The Parthian (33 page)

The plateau at this point was around two miles wide between the tree-covered mountain slopes. On the left were the Gauls, drawn up in three lines, and in the centre were the Thracians — one legion drawn up in three lines on the left next to the Gauls, Spartacus with his ‘pig’s head’, then another legion of Thracians deployed in three lines on his right. On the right wing stood Castus and his Germans, another two legions. The army filled the space between the slopes, so there was no chance of being outflanked. I rode forward with Nergal and Burebista to the ‘Pig’s head’. We left our horses at the rear of the formation and walked through the centuries to the front. The mood among the Thracians was amazingly relaxed considering many might be dead in a few hours. I also noticed that all the Thracians had
pila
, swords, mail shirts, shields and helmets, while many of the Gauls and Germans had no armour and only clubs for weapons. Clearly Spartacus made sure his own men were the best equipped. But then, as they were his most reliable and loyal troops, this made sense. I found him standing in front of the first cohort with Akmon.

‘Decided to fight on foot, Pacorus?’

‘No, lord. I was going to ask from where you will direct the battle.’

‘From here, of course,’ he replied.

I was horrified. He stood a good chance of being cut down in the first clash. ‘But lord,’ I said, ‘if you are killed then the army is lost.’

‘I am just one man, Pacorus. If I am killed others will take my place. But I cannot ask men to fight for me if I stand at the rear. You understand? Besides, once the battle starts command and control become largely impossible.’

‘And it won’t be long before it starts by the look of it,’ said Akmon, grimly.

We turned to see the Roman army approaching, a long line of red shields and the sun glinting off thousands of helmets and
pila
, while overhead a dust cloud kicked up by hobnailed sandals hung over the entire force. They were about three miles away, maybe less, and their appearance prompted cheers, hoots of derision and catcalls from our army, though I noticed that the Thracians remained silent. Spartacus and Akmon had clearly trained them well. Spartacus laid a hand on my shoulder.

‘Remember, when we break their centre you must be hard on our heels. Get behind them and shower them with missiles. Don’t get close until they break. And good luck.’

‘The same to you, lord,’ I said. Then we ran back to our horses and rejoined our men. Remus kicked at the earth with his hooves and other horses, sensing the coming slaughter, reared up in alarm. Their riders tried to calm their nerves by stroking their necks and talking quietly to them, though perhaps they only succeeded in transmitting their own nervousness to their animals.

I signalled for the horse to move forward, to the rear of the ‘pig’s head’. Eight hundred men and their horses ambled forward as the Romans got closer. I was in the front rank of the first group, Rhesus beside me, in the centre of the line. We were close to the last rank of Thracians, many of whom looked back nervously at the men on horses who were at their backs. Their officers barked at them to look to their front, as the crump, crump of the marching Roman army got closer. Suddenly the sound of trumpets echoed across the valley and the slave army started to move forward. From my vantage point astride Remus I could see the Romans dressing their lines, clearly prior to launching an assaulting, but instead Spartacus was going to launch his assault first. As the rear ranks moved forward so did we, and I held my bow over my head to signal my men to prepare to fire. I strung an arrow as the Thracian front ranks closed to within around a hundred feet of the enemy. I shot my arrow high into the sky in a wide arc, as eight hundred others did likewise. The arrows would do little damage to helmeted Romans who were able to hoist their shields over their heads, but while they were concentrating on protecting themselves they would be unable to throw their
pila
. And so it was, for as the arrows disappeared into the Roman ranks the leading ranks of the Thracians threw their
pila
, drew their swords and then sprinted forward to stab at their opponents, using their shields as individuals battering rams. The Roman shield was an amazing item: three layers of oak or birch glued together with wooden reinforcing strips added to the back and faced with thin leather. In the middle is cut a circle, across which is placed a metal bar for holding the shield. Over the carrying bar, on the side facing the enemy, is a metal plate with a round, bulging boss, which can be used to smash into an opponent in a close-quarters fight.

The following Thracian ranks also charged, and immediately the air was filled with the shouts and screams of men killing and being killed. The air was thick with javelins and arrows, for the Romans had their own archers and though their range was inferior to that of our own bows, some still found their mark, hitting exposed limbs and faces. The Thracian rear ranks move steadily forward, a sure sign that the front ranks were cutting their way through Roman flesh and bone. I glanced to my left and right and saw that the slave line was still edging forward, though not at the rapid rate of the Thracians. Already men were ferrying the wounded to the rear, to be treated by those trained in medical care.

We could not fire any more arrows for fear of hitting our own men, so all we could do was wait. Time to seemed to move slowly and I started to get concerned. If Spartacus did not break the enemy then we would be mere spectators to the slaughter. The sound of thousands of men doing battle was like a deep and constant roar, though occasionally a high-pitched scream could be heard as a sword or spear pierced flesh. Then a great cheer reached us and the Thracians in front of us increased their forward advance. The Roman line had given way! Spartacus was through. As the great wedge of Thracians grinded its way forward, a large gap suddenly appeared on its left flank. In the chaos of combat the ‘pig’s head’ had actually veered right, but it was enough.

I turned and yelled at those behind me, ‘for Parthia!, then dug my knees into Remus’ flanks, who sprang forward. My men cheered and followed me as I steered Remus towards the ragged gap that could have been no more than two hundred feet across and was filled with dead and dying men. I galloped past a century of disorganised legionaries who were being assailed from the front and which also trying to form a line of shields on their left flank, which now hung in the air. They were too late. I shot one legionary in the chest as my men poured arrow after arrow into the densely packed soldiers as they passed. Then my three hundred horsemen were behind the Roman lines as the ‘pig’s head’ continued to wheeled right and began grinding its way into the side of the Roman army’s newly created left flank. Attacked in the front and on the flank, I surmised that it would not be long before that part of the Roman army would break. I wheeled my men right to take them behind the Romans. We totalled only eight hundred cavalry, but caused panic as we thundered along the rear of the Roman formations and peppered them with arrows. Nergal told me afterwards that many Romans had not realised that our horsemen were the enemy and had at first ignored them, only to be shot in the back. Indeed, so easy had been the shooting that many of his men had exhausted their arrows long before the Romans had realised their mistake.

I saw a group of Roman horsemen ahead, some holding banners and others dressed in helmets similar to mine but with red plumes instead of white. They were the general and his staff. I called my men to follow me as I spurred Remus towards them. We attacked in a wedge formation, six ranks deep, fifty men in each rank. The Romans saw us, but instead of deploying to attack, they turned and attempted to flee. Their steeds were swift, no doubt the finest breeds money could buy, but our mounts were just as quick and they could not outrun our bows. Arrows hit speeding riders and horses as we closed on them. Some men were thrown from their mounts when their horses were hit, others slumped in their saddles as one or more arrows pierced their flesh. One or two Romans halted and turned, no doubt intending to fight us with their swords. They were shot and killed before they had a chance to use their blades. I saw one officer, a man with a bright red cloaking around his shoulders, riding furiously away. I screamed at Remus, who galloped as though there was a demon chasing him, his eyes wide and nostrils flared. I closed on the Roman, who glanced back at me and kicked at his horse furiously to speed him up. But I was close enough to him now. He glanced back one last time and must have known that he would not escape. I released the bowstring and he screamed as the arrow went through his cloak, through his armour and into his back. He crashed to the ground, dead.

I signalled for the horns to recall the men, and minutes later we were trotting back towards the battle, except that the battle was coming to us, for in front of us were hundreds of Roman soldiers! I was momentarily gripped by panic, but then realised that many of the Romans had no weapons or shields. They were fleeing as fast as their legs could carry them.

‘Halt,’ I shouted to my men. ‘Stand still and shoot them as they pass. They will not fight; they are running.’

We quickly deployed into one long line and shot at the Romans as they neared us. We must have cut down two or three hundred before those following veered right and left in an effort to avoid us. By now the whole plain was dotted with running Romans, but what caught my eye was more Roman horsemen, a small group who seemed to have retained their discipline. One of them was riding among the fleeing Romans with his drawn sword, shouting and cursing at them. Then I recognised him — Lucius Furius.

‘Follow me,’ I ordered as I kicked Remus forward. I made straight for Furius. This time he would not escape.

‘Stand, stand, you cowards,’ he was shouting at the top of his voice, to no effect.

I strung an arrow as I neared him, but before I could release it one of his men shouted a warning to him. He turned, saw me and ducked in the saddle as the arrow shot over him and into one of his men. He turned his horse and headed towards me as his command was shot to pieces. I shoved my bow back into its case and drew my sword — shooting him would be too easy. We charged straight at each other, but instead of attacking me with his sword as we closed he threw himself at me and we both tumbled to the ground in a heap. I was momentarily stunned, the wind was knocked out of me, but I staggered to my feet as he did likewise. He drew his sword and lunged at me. My sword, knocked out of my hand, lay several feet away so I pulled my dagger and tried to parry his blade with it. But our duel was interrupted when an arrow slammed into his right thigh. He screamed and clutched at his leg, dropping his sword as he did so. I walked over to where my sword lay and picked it up. But before I could get close to him and finish him off, more Roman cavalry appeared and closed around him. By now my men were also forming up around me and were shooting Romans from their saddles. But Furius escaped, his horse led away by a subordinate with my arrow sticking out of his leg.

Around us screaming Gauls hurtled past, cutting down any Roman they encountered with glee. I remounted Remus as Nergal and Burebista arrived.

‘A great victory, highness,’ beamed Nergal. ‘The Romans are destroyed.’

‘Well done,’ I said to them both, and then I saw Praxima ride past us, accompanied by Gallia. I cursed with fury. ‘Take the men and help hunt down the Romans,’ I told Nergal. ‘Remember, those you let escape you will have to fight again.’

‘Yes, highness. Where are you going?’

‘To hunt down a more troublesome prey,’ I replied. ‘Now go.’

As my men reformed and galloped off to join the pursuit, I followed two riders who were endeavouring to reach the fleeing Romans. Some groups of legionaries had attempted to halt and form themselves into centuries, but they were hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded, and were soon assailed from all sides and cut down. I shuddered as I saw Gauls hacking the heads off some dead Romans and carry them off as trophies. I caught up with the two women just as Gallia loosed an arrow that hit a running centurion in the back, sending him crashing to the ground. My chest filled with pride at her marksmanship. Then Praxima halted her horse, jumped from the saddle onto a Roman soldier and in one deft movement drew her dagger and slit his throat. I drew Remus up in front of them and removed my helmet.

‘Stand still, both of you. What in the name of all that’s sacred do you think you are doing?’ I bellowed.

‘Killing Romans,’ came Praxima’s calm reply.

Gallia looked away from me, strung another arrow and released the bowstring. I turned to see a Roman, who must have been at least three hundred feet away, spin to the ground as he was hit. Praxima screamed with delight and clapped her hands.

‘Like my friend told you,’ said Gallia, ‘we are killing Romans.’

I pointed at Praxima. ‘Get on your horse. Now!’

She shrugged and vaulted onto her horse’s back. I then rode Remus over to her horse, gathered its reins, did the same to Gallia’s horse, and then led them both back to camp and away from danger.

‘No more killing Romans today,’ I told them.

‘Release us,’ said Gallia.

‘No.’

‘Why not? The Romans are running.’

I halted and turned to face her. She and Praxima wore cavalry helmets with large cheek guards fastened beneath their chins. They both sat proud in the saddle and Gallia looked as beautiful as ever in her boots, tight-fitting leggings and tunic. If it had been a training exercise I would have been lavishing praise on them both, but it wasn’t and I didn’t.

‘Running men can still stop and kill women,’ I hissed. ‘And besides, I ordered you to stay with Godarz and Gafarn. That’s why.’

‘Are you going to beat us, lord, for our insolence?’ said Praxima, laughing.

‘Are you going to put us over your knee and spank us?’ added Gallia.

The later option was most appealing. I said nothing. By now the slaughter had moved on and we threaded our way through dead and dying men, mostly Romans, where the battle had been fiercely contested for a while as each side stabbed and hacked at their opponents. Then there were the bodies of those who had tried to run, with telltale wounds to their backs. I talked quietly to Remus as he threw up his head nervously when he heard the cries and moans of those who lay on the ground, some with bellies slit open and their entrails lying on the grass, others with gaping head wounds and some sat up and staring in disbelief at a severed arm or leg lying next to them, oblivious to their lifeblood gushing away from a leg stump or arm socket. The women were silent now; it was undoubtedly the first time that they had seen the gory aftermath of a battle.