by Peter Darman
We kept close to the Euphrates as we passed a mountain called the Jabal Bishri, a massive limestone and sandstone plateau with huge basalt outcrops that some said were fifty miles in length. We halted in the large expanse of land between the Jabal Bishri and the river, in the irrigated strip beside the Euphrates. At first I thought I might anchor one flank of the army on the river itself, as I had done at Dura last year, but Pompey had so many foot soldiers that he would be able to outflank our own legionaries with ease, and then herd them into the river while he fended off our own cavalry. So I decided to fight him inland on the plain, where at least our advantage in horsemen would keep his own cavalry at bay, and where the hard-packed dirt surface made excellent ground for charges and flanking manoeuvres. But eight legions against two was still sobering odds.
This was the furthest extent of Dura’s lands. Further north there were no fields or homes — just flat desert, the Euphrates disappearing into the distance.
On the final day of marching, with the sun beating down on us with relentless savagery, Surena came galloping up to the head of the column. Since the sand storm he had been in a ridiculously happy mood and today was no different. Like all of us he wore only his white baggy shirt and loose leggings and boots, a floppy hat on his head — helmets were carried on our saddles until the fighting began, unless you wanted to roast your brain. Gallia and her Amazons wore wide-brimmed floppy hats to keep the sun off their necks, and they let their hair fall freely about their shoulders. Some, such as Viper, cut their hair short to save them having to plait it when they donned their helmets, but Gallia and Praxima kept their hair long, which I was glad of. But it was Viper who was the topic of conversation today.
Surena halted his horse beside Remus and bowed his head. ‘Lord, I have happy news.’
‘Excellent, Surena. Have the Romans retreated?’
‘No, lord, I don’t know anything about them, but Viper has agreed to see me when we get back to Dura.’
I looked at Gallia on my other side, who rolled her eyes. ‘My congratulations.’
‘I knew I would win her round in the end. Bit of luck that storm blowing up when it did, though’
‘I’m sure the gods arranged it especially so you could woo her, Surena,’ I said.
‘Yes, lord,’ he beamed. ‘I was wondering, lord, if I might have some leave after the battle.’
‘Leave?’ The idea that he might be killed during the next few days had obviously not entered his mind.
‘Yes, lord, so I can take Viper to meet my people.’
I thought of the reed huts of his people, the marshes, the dried dung they used for firewood and the water buffaloes sharing the dry land with the villagers. ‘I’m sure she will enjoy what will be a unique experience. You have my permission. Now kindly rejoin the ranks.’
He whooped with joy, bowed his head and then galloped back to the cataphracts.
‘Idiot boy,’ remarked Gallia.
‘He’s not so bad, and he is a good soldier.’
‘I don’t know why you indulge him. He has a rebellious streak as wide as the Euphrates, and I don’t like the way he pesters Viper.’
‘You mean he reminds you of yourself.’
She was outraged. ‘He is nothing like me.’
‘Not in looks, obviously, but as for a rebellious streak, what can I say? Anyway, young Viper seems happy enough with him.’
She wore a look of mischief. ‘I could forbid her to see him.’
‘That would be cruel, and cruelty is not one of your vices.’
‘Do I have any vices, Pacorus?’
‘Aside from stubbornness, rebelliousness, volatility and a refusal to obey orders, absolutely none.’
‘Well, perhaps Surena will be killed when we fight the Romans,’ she said happily.
I laughed. ‘We may all suffer that fate, my love.’
On the seventh night Byrd and Malik returned to camp and brought with them a tall, wiry man riding a camel. The man’s name was Martu. He was one of the people who lived on the Jabal Bishri, the descendents of an ancient race called the Amorites who had possessed a great empire many hundreds of years ago. Now these people lived a semi-nomadic existence on the desert steppe of the great mountain. Byrd and Malik had made contact with them two days before, and Martu had agreed to accompany them to our camp. He brought with him desert truffles the size of a man’s fist, which he roasted in the dying embers of our fire and then served them to us with a sauce called Samneh, which was fomented butter made from goat’s milk.
‘This is delicious, Martu,’ I said, ‘you honour us with your presence.’
Martu sat cross-legged near the fire, his weather-beaten face resembling a piece of old leather, his eyes dark brown and his teeth brilliant white.
‘Martu has knowledge of the Romani,’ said Byrd.
‘It is true, lord,’ Martu’s accent was strong and I had to concentrate to understand his words.
‘Where are they?’ I asked.
‘We heard that they left Aleppo and marched east, but were then hit by the great storm.’ His eyes were on Gallia as he spoke, his stare fixed on her long blond locks. ‘Last I heard, lord, they were at Tabaqah.’
‘That is a small town on the Euphrates,’ said Byrd, ‘three days’ march from here.’
‘It is a great army that marches against you,’ remarked Martu casually, still staring at Gallia. ‘Are all your women like her?’
I smiled at him. ‘No, she is unique. She is my queen.’
He laid his right palm on his chest and bowed his head at Gallia. ‘You are indeed fortunate, lord.’
‘He is indeed,’ answered Gallia.
The next day Nergal and a hundred horse archers accompanied Martu, Byrd and Malik into the desert. I did not want any Roman patrols getting close to our position and reporting back to their commander. I wanted to retain the element of surprise at least. The next day Byrd and Malik returned.
‘We had a fight with about fifty Roman horsemen,’ said Nergal, ‘killed about half of them but the rest got away.’
‘Romani army is close, only five miles away,’ said Byrd.
‘And they will know that we are here by now,’ remarked Malik.
That night was subdued as the next day’s battle grew ever closer. The morale of the army was still high, which made my mood darken even more. Most of them would be dead by this time tomorrow. I glanced at Gallia; perhaps she too would also be lying dead beside me. I had brought them all to this place and the burden of responsibility weighed heavily upon me. But what was the alternative? There was none. At least here, in the open, we could try to maul the enemy. To sit in Dura was to invite certain death. But then, as my old adversary Lucius Furius had said, all death is certain. As usual, Gallia stayed with her Amazons on the eve of battle, each woman checking her quiver, sword, bow and dagger. I went to the stable section and ensured Remus was comfortable for the night. He rested his head on my chest as I stroked his neck.
‘Well, old friend,’ I said to him softly. ‘We have ridden far together and shared many great victories.’ His ears twitched as I spoke the words.
‘And now we have to fight again. I thought that we would live in peace once we got back to Parthia and that you would grow old and grey beneath its blue skies. It appears that I was wrong.’
His head rose and he looked at me. I stroked the top of his head.
‘The Parthians are horse lords, Remus, but I think that of all the horses that have carried the kings of the empire you are the finest. I pray to Shamash that if I should fall tomorrow, He will keep you safe and direct you to a new master, one worthy of you. But as He is merciful then perhaps I will ride you again in the next world for all eternity. I would very much like that.’
He nodded his head and I stroked his neck. ‘Until tomorrow then, old friend.’
I walked back to my tent, clasping the arms of Companions who were gathered round fires, talking of the old times, and acknowledging others who had joined me after my tim
e in Italy. Back at my tent Domitus sat sharpening his sword.
‘The night passes too slowly,’ I grumbled.
He looked up. ‘Eager to die?’
‘Eager to get to grips with the enemy, more like.’
‘There is no point in fretting. The morning will come soon enough.’
‘Do you think that god of yours?’
‘Mars?’
‘Yes, that’s him. Do you think he will favour us tomorrow?’
He put down his stone and regarded me for a few seconds. ‘I think all gods admire courage in mortals, and you have it in abundance. But as to whether he will show us any favours.’ He held out his hands. ‘Who knows?’
I sat down in a chair. ‘Well, it’s all in God’s hands now.’
Malik appeared at the entrance to the tent, Byrd following him.
‘Good,’ said Domitus, ‘perhaps you two can cheer him up. He thinks he’s going to die tomorrow.’
‘Never say that, Pacorus,’ said Malik, looking alarmed, ‘to say such a thing can sometimes make it come true.’
They both sat down beside me, stretching out their legs.
‘This isn’t your fight, Malik, you can return to your people if you wish. You too, Byrd. Go and make Noora a happy woman.’
They both looked at each other and then at me. ‘I thought we were friends,’ said Malik.
‘So we are,’ I replied.
He smiled. ‘Well then, I will be staying. I will not abandon a friend in his hour of need.’
‘Me too,’ was all Byrd said.
In all the years that I had known Byrd I had never seen him fight. Indeed, the only weapon he carried was a long knife, and I doubted that he had used that in anger. Still, it was reassuring that he would be with us tomorrow to face the Romans.
Domitus was right, the morning came soon enough, and with it the sounds of trumpets and horns as men were mustered into their companies and centuries. Today I decided not to wear my scale armour. Instead, I wore my Roman leather cuirass over my white top. My helmet had a new crest of white goose feathers. I pulled on my boots, secured my belt that carried my spatha on my left hip and my dagger on the other hip, and then went to the stables.
Nergal sent out riders before the first rays of the sun announced the dawn, and they reported back that the Romans were leaving their camp and deploying on the plain. As Dura’s foot soldiers were marching out of camp I called the commanders of the army together in my tent. We had already visited our horses to saddle them and ensure they had been fed and watered. The only thing left was to ensure that everyone knew what to do.
‘The legions will deploy side-by-side in two lines, not three. In this way we can present as broad a front as possible in the centre of our line.’
I looked at Nergal. ‘Your horse archers will be with me on the right wing, interspersed between the cataphracts, just as we did at Dura last year, but you yourself will be on the left wing leading the lords and their men.’
This would give Nergal ten thousand men to command, a massive number to deploy on one wing.
‘No reserve?’ queried Domitus.
‘A small reserve,’ I replied. ‘I will come to that. Nergal, you must extend your line as far as possible, so the Romans will have to place troops in front of you. Hopefully this will dissipate their strength in the centre.’
‘What about me and my men?’ asked Orodes.
I smiled at him. ‘I would consider it an honour if you joined me on the right, Orodes.’
‘Or you could stand beside me,’ said Domitus, ‘see a bit of real fighting for a change instead of galloping around waving your sword in the air like Pacorus does.’
They all laughed and Nergal slapped Orodes on the back. Even facing great odds their morale was unshakable.
‘Have no fear, Orodes,’ said Gallia, ‘I and my Amazons will be riding beside you.’
‘I had hoped, my love,’ I said tentatively, ‘that the Amazons might form a reserve behind Domitus’ men.’
‘Well, you thought wrong.’
More laughter as Gallia stood before me, unbending. I held up my hand. ‘Very well. May Shamash protect us all and give us victory this day.’
They gave a hearty cheer and then we departed for our commands. Though it was early morning it was already warm; it would be a hot day. The legionaries were marching across the plain and deploying opposite the enemy, while on the wings the horse was also forming up. Each lord led his own followers, which meant that there were twenty blocks of horse archers, each numbering around five hundred men. They looked imposing and were spread over a great distance, but these horsemen lacked the discipline of my cataphracts and Nergal’s horse archers. They were essentially hardy farmers who could ride and were expert in using a bow in the saddle. Their only advantage was their numbers. On the right wing it was very different. Here we only had seventeen hundred men, plus Gallia’s Amazons, a further one hundred, but these men were, I liked to think, the best-trained horsemen in the empire. We would first deal with the Roman cavalry we faced by placing horse archers among the cataphracts. The archers would ride beside the heavy cavalry, shooting their bows as the two lines closed. Even if the Romans matched our tactics their bows did not have the range of our recurve type. When it came to the melee, those enemy horsemen who still lived would stand no chance against my armoured horsemen. And then we would reform and wheel left to attack the exposed left flank of the Roman foot.
It took two hours to get the army into its battle positions, and shortly afterwards the enemy came into view. No, that is incorrect — we heard them first, a great rumbling noise that came from the horizon. Straining my eyes to peer at the distant haze at first I saw nothing. Then, as if by magic, the horizon was filled with a long black line. It shimmered in the heat and seemed to just stand still, not getting larger or smaller. But the noise increased, a loud rasping sound as thousands of sandal-clad feet tramped towards us. And then the black line dissolved to become rows of shields and a forest of javelins, the sun glinting off their points. It was a seemingly unending line of legionaries marching towards us, cohort after cohort moving in perfect unison.
Directly opposite us was the cavalry of their left wing, spearmen with oval shields protecting their left sides. And beside them was a remorseless tide of wood, leather and steel, red banners dotted along the line and trumpet calls rending the hot air. I nudged Remus forward so that I moved ahead of the first line of our horsemen, most of whom had their helmets pushed up on their heads. Dura’s cataphracts were a ferocious sight in their full-face helmets, but for the wearer it could become unbearably hot very quickly.
Then the Romans halted and there was silence, an oppressive silence as thousands of men stared at each other across the thin strip of ground, no wider than four hundred paces, that separated the two armies. Horses scraped at the earth and chomped on bits, others flicked their tails to rid themselves of the flies that buzzed around them. Some legionaries were standing ahead of the front ranks beside their scorpion bolt throwers, while the vast majority of their comrades rested their shields on the ground as they waited for the killing to begin. I had seen scorpions in Italy and how effective they were. In appearance the scorpion looked like a large bow lying parallel to the ground on a wooden bolt carrier, the whole on a wooden stand. Just under the height of a man’s chest, the scorpion was a complex piece of equipment, the two arms that fired the two-foot-long bolt being pushed through ropes made of animal sinews, which are then twisted to create hugely powerful tension devices that push each arm forwards. The arms are then pulled back by means of a bowstring, the bolt is placed on the carrier and then the bowstring is released. The bolt has a range of around five hundred feet and can inflict terrible damage on the densely packed ranks of an enemy.
And then, behind me, I heard horn blasts and drums. I looked round and saw no movement in my ranks, aside from others peering behind them. Then the sounds from behind us grew louder and suddenly to our right, from the desert vastness, came s
imilar sounds. Suddenly I saw a rider, and then another and another, until the horizon was filled with horsemen. And I saw banners flying and windsocks. Then I caught sight of a banner I had not seen in a long time. A great scarlet square embossed with a white horse’s head — the standard of my father. The army of Hatra had come.
As rank upon rank of cataphracts formed up to swell and extend our right wing, my father and Vistaspa galloped to where I was sitting, halting their horses beside me. They were accompanied by wild cheering from Dura’s army as the news of their salvation spread through its ranks.
Vistaspa bowed his head to me and then wheeled his horse away to oversee the proper deployment of his companies.
‘Well, Pacorus,’ said my father, gazing at the Roman masses opposite, ‘you know how to pick a fight, I give you that.’
For a moment I was speechless, hardly believing what I was seeing was real. And then other riders came from the desert, and I knew that Shamash had performed a miracle for me. Gotarzes trotted over to halt before me, and behind him came Vardan of Babylon and Atrax of Media, brave Atrax who never stopped grinning. And the line of horsemen on my right was extending ever further into the distance as the soldiers of the kings of the empire filled the desert.
‘I don’t understand,’ I stuttered, ‘how?’
‘How?’ replied my father. ‘It is quite simple. The water level of the Euphrates drops considerably this time of year, so it was relatively easy for horsemen to ford.’
‘I did not mean that.’
He laughed. ‘I know. Do you think that I would allow my son to stand alone against his enemies?’