Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  Vagises and Surena, his lion banner fluttering behind him, rode to where Spartacus held aloft my standard as cataphract commanders reported their losses, which were remarkably light: twenty men killed and fifty-three others wounded, none seriously. I saw a look of horror on Vagises’ face as he halted his horse and stared at the body of Vagharsh on the ground, four dismounted cataphracts standing guard over it.

  ‘Bastard Romans,’ he hissed, not realising that it was arrows shot by his own men who had killed him. I saw no reason to reveal the truth.

  ‘We have a battle to win before we can grieve,’ I told him. ‘It is time to unleash a hailstorm against the Roman square lest Crassus is tempted to rescue his son.

  I turned to Surena. ‘I would be eternally grateful if you would destroy those Romans occupying my hillock.’

  A devilish smile crept over his face and he slammed his knees into his horse’s sides, causing the beast to rear up on its hind legs, and then he bolted forward back to his waiting companies. Vagises followed him and then veered away to his waiting dragons of horse archers. Within minutes horn blasts echoed across the gloomy battlefield and horse archers once more began loosing arrows at all four sides of the square. To my left the Romans on the hillock faced the full wrath of two thousand horse archers as Surena’s men shot what was left of the command of Publius Crassus to pieces.

  Having destroyed the Romans’ Syrian archers – those few still alive being confined to the hillock – our horse archers could now ride closer to the front ranks of the enemy square on the plain, riding parallel to the locked shields, each rider loosing around five arrows a minute before peeling away to reform in his company. The horsemen stayed out of javelin range but shooting at a distance of around fifty paces they ensured that every arrow struck its target. And the pace of their horses was a quick canter – there was no need to gallop – further aiding accuracy. Seven thousand horse archers were assaulting Crassus’ square, shooting an average of twenty-eight thousand arrows every minute at his men.

  I heard the sound of cheers resounding across the plain and realised that Surena had destroyed the Romans on the hillock. Groups of horse archers began redeploying to take part in the assault against the main Roman Army as others began herding a long line of Roman prisoners away from the battlefield. And all the time Crassus and his men were easy targets for our archers.

  ‘Here comes the conquering hero,’ remarked Gallia as Surena came galloping towards us, holding what appeared to be a spear in his hand.

  As he and his bodyguard got closer I realised that there was a severed head on the end of the shaft he was holding, blood covering the wood and his hand.

  ‘Behold, lord, I give you Publius Crassus,’ he shouted at the top of his voice so my officers grouped behind me could hear, ‘son of Marcus Licinius Crassus, who unwisely brought an invading army into Parthia.’

  I stared at the lifeless eyes of the man I had liked. ‘You should have accepted his surrender, Surena.’

  ‘Unfortunately, lord, he took his own life but some five hundred of his men did give themselves up. Do you want me to kill them?’

  ‘We will decide what to do with them after the battle is over.’

  ‘Take it away,’ Gallia said to Surena, ‘it’s disgusting.’

  Surena grinned. ‘Your wish is my command, lady. I shall go and show Crassus what has happened to his son.’

  He gave a whoop of victory and then turned his horse around and galloped away with his men following.

  As dusk was fast approaching Vagises began withdrawing his men plus those of Gordyene. The Roman Army still existed but it had been severely battered and had there been but two more hours of light left we might have shot it to pieces, just as we had done with the troops of Publius Crassus. As it was we withdrew from the field, taking as many of our dead as we could, leaving behind only those who were within javelin range of the enemy.

  Byrd and Malik and their scouts stayed on the field until well after darkness had enveloped the land to ensure that the Romans did not send out any parties of horsemen to raid us, but they returned after we had made camp three miles to the east with news that the enemy remained immobile in their square. The last of our number to leave the battlefield was Surena and his bodyguard, the King of Gordyene riding up and down in front of the Romans, taunting them with the head of Publius Crassus and shouting insults at them, demanding that they send a champion from their ranks to fight him in single combat. He shouted for Crassus himself to come forward to avenge his son’s death but the Romans remained stationary and silent in their ranks and eventually Surena tired of their lack of response and left them to endure a night without shelter, food and water. It had been a day that had exceeded all expectations and I was forced to rethink my strategy.

  ‘Crassus is finished,’ said Surena, sitting on a stool after having planted the spear on which the head of Crassus’ son was impaled next to his tent before joining us round a fire.

  ‘I am apt to agree with Surena,’ said Vagises, chewing on a piece of cured meat.

  The squires, who had taken no part in the battle, now stood sentry over the camp as the horse archers of Dura and Gordyene and my cataphracts rested their weary bodies under the stars.

  ‘You have won a great victory, lord,’ continued Surena.

  ‘I have won nothing,’ I contradicted him. ‘The Roman Army still exists and tomorrow will attempt to reach the safety of the walls of Carrhae, ten miles to the north. Only after we have prevented it from doing so can we claim victory.’

  Surena would have none of it. ‘You did not see the damage inflicted on the Romans by our arrows. Men were being shot down where they stood and pulled back into the square, and on all four sides bodies were being pierced with ease.’

  ‘I have to agree,’ added Vagises. ‘Arsam’s arrows proved their worth today.’

  ‘And do not forget the Romans that were killed on the hillock, lord, and at the hands of your own cataphracts,’ continued Surena.

  ‘We must have killed upwards of six or seven thousand,’ suggested Vagises, ‘plus the ones killed or wounded in the square.’

  ‘That still leaves over forty thousand men to our less than ten,’ I reminded them. ‘We will wait until the morning before becoming too triumphant.’

  I spent most of the night walking around the camp, talking to those who also could not sleep and congratulating them on their conduct during the battle. The morale of the men was high, especially among the cataphracts who had defeated their Roman opponents, and everyone was talking about the new swords and how their blades had sliced through Roman steel with ease. I also took the opportunity to view the five hundred Roman prisoners who had been corralled in a small gully near the camp. They had been given dates to eat but no water since we could spare none. They would have to wait for the dawn when they would be escorted to the Balikh to slake their thirsts. They looked tired, demoralised and frightened by their predicament, and many carried battle wounds. Two companies of bowmen guarded them but I doubted any would attempt to escape, unlike their comrades to the west on the Plain of Carrhae.

  The only person who was not happy, and appeared close to despair, was Spartacus. When I returned to my tent I found him pacing up and down and muttering to himself.

  ‘They say that talking to oneself is either a sign of madness or proof that one who does so has the ear of the gods,’ I said.

  He stopped pacing and muttering and looked at me, his unhappy face cast in a red glow by the fire nearby.

  ‘I certainly do not have the ear of the gods,’ he fumed.

  I pointed to a stool and sat on another.

  ‘Sit down, you will wear out your boots with all that pacing.’

  He sat beside me, mumbling under his breath.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  He suddenly looked totally forlorn. ‘I will never be with Rasha now.’

  ‘Ah, I see. You think that your chance of taking an eagle has eluded you?’

  ‘Yes.�
��

  ‘The battle is not over, Spartacus, far from it. Tomorrow is another day. You must have faith.’

  I was beginning to sound like Dobbai, much to my consternation.

  ‘Surena says that that Romans are finished and will flee back to Carrhae.’

  ‘He is right that they will make for Carrhae,’ I said, ‘but they are far from finished. They are only ten miles from safety. This battle is not over.’

  Chapter 18

  The new day dawned bright and sunny and the army was in the saddle early, three companies of Surena’s horse archers having been left behind to guard the prisoners who would be transported west to the Balikh River after we had determined where Crassus and his army were. That was solved when we rode back on to the battlefield to discover it had gone, leaving behind hundreds of wounded men occupying the area where a day earlier the great square of legionaries had stood. Byrd and Malik had ridden out of camp before dawn and now they returned with news that the main force of Romans was strung out on the road to Carrhae.

  ‘We ride very close but they make no moves against us,’ reported Byrd.

  ‘How far away?’ I asked.

  ‘Three miles,’ answered Malik.

  I waved forward Vagises.

  ‘Take your horse archers and kill as many as you can but do not get too close to Carrhae. There are no doubt horsemen among the garrison.’

  He saluted and gestured to his waiting officers to attend him.

  ‘And Vagises,’ I said, ‘take care of yourself. No heroics.’

  He smiled and then went to brief his commanders, and within minutes nearly three thousand horse archers were cantering north to harry the Roman retreat.

  Most of the casualties we had suffered the day before had been among Surena’s men – six hundred killed and another three hundred wounded – and so four hundred of his men remained in camp to care for the injured, in addition to those who were guarding the prisoners. But he still retained just under four and half thousand men and now those horsemen deployed around the groups of standing, lying or sitting Roman wounded. What a pitiful sight they were: cut and bleeding men with broken bones, listless faces and torn tunics, waiting in dumb silence as we decided their fate.

  ‘What do you wish to do with them, lord?’ asked Surena, who had thankfully left his gruesome trophy in camp.

  Gallia looked at me in expectation that I would give the order to kill them. We did not have enough medicines to treat their wounds and no wagons to transport them to the nearest town, which in any case was occupied by the Romans. In truth I was reluctant to order their murder because they were unarmed and helpless and I liked to think of myself as a soldier not a butcher. As I heard the laughter of Dobbai in my mind I saw one of Surena’s men dismount and offer a waterskin to a Roman whose left arm was in a sling. The Roman reached out to take the leather container when he saw a horse archer nearby pulling back the string on his bow to test the tension. Thinking an arrow was nocked in it the Roman drew his dagger and stabbed the Parthian in front of him, who collapsed to the ground clutching his stomach. Surena saw it too.

  ‘Kill them all!’ he screamed.

  Gallia nodded approvingly as his men either shot down the Romans, hacked them to death with their swords or rode over those who lay prostrate on the ground. I ordered the cataphracts to accompany me north and turned my back on the scene of slaughter as my ears were assailed by the wails and screams of dying men.

  As we travelled towards Carrhae we came across whole centuries of disarmed Romans, marching in step and in their ranks, being escorted south by half-companies of Duran horse archers. The Romans were surrendering in droves, though a few still had some fight left in them. Halfway to Carrhae Vagises returned to report that his men had trapped around two thousand Roman legionaries on a hillock nearby. Spartacus behind me let out a groan when he saw that the commander of my horse archers was holding a pole topped by a silver Roman eagle. He noted Spartacus staring longingly at it and held it out to the young prince.

  ‘You want it?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ he snapped. ‘It is worthless if another has taken it.’

  Vagises shrugged. ‘I didn’t take it; I found in lying on the ground. Still, it’s a nice trophy. There’s another one on that small rise ahead, though you might have to fight them for it.’

  I turned to look at Spartacus and saw his eyes were wide with excitement. ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘it looks as though you have the ear of the gods after all, Spartacus.’

  He handed my standard to Zenobia mounted beside Gallia and drew his sword as I nudged Remus forward. I looked at the eagle being carried so casually by Vagises on my left side.

  ‘My men have taken two more of these,’ he said. ‘The Roman Army is on the verge of collapse.’

  I could hardly contain my excitement. To have not only turned back the Roman invasion but also shattered their army was nothing short of a miracle, one that I had Dobbai to thank for. How else could this marvel be explained? The sounds of thousands of horses’ hooves snapped me out of my daydreams as Surena’s men flooded the road in font of us to gallop on towards Carrhae, skirting groups of Roman soldiers trudging in the opposite direction.

  ‘We killed them all, lord,’ he announced proudly as Vagises moved his horse aside to allow him to join me. He saw the eagle that Vagises held.

  ‘You should give that to young Spartacus so he can marry Rasha.’

  ‘I will take my own or none at all,’ insisted Spartacus.

  ‘There is one but a short distance away,’ I said to Surena, ‘guarded by nearly half a legion. That is where we are heading.’

  ‘Is Crassus there?’ inquired Surena.

  ‘No horsemen,’ replied Vagises, ‘most likely he is in Carrhae by now.’

  ‘If he gets back to Syria he will raise another army to invade Parthia next year,’ said Surena.

  That much was true. Losing an army might be an inconvenience and a stain on his honour, but for a man of Crassus’ wealth it would be only a temporary setback. If he raised another army and mounted a second invasion of Parthia then he could still achieve ultimate victory as well as avenge the death of his son.

  But for the moment our thoughts were occupied by the two thousand Roman legionaries who had taken possession of a small rise of ground about five miles south of the town. Why they had stopped rather than press on to the sanctuary of Carrhae no one knew. Perhaps many wounded among their ranks had slowed their march or, more probably, they had become lost in the dark and strayed from the road that led north. Whatever the reason they were now being surrounded by horse archers as Vagises’ men circled them like angry wolves.

  The commander of my horse archers rode to where I sat with Gallia and Surena observing the Romans, who had formed a shield wall on all four sides of their ragged square and had also locked shields over their heads in anticipation of volleys of arrows.

  Vagises halted his horse and raised his hand. ‘Pacorus, the commander of the camel train informed me earlier that he has few quivers left. We used a prodigious quantity of arrows yesterday that has nearly exhausted our supplies.’

  ‘How many do we have left?’ asked Surena.

  ‘Whatever your men and mine carry at this moment plus an additional two quivers,’ answered Vagises.

  ‘That few,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should demand the surrender of these Romans rather than waste more arrows. We still have to deal with those Romans who have reached Carrhae, after all.’

  I heard a groan of frustration behind me and Gallia laid a hand on my arm.

  ‘I think you should fight these Romans, Pacorus.’

  ‘Why? What is so special about them?’

  She glanced at Spartacus behind us.

  ‘Some have to fulfil their destinies, my husband, just as you have fulfilled yours.’

  I looked at Spartacus, who because he wore the uniform of a Hatran cataphract had an open-faced helmet. I saw his eyes full of pleading.

  ‘Very well,’ I said. �
��Vagises, your men will soften them up first, but controlled shooting. Tell your commanders to be frugal with their arrows. We may need them in the days ahead.’

  Gallia, her face largely hidden behind the closed cheekguards of her helmet, nodded at me.

  ‘Rasha will love you even more.’

  ‘Not if Spartacus gets himself killed she won’t.’

  But Spartacus was not thinking about death or mortality, only glory and his beautiful young princess. After I had given the order for half the cataphracts – five companies – to deploy into battle formation he rode to join the front rank as the horse archers began to attack the Roman square. To break such a formation is not easy and even though Dura’s horsemen were among the best trained in the empire I worried that the cataphracts would come to grief when they made their charge. The customary tactic was for the horse archers to shoot against all four sides of the square, with the heaviest concentration of missiles being directed against one of those sides, which would be the predetermined target for the heavy horsemen. The attacks against the other three sides were diversions only.

  His company commanders under strict orders not to waste arrows, riders charged at the Roman shields with empty bowstrings and then swung right to ride along the wall of shields to discover if the enemy had retained their javelins during their retreat. The lack of missiles thrown from the square seemed to suggest that they had not.

  The five companies of cataphracts earmarked for the attack were arrayed in a line facing the south side of the square, but I passed the word that their actual assault should be against its eastern side. The Roman commander would have seen the heavy horsemen lining up and would have deduced that they were going to assault his men once the archers had finished their work. Most likely he would have stripped legionaries from the other sides of the square to reinforce the one that faced south, but Vagises’ horse archers were subjecting the eastern side to the heaviest volleys of arrows. His men were now riding parallel to the shield wall, loosing their arrows at a range of below thirty paces, the slim steel heads going through scutums with ease, though whether they were piercing flesh was impossible to tell.