The Parthian (57 page)

‘They won’t fight unless we attack them,’ said Spartacus. ‘They are inviting us to assault them sat behind their stakes.’

‘My horse will be no use against those stakes, lord,’ I added, somewhat dejectedly.

Akmon finished eating an apple and tossed the core aside. ‘Whoever the Roman commander is, he knows his business. He’s obviously heard of your cavalry, Pacorus, and at a stroke has neutralised it. Clever.’

‘Put my men in the centre, lord, and we will cut through them like a sharp spear.’ Afranius, the newly appointed commander of the two legions of Spaniards, looked like a young Akmon. He had olive skin, dark brown eyes and short-cropped hair. He was shorter then I by around six inches, but was far more muscular and thickset. He was also extremely aggressive, a consequence of fighting the Romans for five years in his native country before being captured and sold in the slave market. His fat old master thought that Afranius would make a good catamite, but instead found only death at the end of a knife that was thrust into his heart. He wanted nothing more than to butcher Romans, and only accepted the discipline of Spartacus because it was a means to the end of killing his foes. That said, he pushed himself and his men hard, and the three Spanish legions were reckoned to be among the best we had.

Spartacus shook his head. ‘No, Afranius, that is what they want.’

‘Then how do we beat them, lord?’ asked Castus, his face and neck covered in sweat from the midday sun.

‘We wear them down with arrows.’

‘The only archers in the army belong to Pacorus’ cavalry,’ remarked Godarz.

Spartacus nodded. ‘That’s true, so we will place them on our wings, behind the second line of cohorts, to shoot arrows at the Gauls. The Gauls have no defence against arrows, they lack discipline and also cannot lock their shields together to form a roof of leather and wood as the Romans do. Hopefully we can goad them into attacking us, thereby rendering their wall of stakes useless.’

‘How many archers do you need, lord?’ I asked.

‘A thousand on each flank, and make sure you have enough arrows.’

‘I will issue extra bundles from our reserves,’ said Godarz.

Spartacus stood and looked at each of us in turn. ‘Just one more battle and we are out of this country, so remind your men of that. We’ve beaten them before and we can do so again. May the gods be with you all.’

We shook hands and returned to our posts, though I actually seemed to have little to do save form a reserve with the remainder of my horse. Spartacus had earlier decided on how our ten legions would deploy. He had the three legions of Spaniards under Afranius positioned on the extreme left, next to the ditch and facing the Gauls. Afranius was most unhappy about this, but Spartacus told him that if he was killed then he could do what he liked, but not until then. Next in line came the two legions of Castus’ Germans, men who rivalled the Thracians for their calmness in battle and their dependability. Also put under Castus’ command was another legion made up of those Gauls who had joined us after the defeat of Crixus, plus a large number Greeks, Dacians and Jews. On the Germans’ right were Akmon’s Thracians, twenty thousand men arranged in four legions, the first two of which faced the two Roman legions opposite them. The final two Thracian legions, our right flank, adopted a two-line formation in an attempt to match the frontage of the Gauls facing them, but failed. This meant that we were outflanked on our right wing by about half a mile, maybe more, and if the Gauls decided not to stand behind their forest of stakes, then they could easily envelop the whole of our right side. 

It took two hours for our legions to form up and my remaining horsemen to arrive from the river. I told Nergal and Burebista of the battle plan and informed the former that he would take charge of one group of archers on the right flank and Godarz would command the other group on the left. The men’s horses would be stationed well to the rear.

‘In the unlikely event that the enemy breaks through our line, they are to run back to the horses and then ride to the river. That will be our rallying point.’

‘Where will you be, highness?’ asked Nergal.

‘With Burebista’s men guarding our right flank. And pray to Shamash that the Gauls do not decide to attack that flank.’

Burebista’s men were almost entirely armed with lances, with only a handful carrying bows. I joined him as his men were erecting canvas awnings supported by wooden poles to create shaded areas for the horses. Beasts offered even a modicum of shade would be fresher for later carrying men in battle. The Parthians had learned this long ago. He was his usual cheerful self, full of confidence and good humour, a confidence that had infected the men of his dragon.

‘A fine day for killing Romans, lord,’ he beamed.

At that moment Gallia and her company of women rode up. She was dressed in her full war gear of mail shirt, sword, dagger and helmet, with a full quiver of arrows over her shoulder and her bow in its case fixed to her saddle. She wore tight-fitting leggings and brown leather boots, as did all her women. They looked a fearsome spectacle, and with their closed cheek guards they could have passed for men. They rode in perfect formation, for Gallia was aware that many in the army thought that women could not drill and fight as well as men, so she ensured that her women drilled and practised twice as hard as anyone else. She halted, dismounted and strode over to me. She took off her helmet, her blonde hair in one long plait running down her back.

‘Nergal told me that we cannot fight as archers with him. Is this so?’

I saw the look of disbelief on Burebista’s face. He would not dream of talking to me thus. I took Gallia’s arm and led her away.

‘I would prefer, my love, that you and your women stay close to me during this battle. I have enough to worry about without wondering if you are safe.’

She yanked her arm free. ‘You cannot stop us from fighting.’

I was in no mood to argue. ‘You will stay here with Burebista until I return. These are my orders. Get your horses under cover, water them and eat something. It’s going to be a long day.’

I mounted Remus and pointed at Burebista. ‘Make sure they stay here, I hold you responsible.’

I rode to both wings of the army, first to the left flank where Godarz was giving instructions concerning the placement of spare quivers, each one holding thirty arrows. Like me he wore a cotton tunic only, though he at least had a silk vest underneath for extra protection. Though Spartacus had ordered a thousand archers to be positioned on each flank, in truth there were fewer. For a start, every tenth man was in the rear tending to ten horses, while others were charged with bringing water from the water carts to those who would be shooting. Those who were not archers did not realise that a bowman could not fire arrows all day. Even the most accomplished archer needed rest; it was impossible to maintain a firing rate of seven arrows a minute for long periods. Rather, short, intense bursts were the norm. I walked down the line as men attached their bowstrings and flexed their bows. Some I recognised as Parthians, their olive skin, long black hair and brown eyes giving them away. I slapped shoulders, shook hands and shared jokes. They were in high spirits. I wondered how many would still be alive in a few hours.

‘Remember what I said, if the line breaks don’t wait around. Get to the horses and get away as fast as you can. Men with bows on foot are no match for heavily armed legionaries.’

‘Don’t worry,’ replied Godarz, ‘I will outrun these youngsters if that happens.’

I embraced him and then rode across to the right flank where Nergal faced the Gauls. Because this wing was outflanked, I had positioned Burebista’s dragon directly behind Nergal’s men, around five hundreds yards to the south.

‘We are there, Nergal, you see us? At the first sign of them attacking we will come to your aid.’

‘Yes, highness, we will not let you down.’

He was a good man and I was thankful that he was fighting with me. ‘Praxima is with Gallia and I will keep a close eye on them, so have no fear.’

He grinned and saluted. ‘Thank you, highness.’

I rode back to Burebista’s dragon with Rhesus.

‘Clever, this father of Gallia,’ he said. ‘Obviously brains runs in the family.’

‘The man is an animal,’ I spat.

‘True, but he certainly sees the bigger picture. Once he got our gold he obviously bribed all the other chiefs to join him, then went to the Romans and offered them the help of all the Gauls to crush him.’

‘How does that help him?’ I was not really interested in Gallia’s father, but I could tell that Rhesus had been considering the matter, so I indulged him.

‘He beats us, and afterwards he destroys the Romans as well. There must be sixty thousand Gauls here, more than a match for two legions, especially if he stabs them in the back. Clever, very clever.’

‘You forgot one thing, Rhesus.’

‘Highness?’

‘He has to beat us fist for his plan to work.’

Moments later I heard the blast of trumpets and bugles and then the roar of thousands of men cheering and shouting. Soon the air was filed with the low, thundering rumble of soldiers banging their spears against their shields. Spartacus told me later what had happened during the initial clash. Our legions had advanced, a great wall of steel, mail and leather, walking at a steady pace until they were within a hundred feet of the enemy, then the trumpets sounded the charge and the whole of the front line ran forward, the men hurling their javelins into the dense mass of the enemy. The Romans had locked their shields to their front and above their heads, so the javelin storm had a negligible effect, but on the wings it was a different matter. The rows of stakes made it impossible for our men to come to close quarters with their swords, but the ill-disciplined Gauls stood in open order, not in a solid mass of locked shields, and many fought bare headed, their hair washed in lime and combed into long spikes. Within seconds dozens had been felled by javelins, the thin points penetrating flesh and splitting heads. The Gauls threw spears and axes in return, but most slammed harmlessly into our shields. The Gauls also had some archers and slingers who kept up a withering fire against our line. The lead pellets of the slingers took a steady toll of our men for their accuracy was amazing, and they could put a shot into the small, arched-shaped gap between a shield held vertically by a soldier in the front rank and another held horizontally above his head by the man standing behind him. As all our men wore Roman helmets, the wounds were mostly serious but not lethal, though occasionally a pellet would kill a man and a gap would appear where he fell. It was filled instantly by the man behind. The Gauls kept up a steady volley of missiles against our men opposite, who were unable to pull down the stakes, as it would mean exposing their torsos to the enemy’s fire. And once our line had steadied the Gauls retreated from their rows of stakes to keep just out of range of our javelins. So on the two wings the fighting became one of desultory missile fire as our men weathered a decreasing hail of spears, arrows and sling shots, for the Gauls quickly exhausted their ammunition.

In the centre the Thracians charged at the Romans with their swords and a vicious close-quarters melee ensued, men stabbing with the points of their swords at those opposite, trying to find exposed thighs, groins and bellies with their blades. A few men got careless and had their guts torn open, but the majority remembered their training and kept their shields close to their bodies. In this part of the line there was much pushing and shoving and stabbing but very few casualties, occasionally a wounded man being hauled to the rear by his comrades, his place being instantly filed by a replacement. After half an hour or more of this work both sides, as if by mutual consent, withdrew a few yards to rest and regroup. The day was hot and men wearing mail shirts and steel helmets were soaked in sweat and dehydrated. The centuries and cohorts of the second line moved forward to replace those of the first line, while the walking wounded limped to the rear to be treated and those more seriously injured were put on stretchers and carried back. Those who had been fighting and were now relieved drank greedily from water bottles that were passed to them by non-combatants, women and those too young to fight but fleet of foot. 

On the left flank Afranius became impatient and ordered four centuries armed with axes, which he had organized before the battle, to charged forward through the front ranks and attempt to cut a path through the field of stakes. The result was that he lost two hundred men in two minutes, cut down by throwing axes, spears and a hail of arrows and lead pellets. He did not make a second attempt. My archers posted behind his second line moved forward and commenced a withering fire against the Gauls, which exacted a steady toll on their massed ranks. But they stayed stubbornly behind their stakes and we could make no impression upon them, save those we could pierce with arrows. And we did not have an inexhaustible supply of missiles, and so after an hour the archers were instructed to limit their rate of fire to two arrows every minute. 

It was a similar story on the right flank where Castus was ever mindful of the Gauls who outflanked him by at least half a mile. He did not even attempt to close with the enemy but merely let my archers pour volleys of arrows into them, until they too were ordered to reduce their rate of fire. The Thracians in the centre, now with fresh soldiers in their front line, again attempted to break through the Romans opposite them, but it was the same story as before. The front ranks threw their javelins and charged with swords drawn, stabbing them into the legionaries to their front, grinding their way into the enemy’s formations. At first it appeared that the enemy would break as dead and wounded men fell backwards and Thracians stepped forward into the gaps, stabbing left, right and to the front with their swords. The Roman line buckled, but then their accursed Scorpions opened fire and soon Thracians were being hit by iron darts that went through shields and mail with ease. Gaps appeared in our front ranks, but it was only when Spartacus diverted some of my archers from the wings and had them shoot at the crews of the Scorpions that the deadly storm of iron bolts was brought to an end, as the Romans withdrew their artillery to a safe distance. But they had succeeded in halting our attack, and once again both sides withdrew to lick their wounds and prepare for another struggle for possession of the churned-up, blood- and piss-stained ground between the two armies, a strip of land that was now littered with dead.