Parthian Vengeance (14 page)

I could see the cohorts now, a wall of white shields and shining helmets standing like great slabs of rock on the desert floor. I hurtled through one of the gaps with hundreds of others following me, then passed through the second line of cohorts. I should have run straight into a cohort that stood directly behind the gap between two cohorts in the first line. But the second-line cohorts had parted, the two halves of each one moving left and right to stand directly behind a cohort in the first line. This allowed the horsemen to pass through both lines unimpeded. That was the easy bit.

As soon as all the horse archers had passed safely though their lines, the legionaries of the second line had to race forward to fill the gaps in the first line. This was the hard part, for if they failed not only would the enemy be able to pour through the gaps where the second-line cohorts were supposed to be, they would also hit the men of that second line who were attempting to move forward. The result would be chaos and slaughter.

But they did not fail. As soon as the last horse archers had passed them by the men of the second-line cohorts rushed forward to fill the gaps in the first line and present a continuous front to the enemy. And as they reached their positions, like their comrades who had been in the first line the first five ranks hurled their javelins at the horde of enemy riders bearing down on them. Around three thousand javelins arched into the air as Mithridates’ horsemen hit the front ranks of the legionaries. A sickening grinding noise reverberated across the battlefield as thousands of horsemen tried to turn their mounts aside to avoid hitting a solid wall of leather, wood and steel.

A horse, even when gripped by terror in battle, will not run at a solid object. He will either try to run through any gaps in front of him or turn aside to avoid hitting said object; others will attempt to stop dead, especially when a torrent of javelins is about to engulf them. Cataphracts and spearmen became a tangled mass of horse and human flesh as animals pulled up and catapulted their riders over their heads, while others somersaulted over and over, crushing their riders under them as they did so. Those behind smashed into the ones in front as others were hit and pierced by javelins.

The javelin rain had saved the front ranks of the legionaries from becoming entangled in the grisly drama as the first line of horsemen had careered into the missiles, which had killed their momentum. But it takes nerves of steel to stand in a tightly packed formation of men while thousands of horses’ hooves are shaking the earth and coming closer at alarming speed. To not only stand but also still perform their drills – to throw their javelins and then draw their swords for close-quarter combat. They had practised for this day for years, sweating under a Mesopotamian sun and practising over and over again until they responded to orders and trumpet blasts without thinking. Train hard, fight easy.

The great charge of the enemy had been halted but the day was still young. I halted Remus and turned him around, horse archers kicking up dust as they too reformed behind me. To the left and right of us horns blasted as the army’s two cataphract wings advanced to envelop the flanks of the enemy and attack them from behind.

I suddenly felt helpless. Orodes, Surena and their heavy horsemen would decide the battle. In front of me the front ranks of my legionaries were stabbing at the bellies of horsemen while the rear ranks hurled more volleys of javelins. A charging cataphract is a devastating and fearsome weapon; a stationary one is vulnerable. Those still mounted would have cast aside their great lances to use their close-quarter weapons – sword, axe or mace. But in the tightly packed mêlée it was almost impossible to manoeuvre their horses, and all the while javelins were striking them and their horses were being maimed by
gladius
blades thrust under their horses’ scale armour. But there were still of lot of horsemen hacking and slashing at the foot solders in front of them.

Vagharsh rode up to me and nodded.

‘Domitus’ men are taking a hard pounding.’

‘The horse archers cannot aid them yet. We must have a reserve just in case he is forced back.’

I bit my lip nervously. I hated sitting here idle and helpless. I would much rather be hacking away by the side of Surena or Orodes. It was one of the disadvantages of being the commander of an army. I was sorely tempted to advance the horse archers so that they were immediately behind the cohorts. From there they could shoot over the heads of the legionaries into the seething mass of the enemy. But if Orodes and Surena had been successful then our arrows would be striking our own men as well. My feeling of helplessness magnified.

Then a chant echoed across the battlefield and a sense of elation swept through me. Above the cries of dying men, the squeals of lacerated horses and the clatter of steel against steel I could discern thousands of voices shouting ‘Dura, Dura’. The hour of victory had come. The cohorts had withstood the great charge of men and horseflesh that had hit them like a thunderbolt, and now they were advancing, cutting though the enemy like a giant and remorseless saw. Then I spotted a man running towards me, a broad figure in a mail shirt adorned with metal discs, greaves around his shins and a white transverse crest atop his helmet. Domitus.

I rode over to meet him, his face streaked with dirt and sweat and his brown eyes alight with glee as his men chanted more loudly as they went about their grim work.

‘They’re breaking,’ he panted. ‘I can see your men in their rear. All that money you spent on plumes and pennants has proved useful in spotting friend from foe. Those that aren’t dead or dying have lost the stomach for it and are retreating.’

I bent down and offered my hand. ‘The victory is yours, my friend. I salute you.’

He shook my hand and spat on the ground. ‘The boys are finding it difficult crawling over piles of dead horse and bodies. There’s plenty that will get away unless you can deal with them.’

I nodded. ‘Consider it done. Don’t get careless, life can still be snatched away in the moment of victory.’

He raised his hand, turned and then trotted back to where his cohorts, slowly but purposely, were grinding their way forward. I rode back to where the officers of the horse archers waited on their mounts.

I pointed at the right flank of the cohorts. ‘They’re breaking. It is time to finish them. One dragon will come with me on the right, one dragon will advance on the left, and one dragon will stay here as a reserve.’

They nodded and rode back to organise their commands. Moments later horns blasted and I led a great column of horsemen to sweep round the right flank of the army. There was a mighty cheer as men spotted the griffin banner billowing behind me as we broke into a canter and then a gallop to pursue the fleeing enemy. I saw the banner of Orodes, or at least I thought it was his banner as Mithridates had taken the same banner to be his own. Where was he?

On we rode, a thousand riders deploying into line as we spread out across the desert floor. Ahead were riders fleeing for their lives, men in scale armour and others in leather cuirasses and helmets only – the remnants of the spearmen. I shouted at Remus to move faster and his powerful frame responded, his legs kicking up the earth as he closed on a man without spear, shield or spear who was clutching the neck of his horse. I pulled my bow from its case, drew an arrow from the quiver and nocked it in the bowstring. He turned round to glance at his pursuer as I released the string and the arrow shot through the air and hit him in the back. He yelped and then fell from his saddle. In front of me I spotted a large man in scale armour sporting a black horsehair crest in his helmet. His horse was lame. I raced past him, turned in the saddle and shot an arrow that pierced his eye socket. On we went, shooting at enemy horsemen and killing men who were on foot whose mounts had been killed in the mêlée. The companies fanned out to fell as many fleeing enemy horsemen as possible.

The army of Mithridates was finished; the last of his troops were being slaughtered in the final act of the battle. Already I was planning an assault on Seleucia and then Ctesiphon, whose garrisons would be scythed down like ripened crops in the fields. Mithridates would flee to Persepolis but I would follow him. My engines would batter down its defences and then I would put an end to him and Narses forever. There would be a proper king of kings on the throne and Dura would once more be a part of the empire. I raised my eyes to the heavens, stretched out my arms and gave a mighty cheer of triumph. Shamash had granted me a great victory and I vowed to build a grand temple in his honour in my city to rival the one that stood in Hatra.

I heard frantic horn blasts to my left and right and look around. My horsemen were slowing, some had stopped and were pointing ahead. I pulled on Remus’ reins and also slowed him. I looked ahead and a chill went through my soul. It cannot be; it must be a mirage, a trick of the desert heat. The entire horizon was filled with black shapes: riders on horses and foot soldiers armed with spears carrying large shields. I slowed Remus to a halt.

There were thousands of them as far as the eye could see. In the centre of their vast line the sun glinted off scale armour – more cataphracts. The entire mass was moving at a steady pace, no more than a walk so the foot could keep up with the horsemen. It was as if a great black wave was rolling across the desert floor towards me. I sat, transfixed and appalled by the sight I beheld. And then the gods revealed their cruel nature, for in the centre of the approaching line, barely fluttering in the slight northerly wind that had now picked up, I saw a great yellow banner. And upon that banner was the symbol I come to loathe – the black head of Simurgel, the bird-god of Persis.

The army of Narses had come.

Chapter 4

Frantic horn blasts hastily assembled the horse archers and then we turned and galloped back to the rest of the army. I remained behind until the last remnants of Dura’s riders had been located and ordered to withdraw, and then rode back in their wake. I kept glancing back, expecting to see parties of horsemen leaving the enemy ranks to pursue us, but they did not break their steady, remorseless advance. There was no need, they knew that Dura’s army would be exhausted from having fought one battle, and there was no need for them to rush. I had walked straight into their trap. Narses must have known that even with greater numbers a straight fight between my army and his would probably result in him losing. So he had sacrificed one army; allowed it to be cut to pieces, safe in the knowledge that he had enough men to launch a second force against Dura’s tired and weakened soldiers. Ruthless and very clever. As I shouted at Remus to move faster Dobbai’s words were ringing in my ears. I had underestimated both Mithridates and Narses and now faced paying a heavy price.

The horse archers must have ridden five miles east from the army in their pursuit of the dregs of Mithridates’ army, and by the time they got back to where the legions were gathered in their ragged ranks their horses were sweating and tired. Domitus had pulled back his men about a quarter of a mile from where the mêlée had taken place. A long, thick line of dead men and horses marked the spot where the fighting had been the fiercest. Hundreds of his men lay on the ground helmetless, others leaning on their rested shields, joking and talking with their comrades. I had stumbled upon a scene of near serenity, spoiled only by the carpet of offal that had been dumped on the desert floor. The air of calm was shattered as the horse archers retreated before the advance of Narses’ army.

At first the men looked at each other in confusion, then put on their helmets and scrambled to their feet as I rode to find Domitus and Orodes. Soon trumpet blasts were coming from the ranks of the cohorts as officers and centurions joined their units and reorganised their men. Around two hundred paces behind the foot the cataphracts lay resting on the ground, squires busily unburdening their horses of the scale armour that had served them so well in the battle. Behind them were the beasts of the camel train loaded with spare arrows. They stopped and looked in confusion at each other and their masters as I halted among them when I spotted Domitus talking to Orodes, Malik and Byrd. Orodes, like many of the horsemen, had taken off his scale armour and had dumped it on the ground beside him. A squire was leading a camel to begin loading both his and his horse’s scale armour onto the beast’s back.

‘What in the name of Jupiter is going on?’ said Domitus, two of his metal discs having been knocked off his mail shirt in the fighting.

I halted Remus and jumped off his back. ‘The army of Narses approaches. We have been well and truly duped.’

Byrd was appalled that his scouting skills had let him down. ‘Impossible, we rode to the banks of the Tigris itself. There was no other army.’

‘It is true, Pacorus,’ added Malik. ‘We saw no other enemy.’

I allowed myself a smile. ‘My friends, of course you saw nothing because there was nothing to see. Mithridates and Narses are masters of deception. They allowed us to see what they wanted us to see. The second army was probably hidden on the eastern bank of the Tigris, or perhaps in Seleucia itself.’

‘How many do they bring against us?’ asked Orodes, who looked tired and drawn, though mercifully unhurt.

‘Thousands,’ I replied. ‘The point is that we do not have the energy to fight a second battle.’

Domitus was nodding his head approvingly. ‘Clever, very clever. They allowed you to slaughter one part of their force so you could wear yourself out, and then they come with fresh troops to finish you off.’

‘When you have finished admiring the enemy perhaps you might like to get the legions back to camp,’ I said.

‘You are running from them?’ Orodes was mortified by the idea of retreat.

I walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘My friend, much as I would like to fight your brother….’

‘Stepbrother,’ he reminded me.

I continued. ‘As much as I would like to fight him, and Narses, if we do we die. He has held back his horse archers and they bring more cataphracts and thousands of foot.’