by Peter Darman
I raised my hand to the commander of the half-dragon of heavy horsemen that was waiting patiently in three ranks, the butt spike of every kontus driven into the earth beside each rider and helmets pushed up on every head. It was already very warm and they were roasting in their heavy scale armour; to sit in the sun wearing a full-face helmet would only increase their discomfort.
But now the signal was given to move and so lances were plucked from the earth and helmets pulled down as five hundred men rode forward a few paces and then as one wheeled right into column formation, riding parallel to the south side of the square. The commander galloped to the head of the column as it turned again, this time left, to take it parallel to the eastern side of the square, all the time the horse archers continuing their shooting and doing their best to mask the movement of the cataphracts.
I drew my sword and turned to Gallia. ‘It is not right that my horsemen should risk their lives while their king sits idly on his horse.’
‘You and Remus wear no scale armour,’ said Gallia.
‘I will be in the third rank, have no fear.’
‘I am with you, lord,’ said Surena, who also pulled his sword from its scabbard.
‘You and the Amazons are our reserve,’ I said to Gallia, ‘Shamash keep you safe.’
I dug my knees into Remus and he shot forward as Surena followed, both of us galloping after the column of cataphracts that was now deploying into line to face the eastern side of the Roman square. Upon seeing the movement of the cataphracts and their redeployment, Vagises issued orders for his men in front of the heavy horsemen to withdraw as five hundred lances were lowered and the heavy horsemen broke into a trot and then a canter.
No horse will charge into a shield wall and so the cataphracts rode forward at a slow, controlled gallop, the front rank grasping the shaft of each kontus not in the middle but nearer to the butt spike, thereby extending it forward beyond the shoulders of their horses. In this way they could slow their mounts just before impact so the beasts would not panic and either swerve sideways or rear up on their hind legs. The second and third ranks rode forward at a slower pace so as not to collide into the front rank when the impact came – a loud scraping noise that heralded over a hundred kontus points being driven through scutums and into their owners’ bodies.
The riders in all three ranks of the heavy horsemen were widely spaced to allow the second rank to fill the gaps after the initial collision, the next wave of cataphracts moving forward into the openings to drive their lances into Roman shields and bodies. Horrible high-pitched screams pierced the air as men were literally skewered by lances that went through their bodies and into the earth behind, leaving legionaries pinioned to the ground.
Then the cataphracts drew their swords and hacked left and right at helmets, the dark metal splitting them with ease and the skulls underneath. Some Romans avoided the lances and swords and stabbed at horses with their short swords, the blows being deflected by steel scales and thick hide of scale armour. A few stabbed underneath the armour to slice open a horse’s belly, felling the animal and its rider, the pair collapsing onto other legionaries.
The fight was brief and bloody, the cataphracts cutting into the four threadbare ranks that made up this side of the Roman square, prompting some men to flee before the horsemen. Others rallied around the commanders of their centuries, instinctively seeking the security of their comrades, but in so doing they created gaps through which my horsemen flooded. They ignored the groups of Romans who adopted an all-round defence in their centuries and rode into the centre of the square where the senior commanders stood ready to defend the legion’s precious eagle.
One side of the square having been breached and fractured, Vagises sent in companies of horse archers to support the cataphracts, the bowmen shooting down fleeing Romans at short range. Some Romans, fatigued and demoralised, were now throwing down their weapons and attempting to surrender, a risky manoeuvre in the face of enemy horsemen who were not inclined to take prisoners while the battle was still waging. Some were lucky; others were not as more and more horsemen poured into the broken square.
With Surena beside me I accompanied the third rank as it entered the square killing any Roman who crossed its path. I swung my sword at the head of a Roman as he ran past me but failed to hit him. In front of me a lone rider in scale armour charged headlong at the group defending the legion’s eagle.
‘The idiot!’ shouted Surena as Spartacus directed his horse at the score or more men – senior officers and centurions – who guarded the legionary eagle, the sacred symbol of the Senate of Rome and honour of the legion.
I screamed at Remus to move and he bolted forward as I saw with horror Spartacus’ horse smash into the enemy soldiers and collapse to the ground, throwing its rider and rolling over those in its path. I pulled Remus up sharply and jumped from the saddle, sword in hand, as a centurion stood over Spartacus with his gladius drawn back, ready to plunge it into my nephew. I screamed at the top of my voice and ran at the Roman, plunging the point of my blade into his mail shirt. I tripped over Spartacus and tumbled to the ground as the dead centurion fell on top of me and then looked up, helplessly, to see an officer, a tribune in a muscled cuirass, pull the dead centurion off me so he could ram his sword through my chest. I stared, transfixed, as he stood over me, drew up his sword with both hands and then died as a kontus was driven through his body. He pitched forward with the point of the lance protruding from his chest as the cataphract releasing the shaft rode on past me, the point narrowly missing my throat as it stuck in the earth a few inches from my face. Once again a dead Roman had pinned me to the ground.
Surena hauled the body off me and helped me to my feet as Spartacus, oblivious to anything else, ran at the hulking figure draped in a lion skin holding the eagle. The Romans called them Aquilifers, these veterans who were the most senior standard bearers in every legion, and they were selected because they were seasoned soldiers who knew how to take care of the legion’s most precious object.
The Aquilifer rammed the butt spike of the shaft that held the eagle into the ground and drew his gladius as Spartacus swung his sword at the man’s head. The Roman ducked and thrust his own sword into the left arm of Spartacus, which was fortunately protected by tubular steel armour, causing the point to glance off it. My nephew attacked the Roman with a series of lightening-fast sword strikes, his blade moving so rapidly that it appeared that he was holding a weapon of the immortals as it flashed in the sunlight. But the Aquilifer parried every stroke and then smashed his small circular shield into Spartacus, knocking him to the ground.
The Roman raced to stand over him but Spartacus already had his dagger in his left hand and brought it down hard to go through the man’s foot. The Aquilifer screamed in pain and hobbled backwards as Spartacus then swung his sword and cut deep into the side of the Roman’s right calf. He screamed again and this time collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his foot and lower leg. I ran to Spartacus and lifted him to his feet as Surena fought another Roman officer who had rushed to aid the Aquilifer. The latter had managed to haul himself to his feet but was knocked to the ground again as Spartacus swung his sword at the side of his helmet, severing the cheekguard and knocking the Roman senseless. He collapsed again as Spartacus jumped on him and launched a frenzied attack on him with his dagger, stabbing at his face and neck again and again, showering his face, hands and armour with the Aquilifer’s blood.
I hauled Spartacus up once more as Surena killed his opponent with a downward strike of his sword splitting helmet and skull. Cataphracts were now forming around us as more and more horse archers darted around, killing Romans who had thrown down their weapons and raised their hands in a sign of submission.
Spartacus was oblivious to the scenes of carnage around him as he stepped forward and touched the silver eagle with up-raised wings surrounded by a laurel wreath. He grasped the shaft and yanked it from the ground, holding it aloft for all to see while Surena and I flank
ed him to ensure that the enemy did not ruin his moment of triumph.
Cataphracts swirled around us and cut down Romans with their swords and maces, supported by the bows of Vagises’ men who were now shooting at point-blank range. Romans who had surrendered had been slaughtered, those who had attempted to run had been cut down and now the last vestiges of what had been half a legion were being methodically destroyed. I slapped Spartacus on the shoulder and left him in the capable hands of Surena as Gallia and the Amazons rode to where I was standing, my wife leading Remus by the reins.
‘You should take more care of your horse,’ she chided me.
I hauled myself into his saddle and pointed at Spartacus.
‘I had my hands full keeping him alive.’
‘So he will marry Rasha. All is well.’
I looked around at the hundreds of dead Roman bodies. ‘Yes, all is well.’
The battle was now over, the ground littered with discarded scutums, swords, helmets and legionary standards, in addition to the hundreds of dead bodies with arrows or lances stuck in them. A few Romans, their heads horribly gashed by sword or mace strikes, were still clinging on to life as their lifeblood poured from their wounds, others sat upright on the ground staring in disbelief at their bellies that had been sliced open by Parthian blades. A few poor wretches were endeavouring to push their guts back inside them, not realising that the hand of death was already upon them.
After the frenzy of bloodlust had receded horse archers and cataphracts looked on with pity at their defeated foes, though there remained a small group of Romans still fighting. The calls of horns alerted me to their presence a short distance away from where Spartacus had taken the eagle. There were a score of them, most wounded, some helmetless and all grouped around a figure with a badly gashed head who was holding a century standard, made up of a number of silver disks called philarae, mounted above which was a metal plate bearing the century’s title and from which hung two red leather strips. The standard was topped by an image of a human hand in silver. I had seen many of these emblems in Italy and Spartacus had amassed a great collection of them following his many victories.
The Romans stood in silent defiance, swords in hands as Vagises surrounded them with four companies of horse archers, who calmly strung arrows in their bowstrings and waited for the order to shoot.
‘Wait!’ I shouted, then nudged Remus forward to join Vagises.
‘This won’t take long,’ he said.
‘Don’t waste your arrows, order your men to stand down.’
He looked at me in confusion. ‘Why?’
‘Young Spartacus has his eagle,’ I replied. ‘We could have accepted the surrender of the Romans but Gallia persuaded me to fight them so a boy could marry an Agraci princess. A lot of men have died to facilitate that union. I see no reason to add to the butcher’s bill.’
He called forward one of his officers and relayed my order. Fresh horn calls led to the ring of horse archers placing their arrows back in their quivers and then wheeling about, leaving twenty Romans relieved and confused in equal measure.
‘You are getting soft in your old age, Pacorus,’ Vagises ribbed me. ‘They would not show the same mercy if the positions were reversed.’
‘That is why we are better than them, my friend.’
I nudged Remus forward and halted him around twenty paces from the Romans, who raised their swords at my approach.
‘Soldiers of Rome, you have done all that valour and honour requires and are now free to go back to Syria. When you reach Roman territory once more you can tell all those who will listen that only defeat and death awaits those who invade Parthia. Tell Rome that I, Pacorus of Dura, will crush every army that it sends against the Parthian Empire, just as I have destroyed your army.’
I wheeled Remus about and rode him north as my wife and the Amazons fell in behind me and then company after company of horse archers and cataphracts formed column to follow me. Spartacus rode behind myself, Vagises and Gallia, grinning like a simple-minded fool to all and sundry as he held the trophy in his hand. But the decision to fight for the legionary eagle had been bought at a high price when Byrd and Malik returned to us with news that Crassus had reached the safety of Carrhae’s walls.
Surena had chased him all the way to the town gates but a volley of arrows from the walls had forced his withdrawal. He had approached the gates under a flag of truce and requested a meeting with Crassus concerning the agreement of a peace treaty between Rome and Parthia, which was highly presumptuous on the King of Gordyene’s part but did at least confirm that the Roman commander was in the town. An officer replied that Crassus would reply to Surena’s demand the next day.
We made camp three miles south of the town, near the rippling waters of the Balikh River. At last we could immerse ourselves in its cool waters and wash the filth and blood from our bodies. We unsaddled our horses and brought them cool water to drink and then sat down to work out our next course of action. The prisoners were also allowed to drink from the river and wash their wounds, and their fate was our immediate concern.
‘How many do we have?’ I asked as we sat on stools in a circle round a fire as darkness enveloped the earth, the dim glow of torches on the walls of Carrhae visible in the distance.
‘Just under seven thousand,’ answered Vagises. ‘If we take any more they will outnumber us.’
‘The sensible thing would be to kill them,’ said Surena without emotion.
‘I am not in favour of killing prisoners,’ I said, ‘especially as we now have the means to feed them.’
Before night had fallen Vagises had diverted five hundred of his men across the river to take possession of the Roman camp a short distance away, from where Crassus had marched to engage us. They found it stuffed full of supplies and mules, which would all be conveyed back to Dura. A company was left to guard it while the rest brought back a horde of biscuits, wine, bread, cured pork and grain in wagons.
‘Once they have been taken back to Dura,’ I continued, ‘Orodes can decide their fate. Vagises, how many of the enemy do you think lie dead on this plain?’
He shrugged. ‘Difficult to say, but a guess would put the figure at around twenty thousand, give or take.’
‘That still leaves over twenty thousand Roman soldiers in Carrhae, lord,’ said Surena, ‘plus their commander.’
‘We must prevent him from getting back to Syria and raising another army,’ added Vagises.
‘We have no engines to lay siege to Carrhae,’ said Surena.
That was true but Carrhae was a small town and although it had walls it would not have the provisions to sustain twenty thousand soldiers in addition to its garrison and the population.
‘Crassus will have to either escape from the town or enter into a peace treaty,’ I told them all. ‘There is no other army in Syria to come to his aid and his Armenian allies have been defeated and are being pursued by Orodes. Tomorrow we surround Carrhae and wait for Crassus to come to us.’
Later, after the others had retired to their tents, I could not sleep and sat with Gallia, tossing logs onto the fire. We wrapped our cloaks around us for there was a cool wind blowing from the foothills of the Taurus Mountains to the north of Carrhae. It had been a remarkable two days that had seen Parthia defeat a numerically superior Roman army and take possession of no less than seven legionary eagles. As far as I knew this feat was unique in the annals of warfare. All that remained was to agree a peace treaty with Crassus.
‘Can you make a treaty without Orodes?’ she inquired.
‘Orodes is not here and the time to treat with Crassus is now, when his army lies in tatters and Syria is open to invasion.’
‘You think Crassus will agree to a treaty?’
I smiled at her. ‘He has no choice. He cannot leave Carrhae without my permission and the price of his freedom is a binding treaty.’
She giggled. ‘Crassus the slave, at the mercy of Pacorus, his master. I like that. And what are the terms of you
r treaty?’
‘Quite simple. The Euphrates shall define the boundary between the empires of Rome and Parthia in perpetuity, and Armenia will no longer be a client state of Rome but will be independent, free to make its own destiny.’
She sighed. ‘Even after all these years you still know so little of the Romans.’
‘I do not understand.’
She tilted her head and looked at me lovingly. ‘To you preservation is everything – preserving Hatra, preserving the empire and the ways of your father and grandfather.’
‘What is wrong with that?’
‘Nothing, absolutely nothing, but to the Romans it is anathema. Rome desires to rule the whole world and subjugate all the peoples who live in it to its rule, and it will not rest until it has done so. Twenty years ago we escaped Italy and came to Parthia, and now we sit round a fire after having fought another Roman army, just as we did when we were with Spartacus all those years ago.’
‘Are you suggesting I should march against Rome?’ I asked half-seriously.
She sighed. ‘I am saying that it a waste of time talking to Crassus. He will say anything to secure his escape, and once he is back in Syria will raise a new army to satisfy his thirst for conquest.’
I leaned across and put my arm around her. ‘I think you will find that he will be more than willing to talk to me tomorrow, my sweet.’
But Gallia was right and Crassus stole a march on me, leaving Carrhae as I sat on a stool talking to my wife by a fire.
It was two hours after dawn the following day when I learned from Malik that Crassus had left the town, along with what remained of his army. Byrd and their men had been scouting the area north and west of Carrhae when they witnessed three columns of legionaries leave the town and head towards the foothills of the mountains. My heart sank as I realised that Crassus was on the verge of making good his escape.