Carrhae

Chapter 16

I knew that we were greatly outnumbered but also knew that every one of the soldiers who faced the Armenians was a professional: a man who spent every day training with his weapons and learning drills until they became second nature. My old tutor Bozan, now long dead, had always stressed the importance of training.

‘Train and train until you carry out drills unthinkingly,’ he used to say, ‘so fighting becomes instinctive and your weapons become extensions of your arms. Train hard, fight easy, boy, that’s the secret.’

Even Peroz’s horse archers had been schooled in Dura’s ways and were now every bit as good as Vagises’ mounted archers. Except that today the latter were not mounted. The Durans were drawn up in the centre, five cohorts in the first line and five in the second. On their left stood the Exiles, also arrayed in two lines of five cohorts, and between the first and second lines in each legion stood Vagises’ archers, ready to spring a nasty surprise on the enemy when they attacked. Their horses were positioned to the rear of the legions, behind the line of wagons that were loaded with spare javelins, swords and shields, water bottles and medical supplies for Alcaeus’ orderlies who stood ready with their bandages and instruments to patch up lacerated bodies and shattered bones.

Every tenth Duran horse archer was detailed to stay with the horses to keep them calm when the fighting began and the air would be filled with the cries of the dying and the stench of urine and dung.

The vanguard of the army were Marcus’ fifty small ballista, each one positioned behind two large wicker screens faced with thick hide and over six feet high, behind which the crews could work in safety. The screens were closed up so there was only a small gap between them, through which the ballistae could fire their iron-tipped bolts. These machines were ideal for softening up the enemy or goading them into action.

I looked down at my right hand, which was shaking.

‘Are you all right, Pacorus?’ asked a concerned Gallia beside me.

‘Mm? Yes, of course. The shakes, that is all. Strange, I have not had them in years. I cannot remember the last time I experienced them.’

‘A sign of getting old, perhaps,’ quipped Vagharsh behind me, holding the griffin standard.

I reached over and laid a hand on Gallia’s arm. ‘If things go awry I want you to get back to the city. You will be safe there.’

She took my hand and kissed it. ‘My place is by your side. I flee from no enemy.’

Vagharsh laughed. ‘That told you. You didn’t really think Gallia would turn tail and run, did you? It’s not in the Gauls’ nature. You must remember Crixus and his feral followers. Gallia may be Queen of Dura but she is still a wild Gaul at heart.’

My wife turned and smiled at him and behind us the mail-clad Amazons grinned at each other. The vexatious kettledrums were still sounding as both armies stared at each other across the five hundred paces of no-man’s land.

Then there was a mighty blast of horns and the Armenians opened the battle.

‘No parley, then,’ remarked Vagharsh, ‘they must fancy their chances.’

‘Their commander is probably thinking that he will be dining in Hatra tonight,’ I said.

‘Then we will have to disabuse him of that notion,’ said Gallia defiantly.

Whoever the Armenian commander was he knew what he was doing because first he sent in his slingers with archers following behind. A long line of slingers recruited from the wild regions of the Caucasus walked forward to pepper the legions and ballista crews with their shots. Many people scoff at slingers, believing them to be threadbare shepherds who are worthless on the battlefield. But what many commanders do not realise is that a lead pellet or stone propelled by a sling at a straight angle has greater force than an arrow. So now hundreds of men wearing no armour or helmets and carrying no other weapon but a long knife calmly walked forward, reached into the leather pouches slung across their shoulders to extract lead missiles, and released them from their slings using an underhand motion.

As soon as movement had been discerned in the Armenian ranks in front of them and their officers had spotted the slingers and archers, trumpets had blasted among the Durans and Exiles and seconds later twenty cohorts formed testudo. The legionaries knelt, the first ranks forming a shield wall and the succeeding ranks lifting their shields above their heads to form a roof of leather and wood. The lead shots slammed into the shield wall as the slingers continued to walk forward, and then the ballistae began shooting.

The Armenians had no doubt noticed the pairs of what appeared to be wooden panels deployed in front of the army but had probably dismissed them. But now from between these panels came iron-tipped bolts that went straight through bodies to impale those behind. The crews worked feverishly to shoot four bolts a minute — two hundred deadly projectiles smashing bones and piercing flesh at a range of four hundred paces. Instinctively the slingers stopped, unsure what to do, as their own missiles made no impression on the locked shields of the Durans and Exiles. And as more and more of them were cut down by ballista bolts, their commanders decided to withdraw them out of range. Horns sounded and the surviving slingers ran back to beyond the range of the ballistae, which stopped shooting. I smiled. First blood to us.

The Durans and Exiles remained in their testudo formation as the Armenians next sent forward their archers to saturate our ranks with arrows. Vagises’ horse archers were huddled behind the first line of the Durans and Exiles and Alcaeus and his orderlies had taken shelter under the wagons in the rear of the legions as the first Armenian arrows began to land among them.

Armenian bows were not like our recurve type, being straight limbed and longer. As such their range was shorter and so the archers were forced to close to within two hundred paces of our front ranks to achieve maximum effect. Once more the ballistae began shooting as the thousands of densely packed men wearing green tunics and cloth caps rushed forward and then stopped to release their arrows. The front ranks released arrows directly at the shield wall in a vain attempt to literally shoot the shields to pieces, while those behind loosed their arrows in a high trajectory so they would fall on the rear ranks.

From where I was sitting it looked impressive as a blizzard of arrows arched into the sky and then fell on the legions, but the men had been subjected to such volleys before and had made sure there were no gaps in the roof that protected them. The bronze-tipped arrows did not have the force to pierce our shields and after about five minutes the arrow storm abated and then stopped altogether as the Armenians exhausted their ammunition. The ballistae had also stopped shooting, their crews having taken shelter behind their wooden screens, and thus another lull descended over the battlefield as the Armenian archers pulled back to their own lines. Again the testudo remained in place as Domitus and Chrestus awaited the next enemy assault.

Riders came from Gafarn and Peroz to inform me that, though they both faced Armenian horse archers at least equal to the number of their own horsemen, the enemy had made no aggressive moves, both sides merely observing each other nervously.

‘Why don’t you order an assault?’ said an impatient Gallia.

‘Because, my sweet, the enemy is only testing our strength, probing our lines. He wants us to attack so he can bring his greater numbers to bear but I will not give him that satisfaction.’

‘Once a Gaul, always a Gaul,’ commented Vagharsh.

There was a great cacophony of drums from the enemy ranks and then a huge mass of Armenians began advancing against the legions: rank upon rank of foot soldiers armed with spears and carrying round wicker shields. The drummers within their massed ranks banged their instruments wildly so that it sounded as if a huge herd of animals was bearing down on the Durans and Exiles. The latter responded with trumpet blasts and the men abandoned their testudo to meet this fresh onslaught.

The Armenian spearmen were dressed in brown tunics and red leggings but wore no armour and only linen caps on their heads. But there was a great many of them, upwards of forty thousand or more. And at the same time the horse archers on the Armenian flanks entered the fray, companies riding forward to loose arrows at their opponents before withdrawing to their original positions. These movements were designed purely to keep our horse archers occupied and prevent them shooting missiles at the densely packed ranks of the unarmoured levy spearmen that were marching against the legions. Gafarn and Peroz duly obliged and became willing partners in this desultory duel, sending parties of their own horsemen forward to loose a few arrows and then pulling them back. Dura’s camel train was located to the rear of Peroz’s dragons and the amply furnished train of Hatra was positioned behind Gafarn’s horse archers, so neither of our wings would run out of ammunition any time soon.

The Armenian commander, having got the attention of my two wings, probably believed that his spearmen would at least be able to push back my centre due to sheer weight of numbers alone. But I had a surprise in store. As the spearmen increased their pace and began shouting and cheering to fortify their courage, Vagises’ archers standing behind the first-line cohorts drew back their bowstrings and released their arrows. Two thousand, seven hundred arrows arched into the sky and then fell among the densely packed spearmen, followed six seconds later by a further volley. The Armenians ran into this arrow storm of thirteen and half thousand missiles every minute at around three hundred paces from the legions, the missiles scything down hundreds of men as they pierced shoulders, necks, chests and legs. Cheers were replaced by high-pitched screams and yelps as the front ranks of the spearmen were turned into heaps of groaning, twitching wounded.

Vagises’ men kept shooting their arrows as they emptied the spare quivers they had been issued with, mounds of dead Armenians being created in front of the legions as the missiles easily found unprotected flesh. But as quickly as spearmen were killed or wounded others behind them ran forward to get to grips with Domitus’ men.

Vagises’ archers could only fire over the heads of the centuries in front of them, which meant that their killing ground stopped two hundred paces out from the front rank of legionaries. Those spearmen who had emerged unhurt from the strip of ground that was saturated by arrows now formed up in front of the legions. They had been badly unnerved by seeing hundreds of their comrades being killed by Parthian arrows, but now their officers cajoled and threatened them to reform their ranks and charge the white shields sporting red griffin wings that stood in front of them. And their courage was fortified as the arrow volleys lessened and stopped as Vagises’ men ran out of ammunition and more and more additional spearmen came forward to swell their numbers. As they formed their ranks to charge many raised their weapons and shook them at the silent legionaries, spitting curses and threatening to send them to the next life on the end of their spears. Then as one they issued a blood-curdling scream and hurled themselves forward at the legions, and to fresh horror.

When they were fifty paces from my men there was a blast of trumpets and then the whole first line charged forward, the first five ranks in each century hurling their javelins against the Armenians. Once more hundreds of the latter were cut down by this fresh missile storm and then the legionaries were among them. The ranks that had thrown their javelins drew their short swords and sprang at the stunned spearmen, smashing their shield bosses into faces or bodies to push opponents over, stabbing gladius points into groins, necks and eye sockets as they hacked their way into the enemy.

Now it was the turn of the legionaries to cheer and shout as the Armenian ranks buckled under this terrifying onslaught. They had already been shaken by the arrow storm but had managed to salvage some of their discipline and courage, but now these part-time soldiers collapsed under the unrelenting assault of the Durans and Exiles. Within minutes thousands of spearmen had been cut down, those still living being trampled and stamped on by the advancing legionaries. Hobnailed sandals were smashed down onto windpipes, arms and groins and the air was rent with high-pitched screams. Some Armenians lying face-up had their heads severed as legionaries slammed their metal-rimmed shields down hard on their necks.

Whistles and trumpets sounded and the front-line cohorts halted and reformed as the Armenian spearmen fled in headlong retreat. I nodded with satisfaction. Our centre still held and that attack had cost the Armenians thousands of casualties. The ballistae had been abandoned during the assault of the spearmen but now their crews, who had sought sanctuary behind the first-line cohorts, ran forward to retrieve their machines before the next attack.

I looked over to the right wing to see Gafarn’s horse archers still in their companies adjacent to the right flank of the Durans, but on the left it was a different story. Though Peroz’s men were still extant in their companies there was a large gap between them and the left flank of the Exiles. The Armenian horse archers facing him had obviously enticed him further away from our centre and now there was a yawning gap that could be exploited by the enemy.

I turned and pointed at Zenobia. ‘Ride forward immediately and find Vagises. Tell him to mount his men and bring them here.’

She saluted and shouted at her horse to move, the beast jerking forward as it sped across the ground.

I pointed at the gap. ‘The enemy had lured Peroz further over to the left, you see?’ Gallia nodded.

Vistaspa had also noticed the gap and was manoeuvring his heavy horsemen to meet whatever threat came through it. But as yet nothing appeared and while I was absorbed with what was happening on the left the Armenians launched a fresh assault against our centre.

Perhaps up to ten thousand levy spearmen had been killed or wounded by Vagises’ archers and Domitus’ legionaries but to the Armenian commander they were expendable: farmers and townsfolk who had a minimum of training and deficient weaponry. They were chaff and Armenia would not weep for their lost souls. A far tougher proposition was now approaching the legions: heavy swordsmen.

As Vagises drew up his horse in front of me his men flooded the ground to the rear of the Amazons and then companies peeled away to make the trip to the camel train to replenish their stocks of arrows.

‘They are just toying with us,’ he said, nodding to Gallia beside me. ‘But I have a feeling that the real battle is just beginning.’

‘Your men did well, Vagises,’ I said.

He moved his horse to take up position on my left side and pointed at the widening space between our centre and left flank.

‘I don’t like the look of that.’

‘No,’ I agreed, ‘take two dragons of your men and seal the gap. The rest will stay here with me as a reserve. I have a feeling we may need them.’

He peeled away to consult his officers as there was a great tumult in the centre and the Armenian heavy swordsmen attacked. Just as I had modelled my foot on Rome’s legions so had the Armenians based their heavy swordsmen on the Roman model. Protected by conical helmets with cheekguards, mail shirts and oval-shaped wooden shields faced with bronze or iron, these men carried two short throwing spears that they now hurled at my frontline cohorts before drawing their swords and charging. These men were professional soldiers who were recruited from the Armenian heartlands. They were well paid, well equipped and highly motivated and they numbered at least twenty thousand men.

Just as Dura’s legions were trained to hurl their javelins and then charge at an enemy with their swords drawn, so the Armenians threw their missiles and launched themselves at the legions. Three things prevented them breaking our line. Firstly, they faced soldiers who were even better trained and motivated than they were, which meant that that the first-line cohorts were able to withstand the hail of spears that were thrown at them. Though dozens of legionaries were killed or wounded the line did not break. Secondly, the first-line cohorts that received the Armenian charge were actually the cohorts that had begun the battle as the second line. In the aftermath of the defeat of the levy spearmen Domitus had brought up his fresh second line to take the place of those cohorts that had battled the spearmen. Thirdly, and perhaps decisively, the ground in front of the legions was literally carpeted with dead spearmen, which broke up the momentum of the heavy swordsmen’s charge as enemy units negotiated their way through and over piles of dead men.

The awful din of a huge mêlée erupted as the swordsmen finally got to grips with the Durans and Exiles, the front ranks of both sides stabbing and hacking at opponents with their swords. The frenzy of sword strikes produced fewer casualties than expected, though, as men kept their shields tight to their torsos and tucked their chins into their chests to protect their necks. The reality was that a small number of men in the front ranks of both sides duelled with each other as the ranks behind them waited for the breakthrough that never came.

The centre was a scene of deadlock but on the left a disaster was unfolding.

Vagises was leading two thousand of his horse archers towards the gap between Peroz’s rapidly fading horsemen on the left wing and the left flank of the Exiles when groups of enemy horsemen suddenly began pouring through said gap: a seething wedge of horseflesh made up of mounted spearmen in green tunics, scale armour cuirasses and helmets. They were moving fast towards the cataphracts that stood motionless in front of them.

There were dozens of dragon windsocks fluttering among the Armenian horsemen, each one being the standard of a company of around a hundred men. From my position I could not determine how many enemy horsemen there were but a guess would put the figure at fifteen thousand or more.

Horse archers are not able to engage in a close-quarter battle with enemy horsemen who are armoured and equipped with lances and shields. Their most effective tactic is to shoot at an enemy from a safe distance, like a swarm of hornets, arrows being their deadly sting. But now Vagises led his men directly towards the Armenian swarm, his companies deploying into a long line of wedge formations, each one four ranks deep. His horse archers were galloping towards the right flank of the Armenian mass and began loosing arrows at a range of seven or eight hundred paces from them.

Shooting around four arrows a minute, two thousand missiles landed among the Armenians every fifteen seconds. They struck horses and their riders, sending animals careering to the ground where they thrashed around in agony. Dozens of injured beasts, wild-eyed with terror and pain shooting through their bodies, collided with other horses and knocked them off-balance. Riders were thrown from saddles and trampled under hooves as Vagises’ men inflicted carnage on the Armenian flank.

When they were around two hundred paces from the enemy the companies of Dura’s horsemen wheeled their horses to the right and then right again as they about-faced and retreated, twisting in the saddle and shooting arrows over the hind quarters of their animals as they did so.

Now Vistaspa led his cataphracts forward and the ground began to shake as two and half thousand armoured horses and their riders broke into a canter and then a gallop, hundreds of kontus shafts lowered as they were held two handedly on the right flank of the animals. It took my breath away as I beheld the steel-encased horseflesh of Dura and Hatra race across the ground and then smashed into the Armenians. I punched the air as I heard the sickening scraping noise that told me that kontus points were going through shields and armour.

‘Pacorus!’ Gallia shouted.

‘I know, it is a magnificent sight. Hail victory!’

‘No, Pacorus, Look!’

I turned away from admiring the unstoppable charge of the cataphracts to see with horror Gafarn’s horse archers fleeing from a great number of Armenian heavy horsemen who were now dividing into two parts: one that continued to pursue Hatra’s horsemen, and another that was riding towards our position. The Armenian commander had timed the charge of his horsemen with perfection — on one wing unleashing them into an inviting gap; on the other committing his mailed fist to smash through the horse archers on our right flank. I stared open-mouthed as at least three thousand heavy horsemen, followed by Armenian horse archers, galloped after Gafarn’s men who were shooting arrows over their horses’ hind quarters as they retreated back to Hatra. The army’s right wing had evaporated.

The Armenian horsemen who had peeled away and who were now bearing down on us wore steel arm armour, scale armour cuirasses and green plumes on their helmets. Each man carried a long lance and no doubt was also armed with a sword and perhaps also a mace or axe. One thing was certain: the thousand horse archers with me plus the Amazons would not be able to withstand them.

The Armenians had now halted and were dressing their lines preparatory to a charge to destroy us. Frantic and frequent trumpet blasts to my front indicated that the legions’ commanders had also witnessed the collapse of Gafarn’s wing.

‘The legions are forming square,’ I said to no one in particular.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Gallia.

I peered at the Armenians horsemen and saw that though their horses wore scale armour, the suits covered the animals’ bodies only, not their heads or necks. I called forward the company commanders.

I pointed at the Armenian horsemen beginning to walk their animals towards us.

‘The horses’ heads and necks are vulnerable. We are therefore going to charge them and drop as many of the beasts as we can before taking refuge in the square being formed by the legions. Go!’

They saluted and rode back to their commands, horns sounded and then the Duran dragon and Amazons slowly swung right to face the Armenians. The latter had now broken into a canter as they closed the gap between them and us, their lances lowered to skewer Parthian flesh. I raised my hand and signalled the advance and we too broke into a trot and then a canter. Gallia leaned forward in her saddle and without thinking pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it in her bowstring. Horns blew and we broke into a gallop, Remus straining his muscles to outrun Epona beside him. I strung an arrow and released it, then nocked another and another and another as missiles flew at the Armenians and scythed down their front ranks. Horses pulled up and collapsed as arrows hit them, catapulting their riders onto the ground.

Then, just as we had done a hundred times before on the training fields, fresh horn blasts signalled a wheel to the right and then right again as we about-faced and retreated from the Armenians. I twisted in the saddle and shot an arrow at the oncoming enemy, and then a second before turning away and shouting at Remus to move faster to escape our pursuers.

Then I diverted him right and the others followed as we headed towards one side of the square that had now been formed by the Durans and Exiles.

I pulled up Remus as the cohorts opened to allow my riders to enter the square as Gallia pulled up beside me, the Amazons grouped around us while Vagises’ dragon flooded into the square. The Armenian heavy horsemen had not pursued us and were content to form up into a long line around five hundred paces away.

‘Why don’t they charge?’ asked Gallia.

‘There is no need,’ I answered. ‘They have succeeded in swatting away one of our wings and have got into our rear. We are now surrounded, my sweet, like sheep in a pen.’

I pulled on Remus’ reins and walked him into the square with my wife and her warriors as the cohorts closed ranks and faced their shields towards the Armenians. Gafarn was gone, Vistaspa and Vagises had been separated from the main body of the army and I had no idea where Peroz was. As the sun descended in the west I was facing certain defeat in front of the city of my birth.

I thanked Shamash that Lucius Domitus commanded the army for as soon as he had discerned that both our wings had disappeared and that there was fighting in the rear he had disengaged his front cohorts from the Armenians swordsmen and formed square. He had also fortuitously ensured that the wagons carrying spare weapons and shields were within that square. An additional bonus was that most of the animals from Dura’s camel train had also sought sanctuary within the square so at least we had replacement arrows to shoot at the enemy.

The Armenian swordsmen did not follow the legionaries as they withdrew, having lost a not inconsiderable numbers of men to gladius strikes. The Durans held the top and right-hand sides of the square, the Exiles its left-hand side and rear, as all round it enemy troops deployed into position.

I slid off Remus’ back as I saw the white-crested helmet of Domitus coming towards me. Gallia ordered Zenobia to dismount the Amazons as the rest of Dura’s horse archers also jumped down from their horses. A curious quiet engulfed the square as the officers of both sides worked feverishly to rearrange their men and ignored their opponents. Quartermasters issued fresh javelins, shields and swords to battered and bruised legionaries who formed orderly lines at the wagons while Alcaeus and his physicians ran around patching wounds and carrying the seriously wounded into the centre of the square.

Domitus had taken off his helmet and was wiping his sweaty forehead when he reached me. ‘Bit careless of you to lose both of your wings.’

I too took off my helmet and wiped my brow on my sleeve. ‘There are too many of them, I realise that now.’

‘What do you want to do?’

Chrestus ran over as Gallia began counting the arrows left in her quiver.

‘We are only half a mile from Hatra,’ I said. ‘Gafarn has most likely withdrawn to the city and Vistaspa is too good a soldier to allow his heavy horsemen to be trapped and destroyed, so I must deduct that he too has sought refuge in Hatra. We should do the same.’

Gallia was unimpressed. ‘You will give victory to the enemy?’

‘Either that or stay here and be slaughtered,’ said Domitus flatly.

‘We take the wounded with us,’ I said. ‘Those who are seriously injured can be loaded on the wagons, the others can walk back to the city.’

I smiled at Gallia. ‘Take command of the horse archers. Divide them between the four sides of the square and tell them to kill any slingers or archers they see. The enemy will try to soften us up with missiles before they launch a fresh assault.’

She nodded curtly and then went off with Zenobia to organise our archers.

‘It is best that the queen has something to occupy herself,’ I said to Domitus and Chrestus.

Domitus winked at Chrestus. ‘To stop her bending your ear, more like. Reminds me of that time when we were surrounded by Narses and Mithridates. The horsemen buggered off then as well.’

‘I sent them away,’ I corrected him. ‘Besides, it is not quite the same: at least we are within walking distance of safety.’

‘If we can break out of the position we are in,’ Chrestus reminded us both.

A roll call revealed that the legions had lost a hundred and fifty dead and nearly four hundred wounded, most of the casualties being inflicted in the mêlée with the Armenian swordsmen. The latter now stood facing the Durans in front of the top of the square, retreating fifty paces when the archers Gallia posted among the legionaries began shooting at them with great accuracy. The Durans on the right side of the square faced thousands of levy spearmen, our archers having great sport against these men who had already been badly mauled by the legions, shooting arrows that pierced thin wicker shields and struck unarmoured torsos, necks and faces. They were quickly withdrawn out of range. The Armenian slingers and archers took up position in front of the spearmen and attempted to counteract our missile fire, but our recurve bows had greater range than the Armenian ones and after a short while their archers also withdrew, leaving only the slingers to duel with our bowmen before they too were pulled back.

It was the same on the other side of the square where the Armenian commander also placed a great number of levy spearmen, who were very effectively culled by Dura’s expert archers before being pulled back. But it was a different story at the foot of the square where we would have to make our breakout attempt. Here the enemy placed his professional spearmen: soldiers wearing leather cuirasses and helmets and carrying large, rectangular wicker shields of almost shoulder height that were faced with leather. Our arrows were unable to penetrate them and so the archers were reduced to trying to hit the Armenian horsemen who were arrayed behind the spearmen, to no avail. I received a report from Chrestus whose Exiles faced these heavy spearmen that they numbered at least twenty thousand men. The Armenian general knew that this was the direction any breakout attempt would come from and had deployed his men accordingly. Smashing through such a barrier would be an epic struggle indeed.

The ordered calm was suddenly shattered by the sound of hundreds of kettledrums, trumpets and horns as the Armenian ring around us sprang into life and thousands of spearmen and swordsmen charged our square. The charges against the right and left sides of the square were disordered and half-hearted as hundreds of levy spearmen, their morale already fragile, were cut down by dozens of archers standing among the ranks of the legionaries. But at the top and bottom of the square it was a different story. The Armenian swordsmen, now without their javelins, locked shields and ran at the Durans with swords drawn. The latter, having been resupplied with javelins, hurled two volleys to cut down the first ranks of the Armenians and temporarily disrupt their momentum. But there were still many thousands of Armenians left and the two lines smashed into each other to recommence their grim close-quarters battle. At the bottom of the square the locked shields of the Armenian heavy spearmen advanced steadily and methodically but were stopped as the first five ranks of the Exiles hurled fifteen hundreds javelins at them. The thin, soft iron points embedded themselves in shields and bodies, chopping down hundreds of men in the front ranks and halting those behind. Then the Exiles charged, clambering over dead and injured spearmen to get to grips with those behind. The Armenians began to fall back slowly as gladius points stabbed groins, necks and faces. But the truth was that the enemy was keeping us fixed where we were and he had greater numbers to grind us down with relentless attacks against all sides of the square, trading lives for time.

And then I heard a new sound to the northeast and heard the telltale low rumble created by thousands of hooves pounding the earth and knew that we were finished, for a new army had arrived on the battlefield.

It was then that I saw in the distance the Armenian commander; a figure wearing a tall white conical hat with a cuirass of shimmering steel plates, riding a huge black horse up and down behind his swordsmen, no doubt urging them on.

All thoughts of a breakout disappeared as I ran to where the Durans were having difficulty holding back the masses of swordsmen who were hacking at their front ranks. Behind the tiring cohorts dismounted horse archers and Amazons were still loosing arrows over the heads of the Durans and were undoubtedly finding targets, but their missiles were cutting down only a few of the tens of thousands of Armenians who were attacking the legionaries.

Gallia and Zenobia stood beside their female companions as others rushed off to bring fresh quivers from the camel train. Inside the square it was chaos as drivers struggled to retain control of camels and mules and horse archers tried to calm horses frightened by the screams, shrieks and war cries of tens of thousands of men.

I ran past Gallia to the rear of the line of cohorts where a steady stream of wounded men were either hobbling from the ranks or being dragged by medical orderlies and then unceremoniously dumped on the ground before being worked on. I saw one legionary, his mail shirt torn and bloody, stagger from the rear of a century. I ran over to him, put his arm over my shoulder and assisted him to where Alcaeus was binding the wounded arm of another soldier.

‘Another one for you,’ I said to him, gently easing the wounded man on to the ground.

Alcaeus said nothing, glanced at the man I had assisted and then called to one of his men to attend to him.

‘Pacorus.’

I turned to see Domitus sprinting towards me.

‘We are having trouble holding them,’ he said, his mail shirt torn and his helmet dented.

I pointed to the northeast. ‘Armenian reinforcements have arrived.’

I then heard a great whooshing noise as the new arrivals unleashed a volley of arrows. The legionaries instinctively hoisted their shields above their heads but I saw the line of Amazons and archers standing behind the battling cohorts and knew they would be scythed down in seconds.

‘Take cover!’ I screamed at Gallia.

But it was too late. She did not hear me above the din of battle and I watched, helpless and horrified, as my wife stood in the open to be engulfed by thousands of arrows. I held a clenched fist to my mouth in terror as I was given a front-row seat to my beloved’s death.

But nothing happened.

No arrows fell in the square, not one. I heard another mighty whooshing sound and looked into the sky. Nothing. Domitus likewise gazed upwards and then around and looked at me in bewilderment.

‘Perhaps we are already dead and this is the afterlife,’ he said.

The sounds of battle seemed to grow louder beyond the right side of the square as Gallia, in blissful ignorance, continued to shoot at the enemy. In between arrows she looked at me and spread her arms to suggest I should not be standing around conversing with Domitus while a battle was raging.

‘What’s he doing?’ I heard Domitus say.

I looked to where he was staring and saw the hulking figure of Thumelicus bounding towards us. He arrived panting and hardly able to speak.

‘Compose yourself, you great German oaf,’ said Domitus affectionately.

Thumelicus drew himself up and grinned at me.

‘You remember that filthy, half-starved wild boy you brought back with you from the marshlands all those years ago?’

I had no time for this. ‘Have you been hit on the head?’

‘Surena, your former squire,’ said Thumelicus, still grinning like an idiot.

‘What about him?’ asked Domitus.

‘Well, he and his army are beyond those groups of Armenian spearmen. Looks like he did not forget the debt he owed you, Pacorus.’

I too began grinning like a madman and jumped up and down as I hugged Thumelicus and then tried to embrace Domitus, who was having none of it. But he too looked relieved.

Within minutes word spread around the square that salvation had arrived as the Armenian army began to collapse. The enemy had methodically scattered our wings and surrounded our foot but now their troops were spread too thinly to even withstand an assault by fresh troops, let alone defeat it.

I gave orders that the horse archers were to mount up in preparation to ride out of the square as Gallia desisted her shooting and ran over to me.

‘What is happening?’

I grabbed her hands and kissed them. ‘Surena has arrived with his army, my love.’

In fact it was not only Surena who had arrived but also Silaces and his seven thousand horse archers. Reports reached me that as well as the lion banner of Gordyene, the four-pointed star flag of Elymais was also flying proudly beside it.

Surena’s first assault, in conjunction with Silaces, was against the levy spearmen who were assaulting the right side of our square. Fifteen thousand horse archers unleashed a series of devastating volleys — the whooshing noise I had heard — against their rear ranks, felling thousands and prompting those still living to flee in panic.

Having been on the verge of triumph the Armenian commander attempted to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat by ordering his heavy cavalry, which were deployed behind his heavy spearmen to the rear of our square, to attack the relief force. But his horsemen were then suddenly assaulted from behind — Gafarn’s horse archers had returned to the fray.

My brother told me afterwards that he and his men had lured the Armenian horsemen on their left wing away from the battlefield, falling back in successive waves and shooting arrows as they did so. The Armenians continued their pursuit as Hatra’s horsemen whittled down their numbers with accurate archery. The Armenian bows did not have the range of those of their adversaries and so soon the enemy’s numbers had been considerably reduced. Gafarn led three thousand men back to the battlefield as the rest continued to toy with the Armenians and, more importantly, keep them occupied.

Gafarn’s reappearance panicked the Armenian horsemen backing up their spearmen, their alarm compounded when Surena’s two thousand medium horsemen struck their right flank. Assaulted from the rear by accurate archery and in the flank by hundreds of mounted spearmen, the Armenians retreated rapidly in the only direction that was open to them — west into the desert — straight into the ranks of Vistaspa’s cataphracts.

The Armenian mounted spearmen had been routed and scattered by the cataphracts easily enough in a battle that had spread across an area of several miles. Vistaspa’s horsemen charged and reformed several times as they cut the enemy to pieces, literally in some cases where Dura’s armoured horsemen used their new swords to sever arms, cut through sword blades and armour and split helmets with ease. Many Armenians fled north to escape the butchery and Vistaspa let them go, recognising that there was still a battle to be won. And now his companies of cataphracts smashed into the fleeing Armenian heavy horsemen, whose cohesion disintegrated in the face of this fresh onslaught.

The levy spearmen that had been massed to the left-hand side of our square were charged by ten cohorts of Exiles, led by Chrestus in person. Using the last of their javelins, the Exiles reaped a rich harvest in enemy dead when they hurled their missiles before charging the ill-armed enemy and driving deep into their ranks. In reality the spearmen were beaten before the Exiles had even launched their charge so low was their morale, and it became a test of who could run the fastest — helmetless spearmen wearing no armour or mail-clad legionaries — as the Exiles gave chase to a fleeing enemy. The legionaries were speedily recalled by whistles and trumpet calls and reformed in their ranks — the horsemen could round up the spearmen later.

And what of Peroz and his horse archers? Like Gafarn his soldiers utilised the greater range of their bows to shoot down their opponents. The Armenian commander had deliberately sacrificed the horse archers on his right wing to enable his mounted spearmen to charge into our rear. What were a few thousand horse archers compared to victory? Except that there was no Armenian victory, and as Peroz and his men reappeared on the battlefield the fate of the enemy was sealed.

As Surena’s horse archers amused themselves butchering hapless enemy spearmen the King of Gordyene rode up to me as Domitus was organising the Durans and Exiles for an assault on the last remaining body of enemy troops that had not been routed: the swordsmen. Surena jumped from his horse, his standard bearer grabbing the reins as his senior officers halted their horses. He walked up to me and smiled, and then we embraced each other.

‘It is good to see you, Surena.’

‘You too, lord. Men will speak of this day and your name with awe and respect.’

I slapped him on the back. ‘They will tell the truth: that the King of Gordyene saved my arse.’

He grinned. ‘With the King of Elymais, lord.’

‘Where is Silaces?’

‘With my Sarmatians, lord, ensuring that the enemy do not escape our wrath,’ he replied.

So he had brought his Sarmatian jackals with him, mercenaries who delighted in killing and devastation. Still, nothing could diminish the extent of the Parthian victory that was unfolding or Surena’s part in it.

Sunset was creeping upon the world now, the sky filled with red and orange hues as Armenian swordsmen formed an all-round defence directly in front of the legions, once more formed into two lines with the Durans on the right and the Exiles on the left. Surena’s medium horsemen and horse archers, working in conjunction, were busy trawling the battlefield for pockets of Armenians, spearing any injured they came across and surrounding and then destroying any groups of enemy soldiers who tried to resist them. The Sarmatians, meanwhile, had taken up position behind the enemy swordsmen, while Silaces’ men were arrayed on the Armenian left flank and the returning Peroz lined up his men against the enemy right flank. Thus were the Armenians and their commander now completely surrounded.

The number of dead men and animals was not as great as the butcher’s bill of the dreadful battlefield of Susa but there were still tens of thousands of slain scattered across the ground, along with the corpses of hundreds of horses and camels.

An eerie quiet descended over this field of carrion as men thanked their gods for still being alive and drank greedily from water bottles, while the Armenians contemplated their fate. It was regarding the latter that I sent riders to the various contingents to gather the kings and commanders together to decide our next course of action.

I stood behind the second line of Durans with Gallia as the Amazons sat on the ground next to their tired horses. Domitus ambled over to us tapping his vine cane against his thigh, his sword back in its scabbard. Behind us Vagises, having returned with Vistaspa’s men, was organising his companies to take up position behind the legions, ready to move into the space between the first and second lines once more should we need to shoot at the Armenians, not that we had many arrows left.

Domitus, now relaxed and very happy, slapped me on the arm. ‘You are one lucky bastard. I never thought we would beat them.’

I winked at Gallia. ‘Now he tells me.’

Domitus took off his helmet and examined the dent near the crest holder.

‘You remember that ritual we took part in all those months ago?’ he said to me. ‘I thought it was all nonsense but, looking around today, I think that old witch knew what she was talking about.’

He smiled at me and amidst the carnage was genuinely happy, basking in the victory that the army that he had created had made possible. And died as the lead pellet struck the side of his head. He dropped like a stone as the slinger who stood no more than two hundred paces away reached into his pouch for another missile. Perhaps he meant to kill me, or Gallia, but he had no opportunity to loose another pellet before Gallia killed him with an arrow that struck him in the chest. Where he had come from I did not know. Perhaps he had been knocked unconscious and lay on the ground as fighting raged around him, or maybe he was very brave and wanted to kill a senior enemy commander before he himself was killed, or perhaps he was sent by the gods to exact payment for our victory. But whatever the explanation he had slain my friend and the man who had been my right arm.

I knelt beside the body of Lucius Domitus and felt his neck for a pulse. There was none. I heard hooves and saw Surena on his horse. He looked down at the body of my friend and then wheeled his horse away. Within minutes the slaughter had begun.

I had no interest in the aftermath of the battle as I organised a party of Durans to take Domitus to one of the wagons for transfer to Hatra, but Surena thought otherwise. Word quickly spread through the ranks of the Durans and Exiles that their commander was dead, and then among Dura’s horse archers and the soldiers of Hatra, Gordyene and Elymais. Soon the remnants of the Armenian Army were surrounded by soldiers who had vengeance on their minds, a sentiment encouraged by Surena who rode up and down the lines exhorting them to slay the enemy.

Then the horse archers began shooting, not rapid volleys but rather aimed shots that found their mark. Thousands of arrows were loosed at the Armenians from all four sides and soon there were heaps of dead on the ground in the half-light. No quarter was asked for or given as archers methodically moved their horses nearer the rapidly shrinking square of Armenians. Finally the archers ran out of arrows and the dreadful hissing that had enveloped the square died down as the shooting ceased, to be replaced by groans, whimpers and cries of wounded and dying men. And then the legions attacked.

Gripped by a cold fury over the loss of their commander, the officers and centurions had had difficulty in holding their men back. But now, as the horsemen who had been deployed in front of them retreated, the Durans and Exiles marched forward. They did not forget their training and retained their ranks as they stepped on and over dead and dying men on the ground in front of them to get at those still living.

There were perhaps six or seven thousand Armenian soldiers still standing, though many of those were wounded and a few had no weapons. As the Durans and Exiles advanced against the pitiful remains of the enemy square, the cataphracts lined up on one side, Surena’s medium horsemen opposite them and the Sarmatians sealing the square. The Armenians were caught in a giant trap as the legionaries threw their few remaining javelins and then charged with swords drawn uttering blood-curdling screams.

There was no battle as such, just a methodical slaughter as the legionaries stabbed and hacked men to pieces. Some Armenians threw down their shields and weapons and ran, only to be cut down by horsemen with spears, axes, maces and swords. Some fell on their knees and begged for mercy but they found none, only death meted out by Parthian weapons, or at the hands of Surena’s Sarmatians. It was dark by the time the killing stopped, the foul stench of blood and gore filling the air and our nostrils and infusing our clothes. It was perhaps the greatest victory that the Parthian Empire had ever enjoyed over its enemies but I would have gladly swapped it for the life of my dead friend.

As the last remaining Armenians had their throats slit I stood with Gallia by the wagon that held the body of Domitus. We were joined by Gafarn, Vistaspa, Peroz and Silaces. Guards held torches to cast our faces in a red glow as Gafarn lifted the cloak that had been placed over the body and laid a hand on Domitus’ shoulder.

‘Farewell, my friend. He was the best of us.’

I had nothing to say to any of them and they stood in an awkward silence until I saw the figure of Alcaeus approaching leading four legionaries carrying a stretcher. My chief medical officer looked downcast and dragged his feet as he ordered the men to load the body they were carrying on the wagon.

‘Wait,’ I ordered.

‘It is the body of Thumelicus,’ said Alcaeus, ‘he would want to make this final journey with his friend.’

Gallia walked over to the stretcher and kissed Thumelicus on the forehead, then ordered the men to place the body next to Domitus.

‘I heard he charged headlong into the enemy ranks,’ said Alcaeus, ‘wanted to avenge the death of Domitus all on his own. By the time his men reached him he had been cut down, though they say he killed many before he fell. I will miss him.’

‘I too. How many others have we lost, Alcaeus?’

He stretched his back. ‘Not as many as I thought we would. Just over four hundred dead at the last count and six hundred wounded among the legions; I do not know what losses the horsemen have suffered.’

The lights of Hatra on the horizon were our guide as we made our way back to the city — a bedraggled column of exhausted men leading tired horses with their heads down, mules pulling wagons and camel drivers urging on their beasts. The Durans and Exiles marched in stoic silence, the golden griffin and silver lion both covered as a mark of respect for the loss of their general. Behind us we left a patch of ground covered with tens of thousands of dead men. I walked with Gallia, Gafarn, Vistaspa, Silaces and Peroz but not Surena, who decided to camp near the battlefield rather than just outside the city.

‘He will send his Sarmatians to scour the land for Armenian stragglers,’ said Silaces. ‘They like to take scalps.’

‘Scalps?’ said Gallia.

‘Yes, majesty,’ he replied, forgetting that he too was now a king. ‘Sarmatian warriors like to take the scalps of men they have killed so they can hang them from their saddles.’

‘Surena should not have brought these savages into Hatra,’ complained Gafarn.

‘Surena saved us, brother,’ I said, ‘we owe him a debt of gratitude for he has turned you into the vanquisher of Armenia. You will find that Artavasdes will be more eager to enter into negotiations now you have destroyed his army.’

‘And killed his brother,’ added Silaces.

‘His brother?’ queried Gafarn.

‘Artashes,’ continued Silaces. ‘It was he who commanded the Armenian Army. That is why Surena was eager to get here. He and Artashes have been conducting their own private war for many months. Surena left his foot at Assur to await the arrival of Atrax’s army when he learned that Artashes was nearing Hatra. Surena will be making sure he does not escape.’

Dura’s army returned to its camp outside the city while Hatra’s soldiers trudged back to their barracks inside the royal quarter. I stayed with Gallia in the command tent with the body of my friend and did not sleep as I sat in silence at the table with my wife sipping at wine. How many times had I sat with my friend at this very same table and joked and planned the future? And now he was gone; gone like Thumelicus, Drenis and Kronos.

‘There are only three of us left,’ I said.

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Gallia.

‘The night of Dobbai’s ritual. Of those who took part there are only three left: myself, Vagises and Vagharsh. The others are dead, as is she. She said there would be a price to pay.’

I heard horse hooves outside and then one of the entrance flaps was swept aside by a sentry.

‘Prince Spartacus, majesty.’

‘Let him in.’

Dressed in a simple white tunic and brown leggings, Spartacus appeared remarkably fresh-faced as he walked over to Gallia and embraced her, then nodded to me.

‘I am glad to see you unharmed,’ I told him, indicating that he should sit with us. I walked over to another table holding wine, poured a cup and handed it to him.

He held it up to me. ‘To you, uncle, and the glory of the empire.’

Gallia rolled her eyes but I smiled at him. He was young, a prince of this city and had just taken part in a battle that had crushed Armenia’s might. He had every reason to feel proud.

He suddenly looked melancholic. ‘I heard about Lucius Domitus. I grieve with you. He was a great soldier.’

‘And a greater friend,’ added Gallia with a cheerless voice.

‘You go now to fight the Romans, uncle?’ he asked.

‘After we have recovered our strength and been reinforced by our allies, yes. I had wanted to deal with Crassus first but the gods dictated otherwise.’

‘I would ask a favour of you,’ he said.

‘What favour can I grant the triumphant Prince of Hatra?’ I teased him. ‘A boy no longer but a valiant member of your city’s Royal Bodyguard.’

‘I wish to come with you when you march against the Romans,’ he said.

I drank some wine. ‘That will be for your father to decide, Spartacus. You are no longer my squire.’

Gallia laid a hand on his arm. ‘Pacorus will ensure that you are beside him when he faces Crassus, Spartacus, have no fear.’

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You have always been and will ever remain my favourite aunt.’

He gulped down his wine, bowed his head to me and then asked if he could take his leave. I stood and shook his hand and he embraced Gallia and then sauntered from our presence.

‘What did you say that for?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘You think he has forgotten about the quest that Haytham set him? You think he has forgotten about the woman whose strand of hair hangs around his neck?’

I sighed deeply. ‘That nonsense again. I had forgotten.’

‘Just make sure you take him with you.’

I laughed. ‘The chances of him taking a Roman eagle are infinitesimal, they really are.’

‘You took one,’ she shot back.

‘That was different.’

‘How?’

‘It just was.’

She pointed a finger at me. ‘You promised Claudia that you would take care of her son.’

Sometimes the female mind baffled me. ‘What?’

‘If you deprive him of the chance of marrying Rasha he will be deeply unhappy. You do not want that, do you?’

I gave up. ‘Apparently not. Very well, I will ask Gafarn if his son can accompany me.’

Once more the sentry disturbed us to announce that my senior officers were outside. I ordered him to let them in and also to fetch more wine as they entered and slumped into the chairs around the table. They all looked dead on their feet, their faces showing stubble and their clothes dirty and torn. I emptied the wine jug and then half of the fresh one brought in by a sentry to provide them with refreshment as they made their reports.

‘The legions lost four hundred and fifty dead and seven hundred wounded,’ said Chrestus without emotion.

‘Of the wounded around a quarter will not last through the night,’ added Alcaeus.

Vagises looked up. ‘The horse archers lost one hundred and twenty killed and two hundred wounded, with a similar number of horses lost. Losses among the cataphracts are considerably less. Ten killed and fifty wounded.’

‘Three hundred of my men were also slain today,’ reported Peroz, ‘with a further five hundred wounded.’

‘It was a hard fight,’ I agreed, ‘though the Armenians suffered far more so let us thank the gods for that.’

‘And now?’ asked Vagises.

‘And now, my friend,’ I answered, ‘we cremate our dead, await our allies and prepare to fight Marcus Licinius Crassus.’

‘I have lost all my smaller ballista,’ said a distraught Marcus. ‘They were destroyed by the Armenians.’

‘They can be replaced,’ I told him, ‘but at least the larger ones are safe in Hatra. They will be needed against the walls of Nisibus.’

Before they lay down on the carpets and wrapped themselves in their cloaks to sleep I told Chrestus that he now commanded the legions. He had served a long apprenticeship under Kronos and I knew that Domitus rated him highly, which was all the recommendation I needed.

The next day Orodes and Nergal arrived from the south with the armies of Babylon and Mesene — eight thousand foot, twelve thousand horse archers, five hundred cataphracts and Orodes’ Royal Guard — while from the west came Atrax leading the army of Media and Gordyene’s foot soldiers, an additional ten thousand foot, four thousand horse archers and five hundred cataphracts. And with Atrax rode the King of Gordyene with his horsemen, which included the Sarmatians, many of whom had bloody scalps dangling from their saddles.

There was a service of thanksgiving in the Great Temple, which was so full that the congregation spilled out of its main entrance, down the steps and onto the Great Square. The mood of the city, previously apprehensive, became happy and carefree, pretty young women kissing any soldier they could find and citizens acclaiming King Gafarn the greatest ruler that had ever sat upon Hatra’s throne. It was amazing how victory was a panacea for all ills. In the aftermath of the battle blind people apparently regained their sight and the crippled discarded their crutches and walked again so beloved of the gods was Hatra, or so I heard.

Amid the delirium of triumph I ordered Kogan to keep the Sarmatians out of the city, suggesting to Gafarn that he send ample quantities of wine and beer to their camp to keep them in a state of stupefaction rather than raping the female population of his capital.

After the service of thanksgiving kings, queens and nobles gathered in the throne room where those who had showed exceptional bravery in the battle were rewarded with gold, expensive swords and even grants of land. I was not only pleased for Gafarn and Diana, whose rule had finally been vindicated, but also for my mother who sat on the dais beside them. The past few years had been hard for her. Not only had she lost her husband, my father, but had also seen parts of his kingdom seized by enemies and the authority of her adopted son challenged. But one of those enemies had been dealt a heavy blow and today she smiled and radiated majesty.

Surena, who had deliberately missed the service in the temple, believing that there were no gods, now came into the chamber with his senior officers. They walked to the dais and bowed their heads at Gafarn and then Surena stood before Adeleh and bowed his head. Behind him two of his officers unfurled a great purple flag bearing an eight-pointed flower flanked by two eagles and placed it on the floor before her. We all looked on intrigued as Surena went down on one knee before my sister.

‘Behold, lady, the banner of Artashes, the Armenian upstart whose army was yesterday destroyed outside this city. He is now but one of the many thousands of Armenian dead who litter the ground. I present you with his banner, princess, with the promise that his death and the liberation of Nisibus, your late husband’s city, will avenge Prince Vata’s death. This I swear in front of you and all those assembled in this great hall.’

There was warm applause at these words and Adeleh, her eyes moist with tears, walked forward and bid Surena to rise. She held out her hand and he kissed it before stepping back and bowing his head to her. It was a nice gesture, I thought.

Hatra felt like the city of old, with a king basking in victory and strengthened by allies. Gallia and Praxima chatted with a radiant Diana and Spartacus teased the young Prince Pacorus. Assur stood next to a pillar surrounded by his stern priests while Vistaspa was deep in conversation with Orodes, no doubt discussing the next phase of the campaign. And it was to Vistaspa that a guard handed a note that caused my brother’s general to frown and pass it on to Orodes.

The high king read it and then turned and saw me, beckoning me over. A knot tightening in my stomach told me that it was bad news before I reached him.

‘Crassus is preparing to cross the Euphrates at Zeugma,’ said Orodes. He handed me the note. ‘He is bringing fifty thousand men with him.’

Vistaspa was in a bullish mood. ‘Having just defeated over one hundred thousand Armenians we do not have anything to fear from half that number of Romans, majesty.’

Orodes smiled at him but I knew as he did that the Romans were a far tougher proposition than the Armenians.