The Parthian

Chapter 13

Three hours later we marched into a wide plain surrounded by gently undulating hills. Once it must have been filled with trees, but years of Romanisation had produced a landscape of neat fields and farmsteads as far as the eye could see. But one sight that dominated the horizon was a mass of men formed into a long line to our front. Earlier I had ridden in the vanguard of the army with Byrd and a hundred horsemen, and had seen at first hand the size of the army that bared our way. By mid-morning it was already forming into a long line across the horizon, mail-clad Romans in cohorts and armoured and bare-chested Gauls carrying shields, axes, spears and long swords. We had been spotted almost immediately and a group of Roman horsemen galloped out from the enemy lines, men carrying large red circular shields and armed with lances. They came at us in a column of three abreast and then formed into line some distance from us, lowering their lances in expectation of a fight at close quarters. But I gave the signal to retreat and we cantered away from them. I took up position at the rear of our group, and as the Romans got nearer I and a few other Parthians began firing at them over the hindquarters of our horses. This was a tactic they had obviously never encountered before, because when half a dozen of their saddles had been emptied they slowed their pace and then stopped as we carried on our retreat.

When we reached the army I immediately told Spartacus what I had seen.

‘They obviously intend to fight us,’ I reported. ‘Byrd was right about the number of legions, but I’ve never seen so many Gauls gathered in one place.’

Spartacus, as usual, was marching on foot with Claudia and Akmon in the midst of his Thracians.

‘Well, as they have been so kind as to gather all in one place, it would be rude not to accommodate them.’ He grinned at me. ‘Besides, killing them now will save us the effort of doing it later.’

‘I’m sure they are thinking the same thing,’ mused a grim-faced Akmon, whose mood always darkened before any battle.

It was noon when our army began to form up in their battle positions. I threw a screen of horsemen to the front of the foot to deter the enemy from interfering with our movements, but the Romans and their allies made no moves. Byrd reported that there was a large ditch that secured the enemy’s right flank, and when I rode over to see it for myself I realised that it would stop any attempt by my cavalry to outflank the enemy from that direction. The ditch was wide — about thirty feet — and had sheer sides. It must have been at least ten feet deep and ran arrow-straight into the distance; obviously the commander of the Roman legions, the governor of Mutina (I assumed that no Gaul would have the intellect to think of such a thing) had a well-thought out battle plan. He had anchored his right flank on an obstacle that was impossible to cross, but what about his left flank? Byrd and I rode along the gap between the two armies, that piece of killing ground that belonged to no one but which would soon be full of dead and the wounded. We made sure that we were out of enemy bow range, though a group of their slingers tried their luck when we cantered past, loosing small lead pellets that fortunately whistled by us harmlessly. From the ditch to where the two Roman legions were forming up was a distance of around two miles and was filled wholly by Gauls, and in front of where they stood in groups or sat on the ground were wooden stakes over six feet in length that had been driven into the ground and angled towards our army, the ends of which appeared from a distance to have been sharpened to points. In fact, the whole of the Gaul battle line was protected by several rows of these stakes. In the centre of the enemy line stood the Roman legions, deployed side by side. They each presented a front line of four cohorts, so I assumed that each legion was deployed in a standard three-line formation. The Roman legions together covered around half a mile of front. As we rode past the Romans we discovered yet more Gauls, this time on the enemy’s left wing, thousands of them in groups, again standing behind rows of sharpened wooden stakes, and again they covered a distance of around two miles. The enemy front thus measured nearly five miles. It was the largest army I had seen in Italy; indeed, it was the largest army I had seen in my life.

I told all this to the council of war who sat on stools in the shade beside a wagon filled with cooking utensils. While the army deployed, the wagons, mules, carts, oxen and non-combatants were being positioned in its rear. The wagons and carts were arranged in a square to form a sort of barrier, behind which the animals could be secured and the army’s supplies and spare weapons could be stored. This makeshift camp was guarded by around five hundred soldiers, usually men who were too old to fight in a century but who still knew how to use a sword or a spear. If the army was defeated then the enemy would make short work of them, but it comforted us all to know that they were guarding our rear. I had wanted to use Gallia’s women as camp guards as well, but she steadfastly refused, saying that she would rather die in battle than wait to be raped and then killed if we were beaten, so that was that. Any walking wounded were also detailed to act as camp guards. The day was warm and getting warmer, and already the men in their centuries and cohorts were using up the contents of their water bottles. A steady stream of water carts were making their way to and from the river that we had crossed three miles to the rear to replenish our supplies on what would be a very thirsty day. The cavalry had its own carts, which were also making the trip to and from the watercourse, though two-thirds of my horsemen were still at the river watering their mounts. There would be plenty of time to bring them forward before the fighting started.

‘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.

Thousands of sandal-clad feet and tens of thousands of hooves had kicked up a great cloud of dust that chocked man and beast alike. As the day wore on this cloud thickened over the whole battlefield.

The dust was just another thing to cope with on this day of slaughter. It was hot in my leather cuirass and helmet, and soon small streams of sweat were coursing down my face and neck and soaking my silk vest and tunic. It must have been an hour at least after the battle had commenced when Spartacus rode over to where my cavalry were positioned. Most of the men were lounging on the ground with their helmets lying beside them, though one in every five companies was mounted and deployed to our front and on our right flank, in case we were attacked. As the battle wore on, vigilance became more important as the wretched dust continued to reduce visibility.

‘That proconsul in command of the Roman army is a clever bastard. We can’t shift them.’ Spartacus gulped down the contents of the waterskin I had passed him.

I shrugged. ‘We could break off the engagement. My horse can cover the retreat.’

‘No. If we retreat the Romans will be back twice as strong. Besides, it will be bad for morale if we run away from two legions and a few Gauls.’

A short time later Castus ran up to inform me that he had shifted four cohorts to the extreme right of his line and deployed them so they were at right angles to the rest of his men who were facing the Gauls.

‘Spartacus, forgive me, I did not realise that you were here. Are you hurt?’

‘No. What has happened?’

‘The Gauls are taking down their stakes where they outflank us. I think they are going to attack. Pacorus, we may need your cavalry to stiffen our line.’

I signalled for Burebista to attend me.

Spartacus gazed over to where Castus had ridden. ‘So, the Gauls have grown bored with standing idly by while their fellow warriors have all the glory.’ He smiled. ‘The gods may have just given us a sign. How many horse have you, Pacorus?’

‘Fifteen hundred, lord.’

‘Good.’ He slapped Castus on the shoulder. ‘Get back to your men and make sure they hold. Remember, the Gauls won’t come at you like the Romans do. They will charge in a wild, screaming mass. But they will break on your wall of shields.’

Castus looked alarmed. ‘But they may sweep around us and get behind the army.’

Spartacus shook his head. ‘Extend your line by taking men from your second line. Use Pacorus’ archers to shoot them down. There may be a lot of them but they are not disciplined, and it’s discipline that wins battles. Now go.’

Castus saluted and departed in haste. Spartacus turned to me, his eyes wild with excitement. ‘Pacorus, your horse is the key that will unlock their defence. Take your men and ride parallel to the enemy’s left flank, then sweep around behind them. The dust should cover your movement.’

Riding along the enemy’s front for more than half a mile would deprive the army of its reserve, and if the Gauls broke through our right flank then thousands of their warriors would be free to butcher the wounded and loot the baggage camp. That said, Castus could probably hold them, at least long enough for my horse to get behind them. It might just work.

‘It is a gamble, lord.’

He grasped my shoulders. ‘Your horse are the best trained and led cavalry outside Parthia.’ He knew how to flatter. ‘You have never let us down before, nor will you today.’

I felt a surge of pride go through me. I turned to Burebista. ‘Get your men mounted, we are going to kill some Gauls.’

‘Yes, lord,’ he beamed, and began to order his company commanders to assemble their men. Soon the air was filled with horns calling men to assemble.

Spartacus jumped back on his horse. ‘Get behind them, Pacorus, and do as much damage as you can. Good luck.’

Then he was gone. I walked to where Gafarn was holding Remus and his own horse. I took Remus’ reins. Around us men and horses were forming into columns, lance points glinting in the dusty haze.

‘Well, Gafarn, we are going to see how well Gauls fight.’

‘With swords and spears, no doubt. They all seem to look like Crixus.’

‘Don’t remind me. Stay close to Gallia and Diana. They are to remain here to guard the baggage camp.’ This was slightly disingenuous as the wagon camp had its own guards, but no matter.

‘Yes, highness.’

I mounted Remus. ‘And take care of yourself, Gafarn.’

He nodded. ‘You too, highness.’

No sooner had I ridden to the front of the column of horse that was now moving slowly to the right, fifteen hundred horsemen in companies arranged in three files each, than Gallia was at my side, her helmet’s cheek guards open.

‘Gafarn has passed on your suggestion. I considered it and rejected it. We fight today.’

‘It was not a suggestion,’ I said. ‘It was an order.’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We have a right to fight. We will merely join the rear of the horse. Do you want a wolf as a wife or a lamb?’

There was no time to argue. ‘Very well. But stay close.’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t let any Gaul rape you.’

‘Very well, I snapped, ‘get your women behind my company. And stay close.’

She shouted with joy, closed her cheek guards and rode Epona away, and within minutes a hundred riders had slotted in behind the company of Dacians that I headed.

I was nervously peering to my left, in the direction of the Gauls who were massed on the left wing of the enemy’s army. I could only see them with difficulty, the dust and the heat haze distorting the view. I prayed to Shamash that they were likewise handicapped.

To my right and riding at the head of the middle column was Burebista, lance in hand and shield tucked into his left side. To his right was another company, and behind us more columns riding three abreast and parallel to the enemy’s wing.

Company commanders kept their men in check, for in battle there is a tendency, especially among inexperienced men, to quicken the pace and get the bloodletting over with as quickly as possible. But those who have been in a fight know that discipline and restraint are the keys to staying alive. There is no point in running a horse hard before a charge; all that happens is that he will be exhausted when you need his reserves of energy most. Similarly, a horse picks up on adrenalin careering through its rider and will become edgy and fretful, which is very undesirable as when he is thrust into the maelstrom of the melee, he will most likely panic and become either uncontrollable or throw his rider in an attempt to flee to safety. So we rode at a steady pace, keeping our formation and reassuring our horses. Remus was feisty anyhow, so I continually said his name and comforting words to him. He would understand the tone of my voice at least. I glanced behind me to ensure that Gallia and her women had done what they had been told, and sure enough they were moving in impeccable formation. We were kicking up a huge amount of dust, and it would not take a genius to work out that a large body of horse was on the move. I prayed that the Gauls were too busy attacking Castus and his men to notice.

We moved parallel to the Gauls until I estimated that we were well beyond their line, then I swung the column sharply to the left and led it forward about five hundred yards. Again the company commanders restrained the pace, and then I halted the men altogether. Ahead was empty space — we had moved beyond the enemy’s left flank and were behind them. But to my left I could see a great mass of warriors moving slowly inwards towards our own right flank. So, they had indeed taken down their stakes and were attacking Castus’ men. The Romans may have been disciplined, but the Gauls did not have the patience to stand and bide their time, thankfully or us. I felt a tingle of excitement go through me as I entertained the thought that we could charge them in the rear. I rode over to Burebista.

‘All company commanders to deploy their men in line, three ranks only. Then we’ll go straight at them. Wait for my signal’

He saluted and galloped back to his officers who had gathered in a group behind us. The next few minutes were a confusion of curses and shouts as fifteen hundred men on horseback cantered into position to form a thin line of horseflesh about two miles wide to face the enemy. As far as I could tell through the haze and dust, the Gauls were still wheeling inwards to attack Castus and his men, who I hoped were still holding their positions. I rode along the line, shouting encouragement and brandishing my sword at the men, who responded with hurrahs and cheers. Their morale was high and I knew that their training had been thorough. I rode back to the centre of the line where Rhesus and Burebista were sat on their horses, fifty feet in front of the first rank. Either side of us, all along the line, company commanders were sat ahead of their men, ready to lead by example. I also saw Gallia, face enclosed in her helmet and bow in hand, in front of her women. I nodded at her, she nodded back. My mouth was dry and my heart pounding. I checked my helmet straps, sword belt and bow case. I patted Remus on the neck and lowered my sword, then gently nudged him forward with my knees.

Behind me horns sounded as Burebista’s dragon followed my lead.

I felt extremely isolated as the distance between the enemy and myself decreased. I could see them now, small black figures moving slowly, though in what direction I could not tell. I could also hear them, a slowly increasing roar of thousands of men. I glanced behind me. The cavalry were maintaining perfect order. The companies were widely spaced, and the distance between each horseman was around twenty feet — if the Gauls managed to form a shield wall then each rider would at least have a chance to halt and turn around, for no horse would charge at a solid wall of the enemy. I held Remus back, for he wanted to be unleashed and gallop as fast as his powerful legs would carry him. But he would need all his reserves of stamina for the trial that lay ahead. We were nearing them now, and I could see that our presence had been detected, for groups of the enemy were clustering around their knights. Gallia had told me that each knight of a tribe had his own war band, and in battle these bands clustered around their leader. So it was now, and I felt a surge of elation as I saw gaps appearing in the enemy’s ragged line. I kicked Remus into the charge as I directed him towards a space that had formed between two groups of Gauls who were hurriedly planting their long oblong shields on the ground and ramming the ends of their spear shafts into the ground to form a wall of iron points. I rode between the two groups and split the helmet of a Gaul with my sword who was unlucky enough to be in my path. I slashed at another figure who was vainly attempting to outrun me. My blade caught him on his helmet and spun him to the ground. Behind me hundreds of horsemen were spearing and cutting their way into the enemy’s ranks, for there was were ranks. No disciplined mass of Roman legionaries, just groups of warriors attempting to fight alongside their kinsmen and lords. Those who panicked and ran were killed easily; either speared by our lances or sliced open by sword cuts, or were simply trampled to death under horses’ hooves.

After the initial clash the discipline of my cavalry and the ill discipline of the Gauls began to tell in our favour. Companies of horsemen not only cut down individuals, they also isolated groups that had clustered around knights and chiefs, slashing at them with their swords. Occasionally a rider fell from his saddle, either the victim of a spear thrust or with an arrow through his chest. But the Gauls had few archers and my men knew how to stop their horses getting too close to the spears of the Gauls. As my horsemen regrouped after the initial clash, the ground was littered with dead Gauls. It was a good start.

We redressed our lines and charged again, this time the companies in wedge formation three ranks deep. We drove deep into the enemy, slashing to the right and left with our swords and Burebista’s men protecting themselves with their shields. Once more we cut down many warriors, who were now mostly a mass of disorganised individuals. But the depth of the enemy was too great and we could not force our way through them to reach Castus’ men. I prayed they held still.

Those who have never fought in battle talk of cavalry being able to roll up an enemy flank, but armies are not carpets and thousands of soldiers cannot simply be rolled up and put away like some scroll on a library shelf. It is impossible to control, much less direct, hundreds of horsemen across a two-mile front. All one can hope for is that their officers and those they lead stay calm and remember their training, that they try to put aside their fear and bloodlust and keep to their task. But it is hard, so very hard. Gauls were running in all directions and we were cutting them down, but in front of us, haphazard and disjointed, a new line was steadily forming as knights and chiefs frantically herded their men into place, forming a thin shield wall that was slowly thickening. Between that line and the groups of Gauls who we had isolated during our first charge, lay a corpse-strewn ground that stretched for nearly two miles. We pulled back to a point just in front of the Gauls’ new line. But not all of the cavalry was reforming. I glanced behind me and saw Gallia shouting and gesticulating as her women formed a cordon around a large group of Gauls. Burebista had ridden to join me. He had a nasty gash on his right arm that was bleeding heavily.

‘Get that seen to.’ I pointed to the thickening Gaul line to our front. ‘Keep an eye on them but don’t attack them, not yet. Wait for me here.’

I rode back to Gallia, who was stringing an arrow in her bow. In front of me her riders were shooting the enemy to pieces. She had ordered all her women to remove their helmets, thus revealing their sex to the enemy. The Gauls took the bait, jeering and throwing their shields to the ground, and then thrusting their hips obscenely at them. Most of the Gauls were stripped from the waist up, some were naked altogether and smeared in war paint. They thought it hilarious that their opponents included a group of women. Some were still laughing and exposing their genitals when the first volley of arrows cut through flesh, sinew and bone. One hundred bows shooting three arrows a minute soon reduced the Gauls to a mound of dead and dying men.

Gallia next ordered her women, who had now put their helmets back on, to reform around the next group, about a hundred men mustered around a banner of a bull’s skull draped with what appeared to be strips of flesh, human I assumed. They truly revolted me.

‘You think my women are a waste of equipment now, Pacorus?’ Gallia’s eyes were aflame with fury. I was suitably put in my place.

‘No, lady,’ I replied. ‘I thank Shamash that you are here.’

She kicked Epona and rode away. Her women now surrounded the bull’s skull standard. Praxima galloped up and saluted her. Was this a dream?

‘They are ready, lady.’

Gallia walked Epona to within fifty feet of the Gauls and removed her helmet. I rode over to be beside her. She spoke in Latin, not in her native tongue.

‘Warriors of the Senones. I am one of you but fight against you. You are beaten, the price you have paid for fighting alongside the Romans. Put down your weapons and prostrate yourselves before me and you shall be spared. Refuse this and you will die.’

The Gauls whooped and jeered in response, some turning around, bending over and exposing their backsides, others laughing and inviting Gallia to come down from her horse and play with their manhoods. She merely smiled at them then shouted ‘Fire’. The arrows made a hissing noise as they cut through the air followed by a dull thud as each one found its target. Their shooting was impeccable, almost beautiful.

The first volley cut down scores of Gauls, as the others desperately grabbed their shields and attempted to form some sort of defence, but Gallia’s archers were firing from a stationary position and were taking careful aim. The second volley produced another heap of dead, this time arrows striking eye sockets and necks as only the knights among them wore helmets. The rest were bare headed, with their long hair washed in lime and combed into points. There was nowhere for them to hide, and some threw down their shields and spears and held up their arms to signal their surrender, but their tormentors were in no mood for mercy, and so a third volley felled what was left of the men who only a short time before had been hurling insults and taunts. From the circle of dead and dying came pitiful moans and cries of pain, and I saw a few figures writhing in agony on the ground with arrows sticking in them. Others were attempting to crawl, using their arms to drag their pierced bodies to seek safety. It was a forlorn hope, for Gallia nodded to Praxima who slipped her bow back in its case and jumped from her saddle. She was joined by every fifth woman, while the rest covered their comrades with their bows. Praxima drew her sword and then calmly walked among the Gauls, killing any she came across. The others did likewise. I watched in horror as this went on, but I knew that if the roles had been reversed we would have received a similar fate. Gafarn sat next to Diana, who I noticed took no part in the killing, and a glance at her quiver revealed she had fired no arrows. She was not of the disposition to be a slayer, but Gallia liked to keep her close and Gafarn watched over her like a hawk.

Praxima had sheathed her sword and had drawn her dagger, with which she used to cut off the genitals of a dead Gaul. Grinning, she held up her bloody trophy for me to admire. I heard squeals and yelps as the last Gauls were finished off. Gallia was studying me intently. ‘When your women have finished their sport, rejoin the line.’ I wheeled Remus away and returned to where my companies were reforming. Burebista was riding along the line shouting encouragement and telling the men that it would take only one more charge, and they would break. Only one more charge. But I knew we could not make that charge. We had done well and killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Gauls, but several hundred feet in front of us was a new line of them and those we would not be able to break. For one thing our horses were tired, and for another they would not run at a solid wall of shields and spears. We had failed.

I spurred Remus forward to take a closer look at the new Gaul line, halting him about two hundred feet from them. There was much shouting coming from their ranks, directed towards me no doubt. Suddenly an arrow slammed into my saddle. I quickly moved Remus back to rejoin the rest of the horsemen. I had been lucky; if it had struck six inches to the right it would have hit me in the groin. A lucky escape, but as I looked at three-side head I realised that it was one of our own arrows. How could this be?

I peered towards where the Gauls were grouped and could just make out small black slivers dropping from the sky into their ranks. Now I understood. Castus’ men must be grinding their way into the Gauls, who were no longer protected by their rows of stakes. And behind Castus and his centuries were Nergal and his archers. This was confirmed when I edged Remus forward and began to see arrows fall just in front of the ragged enemy line that was facing us. These were missiles that were overshooting their intended target. I gestured for Burebista to join me. When he arrived I saw that his injured arm was now heavily bandaged. I pointed towards the enemy.

‘Those are our arrows that are falling among them. See how some have hoisted their shields above their heads. Castus and his men must be cutting through them. And see how their line doesn’t move. If they were still advancing against our men they would be moving away from us. They are going to break. Pass the word and tell your men to be ready.’

He looked at me in amazement. ‘Are you certain, lord?’

‘Of course I am,’ I snapped irritably. ‘Now go!’

I wasn’t absolutely certain, but my instincts told me that soon the Gauls would be running for their lives. I glanced behind me to my left and right, and saw men drawing their swords as word passed along the line of what was going to happen. Gallia halted Epona beside me, followed by Gafarn and Rhesus on my other side, as her women formed up behind me. She had her helmet back on and its cheek guards closed, but I could still see that her eyes were alight with excitement.

‘They are going to break, and when they do they will be running in every direction. It will be like hunting a heard of lambs.’ I looked at her quiver. ‘You are nearly out of arrows.’

‘I have my sword and dagger,’ she growled, and then looked at my quiver, which was full.

‘Is your bow broken, Pacorus?’

Gafarn laughed. ‘Perhaps Gallia should lead, highness, if you are not up to the task.’

‘Perhaps you should shut up,’ I snapped.

‘Eyes front, lord,’ barked Rhesus.

And then it happened.

At first it was just a few individuals who started to abandon their ranks. They were followed by more and more until any semblance of order among the Gauls had disappeared. They had either forgotten all about us, or their terror was such that they considered facing us less of a danger than what was happening behind them. And that was surely terrifying enough, for the centuries of Castus, thrusting and stabbing with their short swords, were hacking a path of death and carnage through the mass of Gauls who stood in their way. And so those who could, ran. They fled towards us and ran across our front left and right. Perhaps they believed that because we had halted and now sat on our horses we were exhausted, or that our horses were blown and incapable of carrying out another charge. More likely men thought only of their own survival and fled to save their skins, for panic is infectious and once it is unleashed it is like a virulent plague that sweeps through a city.

I wrapped the reins around my wrist, drew my bow from its case and made sure I could reach my quiver, and then dug my knees into Remus’ flanks. He lurched forward and began to gather momentum. I didn’t bother to look behind me for I knew that the companies would follow, keeping in tight formation as they approached the enemy. The sound of thousands of hooves hitting the hard earth sounded like a low rumble of thunder as we neared the fear-gripped Gauls. Then I heard the wild cheering of hundreds of horsemen as we crashed into them, riding through them like the wind goes through ripened corn. And then the killing began. I shot the first Gaul in the chest, a brute wielding a large two-headed axe who stood crouched with his weapon ready to disembowel Remus, but instead was felled by an arrow. It didn’t kill him but did stun him. As I rode past him he dropped his axe and I swivelled in the saddle and put another shaft into his back. To my left Rhesus was leading his company, which was three ranks deep, in a wedge formation. Like a spear blade it cut deep into the enemy, Gauls being trampled under hooves or cut down with sword strokes, then as one the men wheeled left and then left again, cutting their way back through and then out of the enemy, keeping moving until they were not surrounded by opponents, for the bellies of standing horses are a tempting target for enemy spears, axes and swords, even if that enemy is fleeing. When they had retreated and reformed, each company charged again, almost like a gladius made of horseflesh, thrusting into the enemy’s guts and then withdrawing quickly, and stabbing again and again.

I saw horses bolt from the melee, their saddles empty, while some riders had become separated from their companies or had allowed themselves to believe that they were invincible. Most were either surrounded and pulled from their saddles, to be hacked to death by a frenzied mob of Gauls, or were mortally wounded as they tried to escape the battlefield. But for every rider who died a score of Gauls or more were cut down. One group tried to form a circle of shields to fight us off, rallying around a few bloodied and battered knights who still retained some cohesion. It was not enough.

‘Gallia,’ I shouted at the top of my voice, and seconds later she was at my side. I had made sure that I stayed close to her when we had charged, and now I had need of her arrows.

‘How many arrows have you got left?’

‘No more than half a dozen,’ she replied.

‘Cover me, then, my dear. If you can keep up.’

I galloped forward to where the Gauls were standing. As I thundered past them I shot one man holding a spear and a giant oblong shield painted blue. The arrow hit him in the neck and he squealed before he toppled backwards. Gallia was following hard on my heels and dropped another warrior as I wheeled left and left again, then galloped back on the opposite side of the enemy circle, dropping another warrior as I swept past. Gallia did likewise, and then Gafarn, Praxima and the rest began felling the remaining Gauls with their arrows. The last warrior, a tall fat man with a large moustache that hung down to his waist, screamed with rage and frustration as he surveyed his men lying dead and dying at his feet. He joined them when Gallia put an arrow through his right eye socket and into his brain. It was an exceptional shot.

The whole left wing of the enemy army had by now disintegrated, ground into nothing by my horsemen and the foot soldiers of Castus, who were now finishing off the last remnants of the Gauls and were wheeling inwards to assault the exposed flank of the Romans. Burebista rode over to me. He looked exhausted and in pain, and I could see blood seeping through his bandage.

I pointed at him. ‘Gather the companies here, dismount those who are injured or whose horses are blown.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Gallia, who removed her helmet and still looked amazingly fresh after all these hours.

‘To find Castus.’

I nudged Remus forward. He was tired now and I could feel his heightened body warmth next to my lower legs, so I kept him at a walk as we threaded our way across a churned-up ground that resembled an open-air slaughterhouse. The dead lay still, but around them dozens, hundreds, of the wounded writhed and crawled in agony, while some of them, their bodies speared and lacerated, lay for death to take them, their lifeblood oozing out of them onto the earth. I saw a Gaul on all fours coughing blood, another sitting on the ground and trying to hold his guts in place inside a belly that had been sliced wide open. Men whimpered clutching at stumps that had once been their arms. Interspersed between the dead Gauls were slain horses, while others lay fatally wounded on the ground. In places there were heaps of dead clustered around a slain knight or chief, faithful to their lord to the end. It seemed to take an age for me to traverse this stretch of horror, but eventually I saw blocks of red shields marching across my front, century after century being marshalled left to assault the Romans’ flank. I smiled as I saw the telltale long black hair jutting from beneath steel helmets. Their discipline was excellent, but Castus’ Germans still looked like barbarians dressed up as Romans. Those who had been selected as centurions had spotted me early but did nothing; they had seen me often enough in their camp to know who I was, or at least they knew my white horse.

I found Castus sat on a stool with a surgeon stood over him applying a bandage around his head. At his feet lay a helmet that had a large dent in it. A concerned Cannicus was observing the surgeon, a small thin man wearing a simple grey tunic with a large canvas bag hanging from his left shoulder. He tied off the bandage, then examined Castus’ eyes and announced, ‘You’ll live.’ Then he walked away to attend to others. Castus saw me and stood up as I dismounted and led Remus over to him. We embraced; I also took the hand offered by Cannicus.

‘Glad to see you are nearly in one piece, my friend,’ I grinned.

He winced. ‘Gaul bastard with an axe nearly took my head off. Managed to rip open his belly, though. Where are your cavalry?’

‘About half a mile away. They’re no use now, the horses are blown.’

‘It doesn’t matter, lord,’ said Cannicus, ‘you helped to halt them and then they gave way when we attacked them. Then it was just a matter of pushing forward and killing as many as we could.’

Castus nodded. ‘That’s about right. They should have kept behind their stakes. Once we had stopped their charge we got nice and cosy with them, and sliced them to pieces. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and I should know, I was in the front rank at the time.’

I took a drink from a water bottle Cannicus offered me. ‘I can imagine. Where’s Nergal?’

‘Spartacus rode over and ordered him and all your archers over to the other wing when he realised that we were winning here.’ Castus looked behind him as rank upon rank of his men marched forward, javelins in their right hands and their shields tight to their left sides. ‘It won’t be long now.’

He picked up his helmet and grimaced as he forced it back on his head over the bandage. He clasped my arm. ‘I will see you later, my friend.’

‘Keep safe, Castus, and you too Cannicus.’

They both grinned at me and then strode away to rejoin their men. In the distance the muffled sound of shouts mingled with weapons clashing indicated that the battle was still raging.

The battle was now entering its final, bloody stages, as Castus’ legions were not only cutting their way into the Romans’ left flank, they were moving into the rear of the enemy army. And that army was now on the verge of defeat. Our men were tired, but the destruction of the Gauls on our right wing had given them a second wind and now they could taste victory. One German legion, the one nearest the Romans, was wheeled sharply left into the flank of the Roman formation that had fought the Thracians to a standstill. But now it was being assaulted in the front and on its flank, and could do nothing to prevent Castus’ other legions, those who had been facing the Gauls, from advancing forward and then swinging left to get behind the Romans. The latter were being herder steadily to the left, towards their right wing where the Gauls were positioned opposite Afranius. And those Gauls were being shot to pieces by my archers, still standing as they were behind their stakes and presenting an easy target. They could withstand short, intense volleys, but a steady, withering fire that went on and on was more than they could bear. Afranius had pulled his men back where they locked shields to the front and overhead — he had made more charges — where they were mostly safe from the enemy’s projectiles: axes, spears, sling shots and the occasional arrow. Our archers were brought forward to stand directly behind the first line of Spanish cohorts, from where they shot at the enemy.

After I had given the contents of my waterskin to Remus, I rode him back to Burebista’s men. When I reached them many were lying on the ground with their saddles beside them. A screen of riders had been placed around them to warn of any impending attack, but there was no Roman cavalry to be seen anywhere; indeed, I had seen few mounted enemy this day. Rhesus, Burebista, Gafarn and Gallia were stood in a circle of officers on the edge of the group. It was apparent that the men accepted her presence without protest. Her prowess in battle had obviously won them over.

‘All company commanders to assemble their men,’ I shouted as I neared them.

Burebista spoke to his officers, who sprinted away, as did Gallia.

‘What news, lord?’

‘The battle goes well,’ I replied. ‘We need to make one last effort to help our comrades fighting on foot.’

A worried look crossed his face. ‘The horses are tired, lord, and so are the men.’

‘I know, but we will not be making any more charges. It will be more a case of casting a large net so that the little fishes will not escape.’

‘Lord?’

‘All will become clear, Burebista.’

I rode at the head of a thousand riders, for we had lost two hundred killed and another three hundred wounded, plus dozens of horses slain and hurt. The wounded were left behind and told to make their way back to the wagons, where they would be treated. The injured horses were likewise left to receive treatment. It was well past mid-afternoon now, and the heat of the day was slowly abating, though it was still warm. We were all covered in grime and soaked with sweat, for it had been a long day.

We rode in one great column, five companies riding side-by-side, and each one in two files, with another five behind them. The pace was a slow canter to preserve the horses’ last reserves of strength, but when we rode behind the diminishing enemy army I saw that Castus’ men were doing likewise and were filling the ground in front of us. So we rode on, towards the irrigation ditch that the enemy had used to anchor their right flank. Here there were no troops of our army, but as we deployed into line several hundred feet behind the Gauls, I could hear a terrible tumult coming from their ranks. I could not discern what was happening, and my view was partly obscured by clouds of dust, but I surmised that there was some fighting going on. I gave the signal for the line to advance and we walked towards the Gauls. As we got nearer I could see many figures lying on the ground directly ahead, with others being carried on stretchers or limping to the rear — the wounded. There were hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, and when they spotted us a pathetic cry came from their lips. I rode back to Burebista and signalled Gallia to join us. Then I gave the order to charge.

Our attack failed.

The horses, already tired from hours of exertion, were not pushed by their riders, and in truth I realised that Remus was sweating heavily and I was unwilling to risk his health for the sake of glory. So we cantered up to where the Gauls had actually formed a makeshift line of shields and spears in front of their wounded. My cavalry slowed and then stopped around a hundred feet from that line of steel and wood. We did some damage, though, as Gallia and her woman used up their last reserves of arrows and I did the same, so that after a few minutes there was yet more enemy dead heaped in front of their wall of shields. There was nothing else left to do. I signalled the withdrawal and we walked our horses back beyond the range of any archers or slingers who might be lurking among their ranks. There we waited.

We didn’t have to wait long, for the Roman legions, still fighting with discipline, were still being pushed towards their right flank and the irrigation ditch. Through the clouds of dust that were constantly being kicked up I could see Gauls slowly shuffling to our right. And on the left I could make out fresh cohorts — Castus’ men — moving in their blocks of centuries and gradually overlapping the Gauls. The two Roman legions were now surrounded on three sides, front, left and rear, and I wondered how many legionaries were still alive. It was now late afternoon and the sun was slowly sinking in the west, but it was still warm and there was no breeze. My mouth was terribly dry and my tongue felt as though it was too large for my mouth. My eyes stung from the sweat that had run into them. I pulled off my helmet. The leather lining inside was soaked and my hair was pasted to my skull. Burebista appeared beside me.

‘Are you hurt, lord?’

‘No. Tell the men to dismount and give what water they have to their horses. There’s nothing we can do now.’

He looked sheepish. ‘I am sorry we failed, lord.’

I reached over and laid my hand on his shoulder. ‘The fault was mine entirely.’

Our part in the battle was now over, yet I did not realise that the battle itself would soon be over as well. Our army was now herding the enemy towards the ditch, though order was now breaking down among the Gauls as the grim realisation that they had been overwhelmed dawned on them. The Romans, to give them credit, fought and died in their ranks, though one or two centuries broke and tried to escape. It availed them little, for they merely joined the press of men who sought sanctuary across the ditch. But that ditch had been chosen to anchor their flank because it was wide and its sides were sheer, and it was bone dry for it was summer. Men jumped and tumbled over the sides and broke legs and arms when they hit the hard surface. Hundreds hurled themselves in, falling on those who had jumped seconds before, and soon there was a writhing mass of tangled and twisted bodies crammed into the ditch. Some, the lucky ones, managed to escape by freeing themselves from the mound of humanity and then walk, run or limp along the ditch northwards. I did not know how long they would have to travel for the ditch stretched for miles into the distance.

The remaining Romans in their centuries threw down their weapons and held their hands up to beg for mercy. Our troops, mostly Thracians and Germans who had fought them all day long, were exhausted and were probably glad to stop hacking and thrusting. The Romans were marched to the rear, to await Spartacus’ decision as to their fate. Afranius was not so merciful. When the Gauls facing him, who had been subjected to a withering hailstorm of arrows all day, broke and fled, he ordered his men to pull down the stakes between him and his adversaries. And when it was done he threw them forward. The only resistance they faced was a thin line of Gauls who were trying to cover the retreat of their comrades. They died in a matter of minutes as all the cohorts of Spaniards raced forward and butchered everything in their path. Within fifteen minutes they had linked up with Castus’ men and the battle was over. But not the slaughter.

I ordered my cavalry to mount their horses once more and form into companies, and then we rode forward to lend what assistance we could. I found Cannicus, bloody and tired, holding an impromptu conference with some of his cohort commanders. He raised a hand when he saw me.

‘You live, Cannicus. Where is Castus?’

He slapped one of his officers on the back and then ordered them away. ‘He also lives. He is with Spartacus escorting the prisoners.’

‘We have prisoners?’

‘Once we had broken their left wing and surrounded them, the fight went out of them, especially as their commander was cut down. We cut his head off and threw it into their ranks. I reckon there must be about four or five thousand of them, all Roman.’

So the governor of Mutina was dead. I hoped that King Ambiorix also lay dead on the battlefield.

The sounds of battle were still coming from the direction of the ditch, about half a mile away. Cannicus took off his helmet and wiped his brow with a rag. ‘There’s still some fighting going on over there. Some of the Gauls must have been cornered.’

‘I will see if we can be of assistance. Take care of yourself, Cannicus.’

He smiled wearily. ‘You too, Pacorus.’

I rode at the head of my horse to where the last remnants of the Gauls were being destroyed by the soldiers of Afranius. A great group of Gallic warriors had been surrounded by his men about three hundred yards from the ditch. They stood now, packed shoulder to shoulder with their shields locked together and their spears pointing outwards. They had formed into a large square, within which there was no room, just a mass of mostly bare-headed warriors standing in mute defiance. On each side of the square, a cohort of Afranius’ men faced the Gauls, while behind these cohorts were companies of my archers. I saw Godarz and rode over to where he was standing. I dismounted and embraced him, while his archers cheered when they saw their fellow cavalrymen ride into view.

‘Good to see you, highness.’

I released him. ‘You too, Godarz. It has been a hard day.’

‘It has indeed.’

‘Where is Nergal?’

Godarz gestured to the north. ‘Afranius sent him and his men along the ditch. It is full of fleeing Gauls. Dead Gauls by now, I should imagine.’

I looked towards the square of Gauls. ‘What’s going on here?’

Godarz spat on the ground. ‘We managed to trap this lot and now Afranius is deciding what to do with them. Look’s like there’s around three or four thousand.’

Afranius suddenly appeared, smiling when he saw me. ‘A great victory, Pacorus.’ He bowed his head to me. ‘I dispatched Nergal north to kill as many Gauls as he could who were in the ditch. Your men are fine archers.’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘they have been taught by Parthians.’ I jerked my head towards the Gauls. ‘Are you trying to persuade them to give themselves up?’

Afranius looked horrified. ‘No. We sent an emissary under a banner of truce but they cut him down. They stood behind those wretched stakes all day. It was only when the rest of their army had been surrounded id they beat a retreat. And then we were knocking down those posts as fast as we could. They thought that we would be delayed long enough to make their escape. But they were wrong.’

I looked towards the Gauls. Indeed they were. Did you see a king among them?’

‘A king?’

‘It doesn’t matter. He pays others to do his handiwork.’

‘As soon as my men are in position we will kill them all,’ said Afranius.

I turned to Godarz. ‘How many arrows do your men have left.’

He shrugged. ‘Down to our last ten each, or thereabouts. We did a lot of shooting today.’

I looked at Afranius. ‘Let Godarz soften them up first.’

‘Use all the arrows you have left,’ I said to Godarz, ‘we can always make new ones.’

I put a hand on Afranius’ shoulder. ‘Well done.’

He beamed with delight as I remounted Remus. ‘Godarz, when it’s over stay here. I am going to find Nergal.’ I looked up at the sky; it was early evening by now. ‘I should be back before nightfall.’

We rode north parallel to the ditch, as behind me I heard the hiss of hundreds of arrows slicing through the air, followed by shouts and screams as their metal heads hit flesh and bone. There was no hurry now, so we adopted a gentle trot as we followed the route of the ditch. Like most things the Romans built, it was perfectly straight. I rode a few feet from the edge of it, with Gallia beside me and her women, Gafarn and Burebista behind us, followed by his companies. The ditch itself was filled with dead Gauls, the victims of Nergal’s archers. We travelled for at least a mile before we came across the first group of his men, a company of his dragon riding back towards the battlefield. They cheered as we approached. I spoke to their leader, a tall Parthian with a dark-skinned face and long arms.

‘Where is Commander Nergal?’

‘Half a mile ahead, highness. We have no more arrows left, so he sent us back.’

I looked at him. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Hatra, highness, ten years in your father’s army.’

‘Excellent. You and I will see Hatra again. You have done well today.’

He bowed his head. ‘Thank you, highness.’

We at last found Nergal a mile further north, marching back on foot at the head of his companies and leading his horse. He looked tired and was covered in dust, but he beamed with delight when he saw us and halted his column. He bowed his head to me and then we embraced. It was good to see him. When we separated Praxima raced up and threw her arms around him, which brought a mighty cheer from his men.

‘Are you too out of arrows?’ I asked him.

He held up his empty quiver. ‘Not one left among us, highness.’

‘I have arrows left, my love,’ said Praxima. ‘We can go back and kill some more.’

Nergal and those men within earshot laughed. ‘I think there has been enough killing today, my sweet.’

And so there had been, for the stretch of ground that some call the field of honour had today been seeded with the dead. They lay in heaps where the fighting had been the fiercest and where men had been unable to escape the rain of arrows that had been showered upon them. Dead Gauls lay piled around their knights, while scores surrounded their dead chiefs, cut down trying to protect their lords. The ditch was filled with a great mound of dead and dying Gauls where they had thrown themselves in, while along its bottom for a distance of at least three miles lay a carpet of corpses.

‘A great victory, highness, my congratulations,’ said Rhesus.

‘Thank you, Rhesus.’

I looked at him and suddenly realised that he was very pale. Then he tumbled from his saddle onto the ground. I leaped down from Remus and crouched by his side, as others also dismounted and crowded round.

‘Give us some room,’ I shouted. ‘Fetch some water.’

Diana gave me her waterskin and knelt beside Rhesus, then gently lifted his head so he could take a sip. A spasm of pain shot through his body and I saw that his right was soaked with blood. Diana cradled his head as the pain swept though him.

‘A Gaul spear, highness,’ he said to me weakly.

‘Don’t talk. We’ll soon have you patched up.’

Diana looked at him with brown eyes filled with kindness and understanding, smiling and giving him another mouthful of water.

‘Thank you, lady.’ He looked at her. ‘Do you believe in heaven?’

‘Of course,’ she replied.

‘I lost my wife and child to the plague a few years ago. I have always hoped that they would be waiting for me.’

She smiled at him. ‘They are waiting for you, Rhesus, they are waiting for you in a place where there is no sickness and pain, only happiness and love. Go to them.’

Diana held his hand as Rhesus, a brave soldier from Thrace, slipped away from this life and joined his family in heaven. Diana closed his eyes and then kissed his forehead as those around knelt and bowed their heads. I nodded to Diana in thanks as tears began to run down my cheeks.

Thus ended the Battle of Mutina. We were now free to march north and out of Italy. Spartacus had kept his promise.