by Peake, R. W.
“Prepare javelins!”
Thousands of arms swept back in a rippling line. I watched Spurius for my cue, then when his arm swept down, I did the same, shouting the order.
“Release!”
The air turned black as the javelins went arcing through the air, slicing down to slash into the ranks of the Armenian horsemen, despite the rain of arrows continuing to head our direction. We knew that there would be a moment when we were vulnerable to the hail of Armenian missiles, there being no way to keep a shield up and throw a javelin at the same time. Inevitably some of the men were struck down, but we inflicted more damage than we sustained, though it was mostly on the archers who, like our slingers, sacrificed armor for greater mobility. Actually, it was the horses who suffered, the archers’ mounts not carrying the same heavy armor as their cataphract counterparts, the animals shrieking in pain as the heavier javelin did much more damage than an arrow.
“Prepare javelins!”
The men made ready the second volley, which I tried to time so that the archers fired their last arrow before giving the command that would make the men vulnerable again, but the bowmen of the East can draw and loose arrows faster than any we ever encountered, so there was not much respite.
“Release!”
The second volley was barely out of the men’s hands when Spurius, Corbulo, Balbinus, and I almost simultaneously gave the order for which the men had been clamoring.
“Porro!”
With a roar, we went charging up the remaining slope, counting on the confusion that always occurred in the moments after a javelin volley. This time was no different as the Armenian horsemen were still milling about trying to pick their way clear of fallen men and horses, or wrenching the spent javelin shafts out of the way where they had lodged in the horse or rider’s armor. The only chance the Armenians had at this point was to launch a concentrated countercharge with their cataphracts, but the range closed too quickly so that we were almost in their midst before a signal of any sort was given. Seeing that he had lost whatever opportunity he held, Artavasdes ordered a withdrawal that was clearly meant for only the cataphracts, who wheeled about to begin trotting ponderously away from us. The archers, most of them anyway, remained in place, drawing their own swords as they fought desperately, buying the cataphracts time with their own lives. It was at this moment that the Median cataphracts entered the battle.
We had just gone running into the wall of horseflesh and man, holding shields above our heads as we crouched down, doing what had proved so effective under Ventidius by attacking the horses. Their screams of pain and terror were pitiful but we were remorseless, intent on bringing their riders down to a level where they could be dispatched with relative ease, few of the archers showing much skill with the sword. Meanwhile, the Median cataphracts launched a devastating charge, pounding across the space between themselves and the retreating Armenian cataphracts, so even from where we were fighting the crashing impact could clearly be felt through the ground. There was the sound of another fight added to the din, while the dust was stifling our vision and breathing. Nevertheless, we showed the Armenians no mercy, the men working in teams as they grabbed the enemy from their saddles, dragging them screaming to the ground, where there would be the quick flash of a blade followed by a crunching sound when the point punched into a chest or face. In the space of a few moments, we destroyed the force of archers that had chosen to obey their king and stand, though a good number of them, seeing the futility, turned to flee. Taking advantage of the confusion brought on by the melee between the cataphract forces, the remaining archers made their way either to the center wing, or back to where Artavasdes and his force of bodyguards, numbering about a thousand cataphracts was still stationed. With the archers out of the way, we turned our attention to where the remaining Armenian cataphracts were still engaged with the Medians.
Seeing an opportunity, I ordered the men of the second line forward and into javelin range, while I had the men of the first line wheel to face the Armenian center in the event that they tried to fall on our flank. Spurius and Corbulo, seeing what I had done, quickly ordered the same for their Legions, so I waited for them to get into position. The Armenians still had not seen us approaching, while the din of their fighting was too great to hear the shouted warnings of their comrades from the center that there was a new danger. With the men of the second line in position, we gave the order, the arms swept back, the javelins pointing skyward.
“Release!”
Javelins, particularly when they are a surprise, are a devastating weapon, and even as heavily armored as the cataphracts are, the shock of the sudden attack from an unexpected quarter completely shattered the morale and will of the Armenians. They had been hard pressed, but they were still maintaining their cohesion and discipline. Until, that is, they were struck from behind by our heavy missiles. Although most of the javelins did not penetrate deeply, the blow in the back of the men or hindquarters of the horses had to have at least completely surprised them or in many cases, knocked the wind from the men’s lungs. No matter how disciplined a man may be, when the surprise is so complete it is almost impossible to maintain enough discipline to keep facing the most immediate threat, meaning men instinctively turned to face the new one to their rear. This gave the Medians the opportunity to finish their opponents, and in a matter of a few more moments, without any more help from the Legions, the left wing of the Armenian army was destroyed.
With the removal of the Armenian left wing, Artavasdes was in even more trouble, now having an essentially intact four Legions of Roman infantry, along with the Median mounted force on his left flank, ready to roll up his center like a carpet. If he turned his center to face the new threat, that exposed the flank of that group to our center line, not even having begun its charge and still somewhat hampered by the ongoing fighting between the other prong of Armenian archers, which had taken heavy losses but still had not withdrawn. Meanwhile, the Galatians were now protected by our left wing, which was also within javelin range, thereby keeping the right wing of the Armenians from swinging down onto the rear of the Galatians. It was a combination of luck on our part and what I can only describe as timidity, or worse, incompetence on the part of the Armenian king. Artavasdes really had only one option left and that was to attempt to withdraw the rest of his army, but still there was no movement backward.
The sun had climbed in the sky so that it was getting warm and we took the opportunity from the pause in our part of the action to allow the men to drink from their canteen, while I took a quick tally from the Centurions. We had suffered only a handful of men killed, with roughly 30 men suffering wounds, most of them from arrows, and that was in the Cohorts of the first line. The men were catching their breath, in moments eager to get back to the fighting, but we received no orders and I wondered at the reason for the delay this time. Antonius had moved to the center to confer with Canidius, so I assumed they were discussing the best way to launch an attack through the fighting that was still going on, despite it slackening in fury considerably as the Armenians were being whittled down in numbers. After a bit, Antonius came galloping back to his command group, snapped some orders to a Tribune, who then came galloping over to where we were standing. Spurius and I had come together, while Corbulo and Balbinus came trotting over when they saw the Tribune approach. The Tribune pulled up, relaying Antonius’ orders.
“The general is sending in the center, and as soon as they're engaged, the 4th and 12th are to attack the flank.” Turning to Spurius and me, he finished, “The 3rd and 10th are to head for the Armenian king and his bodyguard, but wait for the Medians to begin their charge. Do you have any javelins left?” We both answered that the men of our second line had one apiece. At the answer, his face was grim. “Hopefully that will be enough. The general wants you to launch your javelins when the Medians are in position to begin their final charge. Judging from the impact the last time you did it, it should be enough to at least distract the Armenians befor
e the Medians hit them.”
Saluting and signaling our understanding and acceptance of the orders, we then turned to our respective Legions to give the order to make ready to move. We would wait until Corbulo and Balbinus fell onto the flank of the Armenian center to prevent any attempt they might make to intercept us. The left wing began their attack, their javelins looking like tiny slivers as they fell onto the enemy right wing. The center had not launched their attack yet, so neither Corbulo nor Balbinus moved their Legions into a position that would give away the impending charge, meaning that we could not move either, so for several moments we were nothing but spectators. The Galatians were finally down to the remnants of the Armenian archers and I was struck by how bitter it must be for those men to be fighting for their lives while their comrades watched without lifting a finger to help, no matter how understandable the tactic was given the circumstances. The Galatians had suffered a fair number of losses and once they either killed or drove the survivors from the field, they trotted out of the way of the center, who immediately began their assault. After the second volley, they threw themselves into their charge, their roar carrying across the field. As soon as they struck, Corbulo turned to shout the order for the 4th to begin their own charge, with Balbinus quickly following suit. Immediately after that happened, we began moving towards the Armenian king, the Medians beginning their own advance at the trot. Never in all the battles in which I fought had things seemed to work this smoothly, and while part of me believed that this was a sign that the gods had returned their favor to Antonius, and by extension his army, there was another part of me nervous that whatever bad thing that always seemed to happen to foul things up was about to happen. Whatever occurred, I thought, it will not be because we did not do our jobs. With a wave of my sword, I pointed towards Artavasdes.
“Let’s go get him, boys,” I called out, then began trotting.
Artavasdes might not have been a good general, but he definitely possessed a healthy sense of self-preservation, because the minute we began our movement towards his position, he wasted no time in turning tail to gallop off, with roughly half his bodyguards surrounding him. The other half, along with the archers who fled earlier, and the remnants of the cataphracts shattered by the Median charge and our javelin volley, were left behind to hold us back long enough for him to escape. Swallowing my disappointment, I turned to shout that the men of the royal bodyguard were all rich men themselves, which I fervently hoped was true. Without waiting for the coordination between us and the Medians, we went hurtling into the ranks of the Armenians. The men, equally frustrated at the sight of Artavasdes escaping, took their anger out on the hapless enemy, who fought with a desperation brought on by the knowledge that they were being sacrificed for their king. I have often heard highborn men expound on the glory and honor that comes from sacrificing oneself for their king, but I can tell you that idea is abhorrent to a Roman Legionary. We much preferred killing, and if absolutely necessary, dying for our city and Republic than for a single man who inherited his position and title, essentially doing nothing to earn it. If we were forced to sacrifice ourselves for a man, at least it would be for a man like Caesar who had done so much for us, both as a class and as soldiers.
But the men of the East think much differently than we do, so those doomed men left behind fought ferociously to buy Artavasdes time. Again, the Legionaries worked in teams, as many as four of them surrounding one cataphract, while it only took at most two to dispatch an archer. The men of Artavasdes’ bodyguard who had either been ordered to stay behind or chosen to do so, not surprisingly proved to be the best fighters of the bunch, while the quality of their armor, some of it chased with gold and silver as Gaius Crastinus had so long ago dreamed about, drew the attention of most of the Legionaries. It was getting to the point where it looked as if they would allow a fair number of the other less wealthy Armenians to escape, forcing me to snap out orders to the Centurions to pay equal mind to the impoverished. Small groups of Armenians would be quickly surrounded, whereupon one would be further isolated, hemmed in from all sides by Legionaries, in much the same manner as a pack of wolves surrounds its prey, the doomed and desperate enemy trying to wheel his mount quickly back and forth to stop any attempt to bring him down. Of course, this was futile, just as it is with the animal beset by wolves, and the only chance he had was if his comrades were able to come to his rescue, but they were all similarly occupied. It was brutal work, yet it was also efficient, and the only reason I participated in the fighting would be when a group of combatants would drift in my direction. Then I would use my height and size to end that particular struggle, usually by reaching up to drag the man out of his saddle while he was occupied with one of my Legionaries.
Despite it being difficult to make sense of the overall tide of the battle because of the dust and confusion, I was confident that we were slaughtering the Armenians. I could barely make out through the dust the sight of the Medians giving chase to the fleeing king, but I knew that it was very unlikely that he would be caught. Turning my attention back to the matter at hand, I took my Century on a wide loop around the last knot of Armenians, mostly cataphracts, determined that the men would at least have the satisfaction of killing these last remnants and looting their corpses.
As a first battle for the new men, things could not have gone much better, and they were all doubly flushed with the success of their easy victory along with the relatively low toll taken from among our ranks. Not everyone was happy, however, as we discovered just moments after the last Armenian fell on the field, only a handful escaping to rejoin their king who made good his escape, at least for the time being. While the veterans were teaching the new men the finer points of how to loot a corpse and what they could take and what had to be turned over as spoils for the general, the bucina sounded the assembly for the Primi Pili. Balbinus, Corbulo, Spurius, and I made our way to Antonius’ standard, under which he and the rest of the generals had already gathered. Corbulo was sporting a slash on his arm, which he bound up with his neckerchief, but it was still bleeding a bit, staining the neckerchief through with his blood. When I asked what happened, he only gave a sour laugh.
“What happened is that I’m too old for this cac, that’s what happened.”
When we reached Antonius’ side, I do not believe any of us were prepared for what we were about to face. Fully expecting to be greeted, if not with a smile then a heartfelt “well done,” instead the Triumvir sat astride Clemency, his face dark with fury.
“Well, if it isn’t the Titans of the field,” he snapped. We exchanged surprised looks, which only served to infuriate him further. “Oh don't pretend to be innocent with me! You know perfectly well that you disobeyed orders. I have every right to have each of you brought up before a tribunal.” He pointed at me, directing his next words only to me apparently. “And I know that there'd be a vote of 'Condemno' from at least one of my generals in your case, given that he’s already experienced your disobedience in the field and wanted me to try you the last time.”
I was too astonished to speak. I knew that he was clearly referring to the dispute between Canidius and me at the battle where Gallus fell, but I had a very clear and vivid recollection of a conversation with this very same man where he told me that I had done the right thing. Fortunately for everyone, he turned his attention to Spurius, who was clearly as shocked as Corbulo and I, judging from the way his mouth was hanging open.
“But I know that you were the main culprit,” Antonius said savagely. “I saw you advance your Legion, despite the fact that no such order was given!”
Spurius’ face was now as dark as that of Antonius, and I suspected his anger was as much of a match, but his tone was even.
“We were exposed and vulnerable standing there after the Medians pushed the Armenian archers back. We were taking casualties because we weren't moving. I decided that it was better to move and engage than to continue absorbing punishment.”
“That's not your decision
to make, Primus Pilus,” Antonius spat. “I had a perfectly good reason for not ordering you forward at that moment. The center and left couldn't move because of the fighting, but it was moments away from breaking open. The attack should have been coordinated with every wing!”
“Then why didn’t you sound the recall?” Spurius asked quietly, and I do not know if it was the words or the tone, but whatever it was, it stopped Antonius cold.
His face gradually returned to a more normal coloring, and his jaw slowly unclenched. Finally, he let out a breath, giving a harsh laugh.
“So this wasn't the perfect battle, on anyone’s part.”
He wheeled Clemency and without another word galloped off, leaving us standing still in shock. Canidius gave me a look of savage satisfaction, as if Antonius’ words validated his opinion of what had taken place between us and it was only through an act of supreme self-discipline that I did not give him a rude gesture when he went trotting after the Triumvir.
“Who stuck a standard up his ass?” Corbulo muttered as we turned about to go back to our Legions, but none of us answered.
Returning to camp, most of the men were in high spirits, though there were always a few who suffered the loss of a friend who did not join in the celebration. The losses throughout the army were laughingly light; in the 10th we suffered a dozen dead and about 50 wounded, only a few of them seriously, most of them being arrow wounds. A few men, mostly new men, were struck down by a cataphract, usually because they had been overeager and too inexperienced to defend themselves successfully, while most of the dead came from that part of the battle. The royal bodyguards’ bodies had yielded up quite a bit of loot, men stripping the corpses of their armor to take back and remove the gold and silver leaf, so that along with the contents of their purses, some men made a tidy sum. Not all of the bodyguard were killed or had escaped, and we had about 50 prisoners that Antonius ordered be treated well, announcing that he planned on ransoming them back to Artavasdes, something that did not make the men very happy.