by Peter Darman
‘That is what we exist for, is it not?’
‘You sound like Domitus.’
He laughed. ‘That is a fine complement. You know what his men say about him?’
‘No.’
‘That his drills are bloodless battles and his battles are bloody drills.’
Now it was my turn to laugh. ‘I remember the first time I clapped eyes on him. It was when Spartacus had captured that silver mine near Thurri. Domitus was one of the slaves condemned to work in the mine. But after he had been freed he decided to join us. I am glad he did, for I think that I collected the greatest treasure that was in that mine.’
‘The Romans are going to get a surprise tomorrow when they see that there’s a legion facing them.’
‘By the time they realise,’ I said, ‘it will be too late.’
I looked at him. ‘I am sorry that Praxima is in Dura, I did not wish it so.’
He laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘It is not your fault, Pacorus. Praxima would never leave Gallia, you know that. I am proud that she stayed to stand by her friend.’
‘If we win the battle,’ I said, ‘I will have stern words with my wife.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Good luck with that.’
The day of battle dawned clear and windless. It would be hot later, and for some their last day on earth. Surena had laid out my armour the night before. The heavy hide suit covered in iron scales hung on its wooden frame. My Roman helmet, its crest filled with fresh goose feathers, perched on top. My boots he had placed at the foot of my cot, with my leggings and tunic folded on top of them. I always kept my sword on the floor beside me as I slept and my dagger under my pillow. Before I prepared for battle I knelt beside the cot and held the lock of Gallia’s hair in my hand. I closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would give me courage this day, and that my conduct would honour my forefathers.
First I put on my silk shirt, followed by the tunic and leggings. By the time I had pulled on my boots Surena had arrived with a tray of fruit, bread and water. I invited him to join me for breakfast, while outside the racket of an army preparing for battle filed the air.
‘Stay with the other squires in camp,’ I told him. ‘If the worst happens, get your hide out of here as quickly as possible and get across the river.’
He looked surprised. ‘I have been told that you have never lost a battle.’
I thought of the last battle with Spartacus in Italy, in the Silarus Valley. All day we had fought the Romans, and though we had not lost, at the end of it Spartacus lay dead and his army broken. It was certainly no victory.
‘What has happened up to now counts for nothing. Just do as I ask.’
‘I have a sword and would like to fight.’
‘And I would like you to stay alive. Fighting Romans is not like ambushing the soldiers of Chosroes and then running back into the marshes.’
He nodded but I could tell that he was far from happy. He was filled with excitement, and being young he never considered that he might be killed. But then, all of us never really thought that we might die on the battlefield. Each soldier knew that battles were bloody affairs, but in his mind it was always the man next to him who was going to die, never him.
And so, once again, I prepared to fight the Romans. In truth there was much to admire about them and their civilisation. For me, their architectural achievements were things of wonder. Parthia had its great temples and palaces, it was true, but nowhere in the empire was there mighty stone aqueducts carrying water to towns and cities or straight, paved roads that connected its cities. The roads in Parthia were dirt tracks, their surfaces baked hard by the sun, which turned to mud when it rained, but Roman roads were a marvel to behold. They were never washed away by rains; rather, they had drainage channels on each side into which rainwater ran. And those same roads carried Roman armies to the far corners of their empire, from where they invaded foreign lands to fulfil the insatiable Roman desire for conquest. The Romans believed that the earth was theirs for the taking, irrespective of what other peoples thought. And in their thirst for conquest they had developed a military system that was the envy of the world. In Italy, no matter how many defeats they had suffered, the Romans always seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of soldiers with which to create new armies. But above all it was discipline and organisation that gave the Romans victory. Ever since I had returned to Parthia I had endeavoured to infuse Dura’s army with these same qualities. Today I would discover if I had been successful.
Stripped of its mystery and horror, war is a business, no different to farming the land or constructing a building. There are certain guiding principles that must be observed if one is to be successful. If a farmer plants his seeds and does not water them, his crops will not grow. If an architect does not use the proper materials or ignores the laws of physics, his building will collapse. It is the same with war. The building blocks of battlefield success are training, the right equipment, the correct tactics and good leadership. I knew my men were well trained. Domitus and Nergal had spent countless hours on the training fields putting their men through their paces, endless drills to build stamina and strength and to perfect tactics. Practising over and over so each man knew his place in the century, cohort, company and dragon, practising hard and so often that drills became second nature, performed without thinking, even in the white-hot cauldron of combat. I had beaten Roman armies before, in Italy, but this time was different. In Italy Spartacus had been my commander, but here all eyes were upon me. I was both commander and king. If I lost I would lose my army and my kingdom. It would all be decided in the next few hours.
Many people who have not seen the East believe it to be wholly desert, and whereas vast tracts of Parthia are indeed parched and arid, the lands either side of the mighty Euphrates and Tigris rivers are lush and green. The waters of these two rivers have irrigated the land for thousands of years. It is the same in Dura. The land along the western bank of the Euphrates is the home to an abundance of wildlife, watering thousands of livestock and feeding crops. But the area that we would fight on today is bone-dry and dusty. Dura itself had been built on rock that towers above the Euphrates. Immediately beyond the city’s northern wall was one of the two great wadis that flanked the city. Its sheer, high sides made any assault from the north impossible, and it was the same on the city’s southern side where there was also a deep wadi. Beyond the northern wadi the ground descends down to the plain in a gentle slope for a distance of around a mile. It was at this spot, on level ground, that caravans and travellers crossed the Euphrates via the pontoon bridge that now lay dismantled and stacked well inland on the far shore. The large caravan park that had been created to provide shelter and food for both men and their beasts sprawled over a vast area, both west and north. Further north still had been the tent city that had housed the workers who had strengthened the city’s defences and laboured in the armouries. They had all left now, and there were no longer caravans crossing the Euphrates. But they had all left their mark, for the land all around was flat, dry and barren — a giant dust bowl — ideal for a battle. Ideal for the battle that I intended to fight.
I knew that the Romans would anchor their flank on the river. The Roman war machine is based around their mighty legions of foot soldiers. They have little use for horsemen save for skirmishing and carrying out reconnaissance. But they know the damage that highly mobile enemy cavalry can do, especially Parthia’s heavily armed and armoured cataphracts. But if an army’s wing is anchored on a river or another impassable feature, then it cannot be outflanked. And so it was today. They would have no need to place horsemen on their right, opposite what would be my left flank. Nor would I place any cavalry there. On this wing I would deploy the foot soldiers of Pontus. They were not yet equipped as the legionaries of Domitus, but it did not matter. Veteran soldiers, they carried spears with long, leaf-shaped blades and large rounds shields faced in bronze after the old Greek fashion. Most had helmets and all wore thick hide armour to
protect their torsos. Their officers could be identified by small, overlapping iron plates fastened to their armour. The soldiers also carried a long sword as a secondary weapon, but it was totally unsuitable to fighting as part of a compact body of men. It was a slashing weapon, not one for stabbing. Pontic warriors did not throw their spears at the foe; they were for thrusting into the belly of an enemy soldier while the shield covered the left side of the body. This would all have to change. But not today. Today, the three and a half thousand soldiers from Pontus would advance in their companies against the Roman right flank. They were not unlike the Romans in their organisation, though their largest battlefield formation was a block made up of five hundred-man companies, but if a Roman legion got to grips with them it would cut them to pieces. The Pontic soldiers would form a battle line of five blocks side by side, with two blocks immediately behind as a reserve. Opposite them would stand a Roman legion of ten cohorts arranged in three lines.
The fate of the men of Pontus would hinge on what happened in the centre of the line, to their right. For here Domitus and his legion would assault the Romans. His legion would be drawn up in two lines, six cohorts in the first line, four in the second; there would be no third line. Its job would be to punch through the Roman centre. Normally such a tactic demanded a wedge formation, but in this battle the legion would be working closely with five hundred of Nergal’s horse archers. It is extremely hazardous for horse and foot to work closely together on the battlefield. In the confusion of combat the result can often be a tangle of horses and men followed by a rout. But Nergal and Domitus had worked for months to perfect their proficiency when acting together. The horsemen would ride in the gaps between the cohorts, five hundred horse archers divided into five columns, the riders in each column riding one behind the other in a long file. Each column would gallop towards the Romans opposite, the lead rider loosing arrows as he approached the Romans. At a distance of around one hundred paces from the enemy front rank he would wheel his horse to the right and gallop parallel to the enemy for a distance equivalent to the frontage of a cohort, shooting arrows as he did so. He would then wheel his horse right again to begin the journey back to Dura’s legion, turning in the saddle as he did so to shoot one last arrow at the enemy over the hindquarters of his horse. During his advance he would ride along the left flank of a cohort in the first line; when he returned he would pass by the right flank of the same cohort, then turn right once again to ride behind the cohorts in the second line to receive a fresh quiver, before galloping towards the Romans once more. When he was riding parallel to the Romans and shooting arrows, how did he know when to wheel his horse right to take him back to Dura’s legion, to ride through the gap between cohorts and not crash into one? The answer was countless hours spent on the training field, sweating and cursing under a hot sun perfecting tactics so that they became second nature, almost instinct, so when the day of battle arrived they were performed without thinking, horse archer and foot soldier in perfect harmony.
In this way files of horsemen would maintain a withering arrow fire against the enemy, five hundred men loosing an average of five arrows a minute — two and half thousand arrows flying towards the enemy. The Romans would not fear this arrow storm. In response their centurions would merely give the order to halt and form a testudo, which means ‘tortoise’. The front rank would kneel down to form a shield wall, and then the second and third ranks would lift their shields to create a forward-sliding roof over their companions in the front rank. And behind them their comrades would haul their shields over their heads to create a roof impervious to my archers’ arrows. The Romans knew that each Parthian quiver held thirty arrows, so if they stood and withstood the hail of arrows my men would soon run out of ammunition. But what they did not realise was that my men could get full quivers loaded onto camels that were positioned behind the second line of Domitus’ legion, so they could empty one quiver, then ride back and replace it with another. And all the time the Romans would be stationary, and then Domitus and his men would hit them with the force of a charging bull, and their line would buckle as my men mangled the Roman centuries.
But it would be on the right wing that the outcome of the battle would be decided. Here, I placed my cataphracts — five hundred heavy horsemen whose task would be to smash through the Roman cavalry to allow the lords and their horse archers to sweep behind the Roman army. My father believed that he had the best heavy horsemen in the Parthian Empire, and in terms of numbers he certainly had the edge, but Dura’s cataphracts were bloodied, highly trained and straining at the leash to earn more glory. They were mostly young men in their early twenties and they burned with a desire to prove that they were the finest heavy horsemen in the world, not just the empire. My father and Vistaspa recoiled from such ambition, believing that it led to false pride and arrogance, but I indulged my men’s thirst for fame and glory. And I knew that this day they would have an added incentive to excel, for the enemy stood on their home soil. I also knew that the Roman cavalry would be unable to withstand my cataphracts. The enemy horsemen were armed with spears, swords and wore mail shirts and helmets. On their left side they carried large oval shields that gave protection from the shoulder to below the knee. But a kontus could go straight through such a shield like a knife cutting through parchment. Nevertheless I wanted the Roman cavalry to be weakened before the cataphracts reached them, so I interspersed five hundred of Nergal’s horse archers among them. The cataphracts would charge in two ranks, and in each rank a cataphract would ride beside a horse archer. The latter would begin shooting arrows at the Romans at a range of around three hundred paces, and would continue loosing arrows until the two lines clashed, the horse archers reducing their pace before the impact. At the same time the archers in the second rank, also falling back so as not to collide with the bowmen of the first rank, would shoot their arrows over the first rank into the approaching enemy mass. In this way when the two sides clashed only cataphracts would be hitting the Romans. This drill was most complex but we had spent months perfecting it on the training fields.
Behind the cataphracts would be Dura’s lords and their men, six thousand horse archers and a few cataphracts, whose task would be to pepper the enemy legionaries with arrows. By then Domitus and his men would have cut their way through the centre of the Roman line, the Roman army would be broken in two and the battle would be won. Bozan, my old instructor and the man who had led Hatra’s army, had once told me that as soon as a battle begins even the best-laid plan falls apart. I prayed that it would not be so on this day.
The arrival of Orodes and his five hundred cataphracts had been a welcome addition to the army, but they had also presented me with a dilemma. They had never worked with any element of Dura’s army. I therefore had no choice but to place them on the extreme right of the right flank. I would have liked them as a reserve, but no Parthian lord, much less a prince, would accept such a passive roll on the battlefield.
As the army spread out into a battle line, mounted on Remus I faced Nergal and Orodes, with Domitus standing beside me. Already my throat was tickly on account of the dust that was being kicked up by men and horses.
‘Do you have any more orders, Pacorus?’ asked Domitus, who clearly wanted to be leading his men rather than standing here.
‘No,’ I replied, ‘as we planned, as soon as I hear your trumpets I will attack their left wing. The rest is in God’s hands.’
He nodded and put on his white-crested helmet. ‘Well, then, the gods keep you safe.’ I lent down and offered him my hand. He took it and nodded, then strode away to rejoin his men. I knew that he would be in the vanguard of the attack. It was useless to suggest to him that he do otherwise as I would do the same. Some kings commanded their armies from the rear, but I had always believed that men respected a general more who led from the front. In any case it was the Parthian way.
‘Shamash protect you, Pacorus,’ said Nergal, who put his hand to his helmet and then wheeled his horse away to j
oin his men who were acting as a screen in front of the legion. I raised my hand in salute.
‘Well, lord prince,’ I said to Orodes, ‘shall we join our men?’
We had both placed the butt end of our heavy lances on the ground, but we now hoisted them up and rested them on our shoulders as we trotted over to the right flank.
As we passed the lords, their men began raising their bows aloft and cheering. I raised my hand in recognition.
‘Your men are confident of victory,’ remarked Orodes.
‘They are glad that we have the enemy finally cornered, I think. Men don’t like foreign soldiers in their homelands.’
Byrd and Malik rode up, halting in front of me, both they and their horses covered in dust.
‘Romani army left camp earlier and is forming up next to river, as you told us it would,’ said Byrd.
‘And Furius?’ I asked.
Byrd cracked a smile. ‘Riding up and down, shouting at his men.’
‘Same old Furius,’ I muttered.
‘Where do want me and my men, Pacorus?’ asked Malik.
‘You can choose your own spot, lord prince,’ I said.
The whole army had by now deployed into its battle formations and was marching in a southerly direction at a leisurely pace. I rode forward to be at the head of my heavy cavalry, bidding Orodes farewell as he galloped over to be with his own men. Most of my cataphracts were bare headed at this stage. The day was already hot; there was no need for them to sweat buckets unnecessarily. They would put on their helmets when they were needed. Ahead of the front rank rode Vagharsh carrying my griffin banner, though when the charge was launched he would fall back to the second rank, and if he fell the standard would be picked up by another. There was no breeze, though, and so the banner hung limp. Behind him the cataphracts and horse archers shared jokes and exchanged insults. I halted beside Vagharsh and peered ahead. I could see Dura and the Citadel in the distance but strained to see the Romans in the plain below. We were less than ten miles from the city now. To my left four thousand legionaries marched in step towards the enemy and beyond them, out of sight, were the men of Pontus.