The Parthian (76 page)

Burebista, your dragon will assault the Roman camp that Godarz informs me will be in our path.’ 

‘That’s right, said Godarz, pointing at the map. ‘If Crassus has eight legions and his lines are about thirty miles in length, then each legionary camp will be two miles apart. We will move down the Popilian Way and ride right past the first camp, whose men will be manning the first two-mile section of the palisade, or thereabouts.’

‘So,’ I interrupted, ‘Burebista, your dragon will detach and deploy to our left flank to cover the camp while the rest of us concentrate on killing as many on the watchtowers and ramparts.’

‘How far back from the defences will be the camp?’ asked Burebista.

‘About half a mile,’ replied Godarz.’

‘But remember, Burebista, you and your men are to keep them penned into the camp, nothing more.’

‘Like shepherds.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And take care to keep out of range of any catapults or archers they may have. Don’t give them any easy victories.’

‘It is
our
victories that are easy, lord,’ said Burebista, and the rest of my officers growled their approval. A few slapped him on the back. They were such good men.

‘Very well, then,’ I said. ‘Go back to your men and make your preparations. We leave in three hours.’

The Lametus River begins its journey high in the Sila massif before winding its way to the Tyrrhenian Sea. The valley through which we travelled bisected the Sila Mountains and made our task easier. Byrd had sent six of his men out before the main column struck camp, and he himself decided to ride with me as hundreds of horsemen, the cavalry of the army of Spartacus, began their journey to save their general. The air turned cooler as we rode up into the high valley, with thick pine forests either side of us, and higher up snow covered the tops and slopes of the mountains. A hundred yards ahead rode a dozen of Burebista’s spearman, while Gallia was beside me and her Amazons behind us. Gafarn, Godarz and Diana rode with us, while Nergal was commanding the rearguard.

‘No Romani in these parts, lord,’ said Byrd, ‘too cold. My men have seen nothing since we arrived.’

His horse was a shaggy brown mare with broad shoulders and a matted mane, the appearance of which never ceased to irritate Godarz.

‘Your horse needs a good groom,’ he said disdainfully. So could Byrd, but I said nothing.

Byrd shrugged. ‘Horse draws no attention to itself when we are sniffing out Romani. She blend into surroundings.’

‘Parthians like to have their horses immaculate,’ I said.

‘I not Parthian, lord,’ he said.

‘Where are you from, Byrd?’ asked Diana.

‘Cappadocia, lady.’

‘Will you go back there?’

‘No, lady. My country is under Romani rule.’

‘Byrd is coming back to Parthia,’ I said to Diana. ‘Aren’t you, Byrd?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘You will be a royal scout?’ asked Gallia.

‘No, lady. I sell pots.’

‘Pots?’

‘I no soldier, but can read terrain well enough, and I have a debt to pay the Romani.’

‘What debt?’ Gallia asked.

Byrd did not answer, but instead kicked the sides of his horse and rode forward.

Gallia was perplexed. ‘What did I say?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘His family was killed by the Romans.’

As we climbed higher into the valley we dismounted and led our horses over ground littered with stones and tufts of grass. The uneven ground slowed the carts and Nergal had to allocate men to push and pull them over obstacles, which slowed the rate of advance. The afternoon sun waned as the sky began to fill with grey clouds, and after two hours snowflakes began to appear all around us, settling on our cloaks and horses. A light breeze began, creating swirling clouds of flakes that blew into our eyes. We were no longer climbing, and after a further hour leading our horses through the snowflakes we came to the cold, fast-flowing waters of the Lametus thundering towards the western sea. The flakes were getting larger as we followed the course of the river and began our descent. I looked behind me to see the first few ranks of the Amazons, and after that nothing save white. It was snowing heavily now, and as I led Remus he frequently tossed his head to clear the flakes from his eyes. Gallia was beside me, leading Epona who was now covered in white.

Two hours later we camped among the trees of the lower Lametus valley, putting the carts under the trees and erecting canvas sheets between the branches to make covers for the horses. Once we had ensured that the beasts had been rubbed down, fed and watered, we put up our tents and ate a sparse meal of biscuit and wine.

‘What do you think about the night before a battle?’

Gallia and her women had camped near to me in a clearing in the woods, which was now deathly quiet as darkness and the cold gripped the land. The snow had stopped falling, but enough had descended from the heavens to blanket the whole valley. She sat on the floor in my small tent with her knees drawn up to her chin, and looked at me with those enticing blue eyes. Even in the freezing conditions she still looked beautiful.

I was combing my hair, a practice that the non-Parthians among us found hilarious, especially the Germans whom I doubted had ever clapped eyes on a comb, never mind use one. 

‘How I will conduct myself in combat. Will I be a credit to my family and my city?’

‘Do you worry about your men?’

I thought for a moment. ‘Not really. If I have done my job properly, then they don’t need my thoughts. My old mentor had a phrase, “train hard, fight easy”. I know that my men, and indeed your women, are well trained and know their task on the battlefield. That being the case, I have every confidence in them.’

A sentry pulled back the flap of the tent and handed me a cup of warm wine, then passed one to Gallia.

‘All is well?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, highness, even the owls are sleeping tonight.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Vagharsh, lord.’ It was a Parthian name, and his long black hair and olive skin also revealed his place of origin.

‘What dragon are you in?’

‘Your own, lord.’

‘How long have you been riding horses?’

‘Since just after I could walk, lord.’

‘And using a bow, lance and sword?’

He thought for a moment. ‘I was given my first bow when I turned five.’

‘And what do you think about before you go into battle, Vagharsh?’

He did not have to think about a reply. ‘To acquit myself well, lord, and also that I be granted a good death.’

‘Thank you, Vagharsh.’ I looked at Gallia as he left. ‘You see, I need not concern myself while I have men such as him riding beside me. And what about you, my love, what do you think of.’

‘Killing Romans.’

I laughed. ‘You should never hate your enemies, it clouds your judgment.’

‘Easy for you to say, you enjoyed their hospitality for but a blink of an eye.’

‘I was a slave,’ I said indignantly.

‘But only for a short time. Some in this army were slaves for decades and they would rather die than go back to that existence. That is why they fight so well for Spartacus, because they have no fears about dying to stay free. I myself was sold and then displayed in the slave market like an animal, where fat, ugly men drooled over me. Then they bid for me so I could become their plaything and they could indulge their degenerate fantasies. I loathe them all, and if they all had but one throat I would slit it without hesitation.’

I was clearly not going to win this argument, so I executed a tactical withdrawal.

‘There is something else that I think of before battle,’ I said.

‘What?’ she snapped.

‘You, of course.’

She rolled her eyes and shook her head in despair. ‘Like I said before, Pacorus, you are a hopeless dreamer.’ She pulled out her dagger. ‘I will kill myself before I let another Roman touch me.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Only Parthian blood flows in my veins.’

She laughed, and suddenly the hatred in her eyes disappeared and her beauty was restored. It may be cold outside, but I always had a warm glow inside me when I was with her.

We moved out at midday, leaving the carts and their escorts to make their way to the rendezvous point. As we descended to the coastal plain between the Sila Mountains and the Tyrrhenian Sea, the amount of snow on the ground lessened, until there was none at all as we joined the Popilian Way and headed south. We formed three great columns, Burebista’s dragon on the left wing, mine in the centre and Nergal’s on the right. The road was heavy with traffic, mostly people on foot who scattered on our approach, though also a good number of wagons carrying supplies to Crassus’ army. I did think about sending them north to Godarz, but that would have required detaching riders as escorts, and I knew that we would need every man in the coming clash. So we killed the drivers and any accompanying guards, and burned their contents. After four hours of riding we were within twenty miles of the Roman lines. I sent Byrd ahead with his scouts to ensure that there were no enemy troops coming from the south, and then gave orders for the column to rest.

There was little talk as each man checked his horse, its straps, saddle and bridle, and then his weapons. Everyone carried a spare bowstring and I was no different, mine being carried in the case that housed my bow. I checked the string that was already attached to the bow for taughtness. It was fine. I drew my sword from its scabbard and spent a few moments sharpening both its edges on a stone, then examined my dagger. I checked my quiver to see that it was still full and then replaced its cover in case it snowed again. Nergal rode up.

‘All is ready, highness.’

I put on my helmet and mounted Remus. ‘Very well. No horns, pass the word to move out, and tell everyone to keep their eyes open. We may run straight into a legion.’

He saluted and rode off, and moments later hundreds of men began to gain their saddles. I walked Remus over to where Gallia sat at the head of her Amazons.

‘Keep close,’ I told her.

‘Don’t worry, I will keep you safe.’

I smiled and then took my position at the head of the three columns. I glanced right and left and waited until the lead companies, each in three files, formed up, and then nudged Remus forward south. As we moved the air was once more filling with snowflakes.

Two hours later, having encountered no traffic on the road, it was almost dark, the sky heavy with dark-grey clouds that were spewing snow onto the earth in ever-greater quantities. The road had almost disappeared under a white blanket, and we necessarily slowed to reduce the chances of our horses losing their footing. Ahead I could barely make out the coastal plain, while the mountains to our left were obliterated by the snowfall. Up to now there had been silence save for the snorting of Remus and the muffled thud of his hooves on the ground, but now I heard a new sound, like the wind whistling through a ravine. As we rode on the sound changed to one of thousands of voices cheering, but then ahead I saw the orange glow produced by hundreds of camp fires and realised that the noise was the sound of men dying, for Spartacus’ soldiers were trying to break through the palisade.

They wore Roman mail shirts and helmets, carried Roman shields and were armed with long Roman spears, and as far as the centurions, officers and legionaries who were pouring out of their camp and frantically getting into formation in the dead space between their tents and the palisade, the horsemen galloping past were but reinforcements to prevent the slave army from escaping. As the companies of Burebista trotted past, some of the Romans even cheered their comrades on horseback, cheered until the shrill horns of the horsemen blasted the signal to wheel left, and then sounded the charge. As one the horsemen lowered their spears and galloped into and around the disorganised centuries of startled Romans, spearing the first ranks and then slashing with their swords at necks, arms and torsos of those behind. Those centuries struck first by Burebista’s men stood no chance; they just crumbled like an earthen jug being stamped on. The wild shrieks of the cavalry proclaimed their triumph as they literally cut deep into the Roman ranks. It was the easiest victory my men had tasted.

Nergal’s and my own dragon rode on, forward towards the palisade, which reared up in front of us, framed by patterns of swirling snowflakes and illuminated by braziers that stood on each platform of the watchtowers and torches planted at regular intervals in the ground from the legion’s camp to the palisade. Each watchtower, a hundred feet apart, had three fighting platforms, from which archers and slingers were raining death upon our comrades on the other side of the palisade. I strained my eyes and saw that the occasional javelin was being launched at the two watchtowers immediately in front of me, while all along the palisade itself legionaries were hurling down javelins from a firing step.

‘Clear the firing platforms,’ I screamed at my men behind.

The horsemen behind me swept into line each side of me. They halted and then began shooting ahead. The legionaries standing on the firing step behind the palisade, looking away from us, were easy targets notwithstanding the poor light and swirling snow. In no time they were felled by arrows, most of them being killed before they had time to turn and see their assailants. It was another easy victory, like brushing snow off a window ledge.

I turned to the men behind me. ‘Dismount, we need to get on the towers.’ Gallia was beside me. ‘When we’ve cleared the two towers ahead, get your women to the fence and use your horses to pull it down.’

I led two companies forward to the towers, with each fourth man staying behind to hold the horses. Around us the sounds of battle filled the air as I shouted to one company to take the tower on the left while I led the other towards the right-hand tower. Missiles flew through the air — arrows, slingshots and javelins — and something hissed past my ear as I reached the ladder leading to the first firing platform. Dead Romans lay on the ground, pierced by our arrows, but others were still alive above me and were now firing their projectiles towards the horsemen. I slung my bow over my shoulder and began to climb the ladder, which led to a square space in the centre of the first platform. I hoped my Roman helmet would fool those on the platform into thinking that I was a friend; otherwise a quick-thinking Roman could lop my head off my shoulders as it popped up among them. Behind me my men followed.