The Parthian (50 page)

‘Don’t attack, let then attack you,’ I said to Castus as I stood beside him looking at the Roman army, which was now being moved into battle position by officers on horses and centurions on foot. Cohorts were forming up into close order, with trumpets conveying instructions. The Roman cavalry was now grouping opposite our right flank as the Romans closed up on the riverbank. So far, so good.

‘Take care, Pacorus,’ said Castus, grinning at me. We embraced and he slapped me hard on the back.

‘You too, my friend,’ I replied, ‘and remember, you have to hold them.’

He spat on the ground and hoisted up his shield with his left hand. ‘We’ll hold.’

I mounted Remus and rode over to where Burebista was slowly withdrawing his horsemen to fill the gap between the Germans and the base of the hill. His five hundred men were spread thin in two lines.

‘Their horse will attack us soon enough, lord, and when they do they will cut through us. We are too few.’

‘They will not bother with you once they have pushed you back,’ I said. ‘They will try to wheel into the Germans’ right flank. Just pull back and stay alive and wait until I commit the rest of the horse.’

We shook hands and I rode back to where Nergal and two thousand cavalry were drawn up in two large blocks, each of ten companies standing side by side. Every company was three abreast and a hundred strong. Spear points glinted in the sun and quivers were weighed down with arrows. Gafarn was also present, his horse scraping at the ground with one of his front feet. I had sent Gallia, her women and another company of horse archers across the river, telling her that they were to cover the river and not let any enemy escape should they try to flee across the water. In reality I wanted to keep her out of harm’s way as much as circumstances would allow.

‘You are in charge of them, Gafarn,’ I said. ‘Just make sure they don’t launch a mad charge or another act of insanity.’

‘The Lady Gallia does not like to be told what to do.’

‘Then persuade her instead, or ask her kindly.’

‘Yes, highness,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘Keep safe, highness.’

‘You too, Gafarn.’ With that he was gone, galloping off behind the Germans and across the river. It was a relief that he was looking over Gallia. It was an odd turn of events that made me place so much trust in one who had once been my slave.

A strange silence descended over the battlefield as both sides dressed their lines before the initial clash. Then a crescendo of noise erupted from the Roman ranks as a host of trumpets signalled the advance. I walked Remus forward and up the slope of the hill. Within minutes I was at the top and looking down at an impressive sight — four Roman legions advancing in immaculate order towards Castus’ Germans. Byrd must have missed one eagle, for he had told us that there were three. Sixteen cohorts made up their first line, with twelve following in the second and close to those cohorts in front. Following on behind, the gap almost twice as wide, was the third line of another twelve cohorts. The legionaries moved at a steady pace, a seemingly unstoppable tide of iron, steel and red-fronted shields heading towards our foot, which stood immobile. Keeping pace with the Roman front line, arrayed on their left wing, were two lines of horsemen. It was difficult to tell how many there were, but they slightly outnumbered Burebista’s men who were still deployed forward of the Germans and in front of the hill. There appeared to be around six hundred of them. As the Romans advanced Burebista’s and his horsemen suddenly wheeled about and trotted back a couple of hundred yards, then faced their front again. As long as he made himself a target for the Roman cavalry they would not be thinking about the hill, and more importantly what was behind it. The two lines were now less than a hundred yards apart and the Romans halted for the last time as Burebista once again pulled his men back, to draw level with the right flank of the Germans. 

A movement in the sky caught my eye. It was an eagle, which was flying south. I thought it a good omen as the emblem of the Roman legions was the eagle, and said a silent prayer to Shamash to keep Gallia safe and not let my courage fail me on this day. Another blast of trumpets signalled the Roman attack. The whole of their front line raced forward, the distance between the Romans and the Germans being no more than fifty yards. The legionaries screamed their war cry as they ran forward and hurled their
pila
at our ranks. The air was thick with flying steel as the first ranks of the Romans charged the Germans, but not before those in the ranks behind had also thrown their
pila
. But the Germans, standing like a wall behind their Roman shields, responded in kind, the rear ranks of the first line launching their
pila
at the attacking Romans. Then the two lines collided, the sound akin to a piece of iron being scraped on a rock. And above the clash of arms rose a steady, guttural roar as thousands of men fought with sword and shield in a blood-soaked drama. Behind the Roman legions was deployed a line of archers, who were pouring volley after volley of arrows over the heads of their comrades and into the ranks of the Germans. But as I glanced at the battle for the last time before riding down the hill to join my men, I saw that Castus’ men were standing firm, paying for the ground they defended with their lives.

I rode to the head of my horsemen and signalled the advance. Horns blew as I urged Remus forward, while to my left Nergal drew his sword and also led his men forward. Two thousand horse advanced at a trot as we moved out from behind the hill. Ahead I could see that the Roman cavalry had forced Burebista’s men back to back behind the German line, and though he and his men had not broken and were still fighting with sword and spear against the enemy, some of the Roman cavalry had already broken off their fight with his men and were wheeling right to assault the right flank of the Germans. I moved into a canter as we cleared the hill and moved through the gap between the Germans and the base of the hill. The left flank of Nergal’s column was already coming into contact with the Romans who were involved in a melee with Burebista’s men, and would soon be fighting for their lives as they were engulfed in a wave of my horsemen. I rode on through the gap and then wheeled left to take my men behind the Roman line.

After a short period I was charging along the rear of the Roman army, followed by hundreds of my horsemen. At first the enemy did nothing, in fact they barely acknowledged our presence; they must have assumed we were their own cavalry. They were soon disabused of this notion as the first arrows began striking them. The first to die were the archers, who were so busy firing to their front that they only realised that the enemy was behind them when arrows began slamming into their backs. Some attempted to turn around and shoot at us, but our volume of arrows was such that they were cut down within minutes. Arrows were also pouring into the rear of the Roman third line of cohorts as we strung our bows, fired and then reached into our quivers for another arrow. I saw the Roman generals, a group of horsemen dressed in scarlet cloaks, red-crested helmets and surrounded by horsemen holding red standards. They were positioned immediately behind their third line, and they were suddenly being targeted by my archers. They wheeled about and several were frantically issuing orders, but their scarlet cloaks and steel cuirasses were no defence against our arrows, and soon almost all of them had been felled and were lying dead or injured on the ground, several crushed by their horses that had been pierced by arrows and had collapsed on the ground on top of them.

Now I was at the river, having rode along the rear of the entire Roman army. My men were still firing arrows at the Romans, who had now turned about and were desperately organising a defence. I could see that the ground was now littered with dead legionaries, men who had been killed by our arrows as they faced their front. This was their third line, which instead of waiting to reinforce the other two was now fighting for its life. Nergal rode up as my officers were reorganising their companies into lines, ready to assault the Romans.

‘Their horse has been scattered, highness.’

‘Casualties?’

‘Light, highness.’

‘And Burebista?’ I asked.

‘He lives,’ he smiled. ‘He is eating his way into the Romans’ flank.’

‘Good, we need to hit them hard with a wedge. Bring those armed with spear and shield forward. We will aim at the centre of their line and try to break them in two. Archers immediately behind them. Go.’

He saluted and rode away. I rode back along the Roman line, away from the river, to a position roughly in the middle of their line. I threw a light screen of archers forward and told their commander to maintain a steady rate of fire along the whole of the line. I halted Remus as Nergal organised a wedge of horsemen behind me — three ranks of spear-armed horsemen who would hit the Romans like a giant arrow tip. Riding close behind them would be three ranks of horse archers, firing over the heads of those in front. To weaken the spot where the charge would hit, I ordered other companies to deploy in columns two across and commence riding towards the Roman lines, the men firing their bows and then wheeling left and right respectively, as those following on behind did the same, sending arrow after arrow into the Roman shields. The latter were wood covered with leather, but our arrows could pierce them and drive shafts of iron and bronze into arms and mail shirts. Not enough to kill, but enough to wound and shatter the morale of those who could only stand and be targets.

After ten minutes or so, Nergal signalled that the men were ready. I rode to the head of the wedge and he joined me.

‘You will charge, highness?’

‘Of course, I can’t expect men to obey me if I skulk behind them. Shamash keep you, Nergal.’ I drew my sword and dug my knees into Remus’ flanks. My bow was in its case and so I grabbed his reins in my left hand as he began to move followed at a canter. The air was thick with arrows hissing towards the Roman line as I screamed the charge and Remus broke into a gallop. The Roman line was approaching me fast and I could see that it was ragged. There were perhaps a six hundred horsemen in three ranks charging at the Romans, with another six hundred horse archers tucked in behind them, while on our flanks more archers were firing at the spot where we would hit the enemy line. That line was now dissolving as legionaries were felled by arrows, others limped wounded to the rear, while a few threw down their shields and tried to run. For their courage had deserted them as I aimed Remus towards a small gap that had appeared either side of a dead Roman lying on the ground. He galloped through the gap and I slashed at the head of a legionary on my right as he did so, then started to hack left and right at a sea of Roman helmets that surrounded me. But I was not alone, and soon those helmets were falling left and right as lances thrust through shields and mail shirts. Men were crushed under the hooves of horses as they attempted to turn and flee, some were speared and others were killed by sword cuts. All semblance of order among the Roman ranks had now disappeared as hundreds of horsemen created a massive gap in their line, and then swept right and left behind them. What was left of what had been the Roman third line now dissolved into chaos. Some centurions, professional to the last, formed their centuries for all-round defence, but my archers merely halted their steeds out of
pilum
range and proceeded to shoot the shield blocks to pieces. The legionaries locked their shields over their heads and to the front, sides and rear, but there were still small gaps between shields held vertically and horizontally, and those gaps were an invitation to a skilled archer. Arrows hit eye sockets and necks, and soon those blocks were piles of dead and writhing legionaries, the centurions being sought-after targets, whose bodies were often hit by many arrows. Some Romans threw down their arms and tried to surrender, only to be killed on the spot. There was no mercy in the faces of my men on this day.

As the last of the third line was scattered and killed, I found a somewhat battered Nergal, his mail shirt torn and his helmet dented, and ordered him to form a new line.

‘We have to aid Castus and his men, therefore assemble as many men as you can into a line and advance them to behind the Roman line ahead.’

He brought his sword up to his face in salute and rode away. His horse, like Remus, was tired and so he walked it to a group of my officers, who slowly began to form a new battle line. Ahead the sounds of men killing each other filled the air, and I wondered how Castus and his men were faring. It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually my men formed into a new line and walked their mounts towards the rear of what was the Roman second line. We halted and again we began to fire at the rear ranks of the enemy. We had halted about two hundred feet from the Romans, who had no missile weapons with which to reply. But they did not even bother to about-face and form a shield wall. Then I saw why — the Germans were pushing them back and every legionary was needed to steady the line. But that line was crumbling, aided to some extent by our arrows which were felling enemy soldiers along the whole line. Then the Germans were through, just the odd century or two here and there, but then a cohort and then two, and suddenly in front of us were hundreds of fleeing Romans throwing down their shields and weapons in an effort to escape German swords. But in their blind panic they were running straight at us, and soon the earth was carpeted with dead and dying Romans as we fired arrow after arrow into individuals running towards us until our quivers were empty. It was like some macabre competition to see who could shoot as many enemy soldiers in the quickest time. My instincts took over, pulling arrows from my quiver, stringing them and firing without thinking, always hitting a man and sending him spinning to the ground. This was murder, not war. My quiver was empty, so I drew my sword and began slashing at figures as they raced past me. Some Romans were running towards the riverbank, but they had to run a gauntlet of archers to reach the relative safety of the river a few hundred yards away, and hundreds were cut down before they saw any water.