Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  ‘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 lin
es 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.