced the Armenians was a professional: a man who spent every day training with his weapons and learning drills until they became second nature. My old tutor Bozan, now long dead, had always stressed the importance of training.

‘Train and train until you carry out drills unthinkingly,’ he used to say, ‘so fighting becomes instinctive and your weapons become extensions of your arms. Train hard, fight easy, boy, that’s the secret.’

Even Peroz’s horse archers had been schooled in Dura’s ways and were now every bit as good as Vagises’ mounted archers. Except that today the latter were not mounted. The Durans were drawn up in the centre, five cohorts in the first line and five in the second. On their left stood the Exiles, also arrayed in two lines of five cohorts, and between the first and second lines in each legion stood Vagises’ archers, ready to spring a nasty surprise on the enemy when they attacked. Their horses were positioned to the rear of the legions, behind the line of wagons that were loaded with spare javelins, swords and shields, water bottles and medical supplies for Alcaeus’ orderlies who stood ready with their bandages and instruments to patch up lacerated bodies and shattered bones.

Every tenth Duran horse archer was detailed to stay with the horses to keep them calm when the fighting began and the air would be filled with the cries of the dying and the stench of urine and dung.

The vanguard of the army were Marcus’ fifty small ballista, each one positioned behind two large wicker screens faced with thick hide and over six feet high, behind which the crews could work in safety. The screens were closed up so there was only a small gap between them, through which the ballistae could fire their iron-tipped bolts. These machines were ideal for softening up the enemy or goading them into action.

I looked down at my right hand, which was shaking.

‘Are you all right, Pacorus?’ asked a concerned Gallia beside me.

‘Mm? Yes, of course. The shakes, that is all. Strange, I have not had them in years. I cannot remember the last time I experienced them.’

‘A sign of getting old, perhaps,’ quipped Vagharsh behind me, holding the griffin standard.

I reached over and laid a hand on Gallia’s arm. ‘If things go awry I want you to get back to the city. You will be safe there.’

She took my hand and kissed it. ‘My place is by your side. I flee from no enemy.’

Vagharsh laughed. ‘That told you. You didn’t really think Gallia would turn tail and run, did you? It’s not in the Gauls’ nature. You must remember Crixus and his feral followers. Gallia may be Queen of Dura but she is still a wild Gaul at heart.’

My wife turned and smiled at him and behind us the mail-clad Amazons grinned at each other. The vexatious kettledrums were still sounding as both armies stared at each other across the five hundred paces of no-man’s land.

Then there was a mighty blast of horns and the Armenians opened the battle.

‘No parley, then,’ remarked Vagharsh, ‘they must fancy their chances.’

‘Their commander is probably thinking that he will be dining in Hatra tonight,’ I said.

‘Then we will have to disabuse him of that notion,’ said Gallia defiantly.

Whoever the Armenian commander was he knew what he was doing because first he sent in his slingers with archers following behind. A long line of slingers recruited from the wild regions of the Caucasus walked forward to pepper the legions and ballista crews with their shots. Many people scoff at slingers, believing them to be threadbare shepherds who are worthless on the battlefield. But what many commanders do not realise is that a lead pellet or stone propelled by a sling at a straight angle has greater force than an arrow. So now hundreds of men wearing no armour or helmets and carrying no other weapon but a long knife calmly walked forward, reached into the leather pouches slung across their shoulders to extract lead missiles, and released them from their slings using an underhand motion.

As soon as movement had been discerned in the Armenian ranks in front of them and their officers had spotted the slingers and archers, trumpets had blasted among the Durans and Exiles and seconds later twenty cohorts formed
testudo
. The legionaries knelt, the first ranks forming a shield wall and the succeeding ranks lifting their shields above their heads to form a roof of leather and wood. The lead shots slammed into the shield wall as the slingers continued to walk forward, and then the ballistae began shooting.

The Armenians had no doubt noticed the pairs of what appeared to be wooden panels deployed in front of the army but had probably dismissed them. But now from between these panels came iron-tipped bolts that went straight through bodies to impale those behind. The crews worked feverishly to shoot four bolts a minute – two hundred deadly projectiles smashing bones and piercing flesh at a range of four hundred paces. Instinctively the slingers stopped, unsure what to do, as their own missiles made no impression on the locked shields of the Durans and Exiles. And as more and more of them were cut down by ballista bolts, their commanders decided to withdraw them out of range. Horns sounded and the surviving slingers ran back to beyond the range of the ballistae, which stopped shooting. I smiled. First blood to us.

The Durans and Exiles remained in their
testudo
formation as the Armenians next sent forward their archers to saturate our ranks with arrows. Vagises’ horse archers were huddled behind the first line of the Durans and Exiles and Alcaeus and his orderlies had taken shelter under the wagons in the rear of the legions as the first Armenian arrows began to land among them.

Armenian bows were not like our recurve type, being straight limbed and longer. As such their range was shorter and so the archers were forced to close to within two hundred paces of our front ranks to achieve maximum effect. Once more the ballistae began shooting as the thousands of densely packed men wearing green tunics and cloth caps rushed forward and then stopped to release their arrows. The front ranks released arrows directly at the shield wall in a vain attempt to literally shoot the shields to pieces, while those behind loosed their arrows in a high trajectory so they would fall on the rear ranks.

From where I was sitting it looked impressive as a blizzard of arrows arched into the sky and then fell on the legions, but the men had been subjected to such volleys before and had made sure there were no gaps in the roof that protected them. The bronze-tipped arrows did not have the force to pierce our shields and after about five minutes the arrow storm abated and then stopped altogether as the Armenians exhausted their ammunition. The ballistae had also stopped shooting, their crews having taken shelter behind their wooden screens, and thus another lull descended over the battlefield as the Armenian archers pulled back to their own lines. Again the
testudo
remained in place as Domitus and Chrestus awaited the next enemy assault.

Riders came from Gafarn and Peroz to inform me that, though they both faced Armenian horse archers at least equal to the number of their own horsemen, the enemy had made no aggressive moves, both sides merely observing each other nervously.

‘Why don’t you order an assault?’ said an impatient Gallia.

‘Because, my sweet, the enemy is only testing our strength, probing our lines. He wants us to attack so he can bring his greater numbers to bear but I will not give him that satisfaction.’

‘Once a Gaul, always a Gaul,’ commented Vagharsh.

There was a great cacophony of drums from the enemy ranks and then a huge mass of Armenians began advancing against the legions: rank upon rank of foot soldiers armed with spears and carrying round wicker shields. The drummers within their massed ranks banged their instruments wildly so that it sounded as if a huge herd of animals was bearing down on the Durans and Exiles. The latter responded with trumpet blasts and the men abandoned their
testudo
to meet this fresh onslaught.

The Armenian spearmen were dressed in brown tunics and red leggings but wore no armour and only linen caps on their heads. But there was a great many of them, upwards of forty thousand or more. And at the same time the horse archers on the Armenian flanks entered the fray, companies riding forward to loose arrows at their opponents before withdrawing to their original positions. These movements were designed purely to keep our horse archers occupied and prevent them shooting missiles at the densely packed ranks of the unarmoured levy spearmen that were marching against the legions. Gafarn and Peroz duly obliged and became willing partners in this desultory duel, sending parties of their own horsemen forward to loose a few arrows and then pulling them back. Dura’s camel train was located to the rear of Peroz’s dragons and the amply furnished train of Hatra was positioned behind Gafarn’s horse archers, so neither of our wings would run out of ammunition any time soon.

The Armenian commander, having got the attention of my two wings, probably believed that his spearmen would at least be able to push back my centre due to sheer weight of numbers alone. But I had a surprise in store. As the spearmen increased their pace and began shouting and cheering to fortify their courage, Vagises’ archers standing behind the first-line cohorts drew back their bowstrings and released their arrows. Two thousand, seven hundred arrows arched into the sky and then fell among the densely packed spearmen, followed six seconds later by a further volley. The Armenians ran into this arrow storm of thirteen and half thousand missiles every minute at around three hundred paces from the legions, the missiles scything down hundreds of men as they pierced shoulders, necks, chests and legs. Cheers were replaced by high-pitched screams and yelps as the front ranks of the spearmen were turned into heaps of groaning, twitching wounded.