The Cursed Kingdom

by Peter Darman

  The general’s headquarters was a poor farmhouse around five miles to the east of Mepsila, the king’s pavilion being located five miles further to the east out of fear King Spartacus might launch a raid to capture him.

  ‘He hates me,’ said Darius, much to the amusement of the Roman legate, a serious individual named Gaius Cotta. Either side of him the senior lords of Media, who had fought for Farhad and his son Atrax, were not amused by their king’s shrill outburst.

  The flickering oil lamps illuminated their faces and the sparse surroundings, the room infused with a slightly rank odour, a mixture of human sweat, animal dungs and mould. Darius screwed up his face.

  ‘I do not understand why I have to be here, general. We could have held a council of war in my pavilion.’

  Joro frowned, his face becoming a pattern of worry lines.

  ‘Your pavilion has too many distractions, majesty, whereas here we can focus on the task in hand.’

  A spider dropped from the reed roof onto the king’s head. He brushed his hair frantically.

  ‘Get on with it, then.’

  ‘The reports of my scouts indicate we outnumber King Spartacus’ forces. In addition, the ground is flat and largely free of obstacles, meaning our horsemen, the strongest part of our army, can be used to maximum effect. No offence, Gaius.’

  ‘None taken, lord,’ smiled the Roman.

  ‘The strongest element in the enemy’s army are the Immortals – ten thousand well-trained and equipped soldiers which will punch straight through our own foot soldiers if given the opportunity. We will deny him that opportunity by using our strongest element, our horsemen, to envelop the enemy’s army.’

  He used his arms to make a hugging gesture, bringing his arms in to embrace his own body.

  He looked at the nobles. ‘My lords, it is my intention to deploy your horse archers in the first line, either side of the foot soldiers. Together with the king’s horse archers each flank of the army will number seven and a half thousand men. But I desire you submit to my command all your mounted spearmen, which added to the king’s cataphracts will give us a reserve of over ten thousand horsemen. This reserve will be held back until the enemy has been surrounded and demoralised, when it will be unleashed.’

  The lords looked at each other and nodded in agreement. They had known Joro for years and respected him for his bravery and honesty.

  Joro nodded at the Roman. ‘Legate Gaius, if it pleases, you will lead the assault of our centre, which will number just over thirty thousand foot soldiers.’

  Cotta was surprised but delighted to be given such a responsibility.

  ‘It will be an honour, lord.’

  The lords seemed satisfied and the Roman pleased. Darius seemed bored but that suited Joro. The last thing he wanted was the king becoming involved in the planning and execution of the battle. The son of Aliyeh had shown little interest in the upkeep of Media’s army, believing it could be summoned out of thin air when it was needed. It was an affront to the office of lord high general that Darius should have been even considered for such a position, but with the help of the gods his army would win on the morrow, and perhaps King Darius might learn to be a good commander in the process.

  *****

  The day dawned perfect for a battle: clear, dry, sunny but a gentle northerly breeze ensuring the next few hours would not be too stifling. Spartacus was already in the saddle when the Immortals began marching from the gates of Mepsila, the scouts having left before dawn to reconnoitre the enemy’s movements. There was an uninterrupted view of the mountains to the north, the Tigris to the rear and the Irbil Plain to the front, the ground green and dotted with isolated farms. To the east was the army of Darius, the reports indicating it outnumbered his own considerably, though the scouts may have exaggerated its size on account of the great sprawl of Median tents arranged in haphazard fashion, a feature of many Parthian armies. He looked up at his two young sons on the battlements of Mepsila. Castus and Haytham would have a good view of the battle. His other son would have a closer view, Akmon being part of the King’s Guard.

  ‘The Aorsi are a little tardy, majesty,’ remarked Hovik, as usual wearing a frown.

  ‘They will be here,’ Spartacus assured him.

  And sure enough a few moments later Spadines appeared, looking as unkempt as ever, behind him a score of horsemen carrying long spears. He bowed his head to Spartacus and tipped it to Hovik. Up close he looked even shabbier, his grubby tunic having holes in the elbows. But he was armed to the teeth and all those weapons were clean and sharp.

  ‘Today we kill Darius,’ he grinned.

  ‘The gods willing,’ said Spartacus. ‘You have explained the tactics to your warlords.’

  ‘Don’t worry, lord, they know what to do,’ he replied.

  Hovik had already briefed Gordyene’s lords and the army’s other commanders on the battle plan, Spartacus smiling as he suddenly remembered the words of Lucius Domitus.

  ‘Battle plans usually fall apart the moment the fighting begins.’

  Spadines saw the grin. ‘The king is in a good mood, it is an auspicious omen.’

  Spartacus’ smile disappeared. ‘Just stick to the plan.’

  He kicked his horse forward, Akmon and the King’s Guard following. The prince had been in a sombre mood since the revelation Lusin was to marry a rich Babylonian, that and his father’s obvious relish at her misfortune. The simmering resentment he felt towards his father had all but banished any nerves he would have been experiencing as the noise of the enemy reached his ears. It was a mixture of drumming and trumpet calls, the former predominating. Hundreds of rawhide drums and kettledrums were making a din fit to raise the dead. The intention was to strike dread into the enemy but the veterans of Gordyene had heard it all before.

  The Immortals moved into position silently, deploying in two rectangular blocks with a combined frontage of over a thousand yards. There were no gaps between the divisions to present an unbroken line of shields and spears to the enemy. Either side of the Immortals were the lords of Gordyene and their horse archers – five thousand on each wing to extend the army’s frontage by another mile. Behind the battalions and divisions of the Immortals were Rasha and her Vipers and the thousand professional male horse archers of the army, including the master archer Kuris at the head of his company. Behind the horse archers were two blocks of medium horsemen equipped in scale armour and armed with spears, axes and daggers, their bodies protected by round wooden shields. The King’s Guard was deployed behind them and to the rear of the army were the Aorsi, divided into two blocks. The whole army resembled more a giant column rather than a line ready to give battle. It was mid-morning when it had fully deployed on the grassy plain, halting to await the arrival of the enemy.

  *****

  Joro smiled when he viewed the enemy around three-quarters of a mile distant. He had ridden forward with a party of cataphracts to see for himself the lay of the land and to get a closer look at the vaunted army of Gordyene. He was pleasantly surprised to discover it appeared much smaller than the reports had previously indicated. Behind him the Roman legion and Irbil’s professional foot soldiers were already in position, waiting for twenty-three thousand levy spearmen to deploy on either side of them. From a distance they looked impressive enough: two huge bodies of tightly packed soldiers bristling with spear points. Legate Cotta had a thousand Pontic javelinists and two hundred Cappadocian slingers to support his four thousand legionaries. Darius’ professional foot soldiers had no such missile support, but Joro had placed the two thousand foot archers brought by the king’s lords immediately behind them to augment their fighting power.

  The king’s and his lords’ horse archers were now flooding the plain on each wing of the army, which had a line around three miles in length, perhaps more. The constant drumming pleased him and hoped it was fortifying those standing in the ranks under a sun shining down on the two armies, the breeze clearing the few clouds that had occupied the sky earlier.
He heard cheers and turned to see a huge dragon banner fluttering in the wind, before it the figure of Darius accepting the acclaim of his soldiers. He was wearing a shimmering dragon-skin armour cuirass of silver scales and a burnished helmet, upon which was a golden crown. Behind him were a hundred cataphracts. He pulled up his horse and Joro bowed his head.

  ‘Where is King Spartacus?’ asked Darius, scanning the ranks of the stationary enemy.

  ‘I have seen no lion banner, majesty.’

  Darius laughed. ‘He’s probably cowering behind the walls of Mepsila. Coward. And that Agraci wife of his, have you seen her?’

  ‘No, majesty.’

  ‘After the battle I will have her hanged from the walls of Mepsila, along with the rest of the band of whores she leads.’

  ‘Vipers, majesty,’ said Joro.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Queen Rasha’s female horse archers are called Vipers.’

  Darius curled his lip. ‘I prefer whores. It is a sign of the depths to which the office of high king has sunk that Phraates mixes with such individuals. Are we ready, Joro?’

  The general looked beyond the king to where the thousands of levy spearmen stood in their ranks.

  ‘We are ready, majesty.’

  ‘Well, then, let us rid Media of these barbarians.’

  *****

  Due to the flatness of the terrain Darius would not have seen Spartacus’ lion banner as the king rode to where the Vipers were drawn up in close order, the helmeted-women raising their bows in salute as he and his son pulled up their horses in front of their commander. Rasha smiled and removed her helmet when she saw them. Spartacus had toyed with the idea of suggesting his wife stay with him during the battle, but knew it was a waste of time. So instead he turned to glance at the rear battalions of the Immortals.

  ‘Their commander has his orders. You know yours?’

  ‘Does an eagle know how to fly?’ she replied, Narin next to her beaming from ear to ear.

  ‘Take care of yourself,’ said Spartacus.

  Akmon leaned over to kiss his mother on the cheek.

  ‘The gods be with you, mother.’

  ‘And with you,’ she said softly.

  ‘Spread the word,’ Spartacus said to Rasha, ‘if any of your women get a clear shot at Darius, tell them to take it.’

  Then he was gone, urging his horse back to where the King’s Guard stood. He had just reached his bodyguard when the incessant drumming coming from the enemy ceased, silence descending over the battlefield, then there was a clamour of trumpet blasts followed by hurrahs and cheers.

  The battle had begun.

  He hated being in the rear, separate from the initial clash. He wanted to be in the front rank of the Immortals as they closed on the enemy, to see the faces of the enemy soldiers up close, to feel the scintillating elation of triumph as he drove his sword into a foe’s belly. But he was commander of the army and had to be with his horsemen if he was to win the battle, and win the crown of Media.

  On each flank of the Median army seven and a half thousand horse archers thundered forward into open country. Their instructions were simple: ride past the battle line of the enemy army before wheeling inwards to shoot volleys of arrows at those formations behind the Immortals. The latter would be unable to respond because they would be locked in combat with the thousands of foot soldiers now marching towards them.

  The earth shook when the horse archers charged forward, the advance of the centre of the Median army more measured but no less threatening. The focal point was the legion of Legate Cotta, its cohorts inching ahead of the levy spearmen as they prepared to charge at the Immortals, supported by the javelinists and slingers. The Romans always attacked, no matter what the circumstances or the odds they faced. They sought a psychological edge over the enemy by hitting him first and hard, thereafter retaining the momentum as they sawed their way through a foe’s centre. It had always been so. And Spartacus knew it.

  The Romans were less than four hundred paces from the Immortals when from the latter came a blast of trumpets and a hundred whistles being blown. Where before there had been an unbroken wall of large oval shields there were now gaps as battalions moved aside to create lanes through the divisions, through which galloped horse archers. Rasha led the Vipers and a thousand other horse archers through the Immortals, the riders arrayed in fifteen columns, the head of each one shooting arrows as she or he headed towards the Median foot soldiers and their Roman allies.

  The Scythian bow had a maximum range of just over four hundred yards but the Vipers and their male counterparts were shooting from a distance of under two hundred yards as they charged at the enemy, each archer discharging up to seven arrows a minute, initially only those at the head of the columns shooting but then those following loosing their arrows as the head of the column galloped to within fifty yards of the enemy battle line and then wheeled right to ride along the line of spearmen and legionaries, nocking and shooting arrows as he or she did so.

  In less than five minutes over one hundred thousand arrows had been shot at the centre of the Median army. The Roman and Median professional foot soldiers had immediately adopted a testudo formation in a display of superb discipline. The roof and walls of shields defeated the arrow storm but the levy spearmen were not so lucky, hundreds being hit by three-winged tipped arrows to knock holes in their huge blocks. More importantly, the arrow storm stalled the Median advance.

  Rasha and her horse archers made only one pass against the enemy before wheeling away to take them back to their starting positions. But as they did so the Immortals, reforming their ranks, charged the enemy. The frontline companies, each one made up of ten ranks of ten men, raced forward, the first two ranks hurling their spears before drawing their short swords and charging the enemy. The Roman legion and professional Median foot soldiers buckled but did not break, though dozens of unfortunate javelinists and the last remaining slingers were cut down in the initial clash. But on the flanks of the professionals the Immortals cut deep into the ranks of the levy spearmen, short swords slashing and stabbing at unarmoured legs, necks, faces and torsos.

  From his vantage point in the rear of the army Spartacus saw the approach of thousands of enemy horse archers from both flanks. He turned to Spadines.

  ‘Now’s your time, lord prince.’

  Spadines gave a triumphant roar, rode back to his waiting horsemen and bellowed to his warlords. Within minutes his two formations advanced, one charging left, and the other charging right, at the closing enemy horse archers. Hovik next to Spartacus drew his sword and cut the air downwards. Signallers standing near him turned and began waving red flags frantically from side to side. This was the cue for the horse archers who had been standing idly on the immediate flanks of the Immortals to about-face and support the charge of the Aorsi.

  It was not a disciplined charge by the Sarmatians, more a headlong rush of an armed mob waving spears, axes and swords and hollering war cries. There were no ranks and the riders were widely spaced as they tried to outrun each other to reach the Median horse archers first. But their indiscipline reduced their casualties as the Median horse archers on both flanks shot a volley, about-faced and then speedily withdrew. It was a standard Parthian tactic: lure the enemy away from the main force by a feigned withdrawal, turning in the saddle to shoot over the hindquarters of horses at a pursuing enemy. Then, once they had enticed the enemy to pursue too far, the horse archers would turn and swarm around them, shooting them to pieces. But the horse archers of Gordyene’s lords supported the Sarmatians, their task to keep fifteen thousand Median horsemen away from Darius’ army.

  As the Immortals stabbed their way forward, the Vipers and Gordyene’s other professional horse archers moved to their flanks to begin shooting at the enemy’s levy spearmen. Facing no threat from enemy horsemen themselves, they could shoot from a stationary position, directing a deadly hail of arrows at soldiers already on the verge of collapse. After a few minutes they began to break, isola
ted groups abandoning their comrades to flee away from the arrows filling the air. Soon it would become a flood if the horse archers were left undisturbed.

  *****

  ‘What is happening?’

  Joro could sense the fear in his king’s voice as he saw with his own eyes his army beginning to crumble. He turned to face the panicking king.

  ‘Now is the time, majesty, to deliver a mortal blow to the enemy.’

  He pointed to the left, to where levy spearmen were fleeing.

  ‘We swing around our left flank to swat away their horse archers and strike the Immortals in the rear. Assaulted in front and rear, they will be crushed.’

  Without waiting for an answer, he called forward a rider and told him to convey a message to the commanders of the mounted spearmen behind the cataphracts to follow the banner of the king. The breeze had picked up to show the dragon standard to full effect.

  ‘Order your men forward,’ Joro instructed the commander of the cataphracts.

  Moments later trumpet blasts sounded amid the five lines of heavily armoured horsemen, who began to walk forward.

  ‘It is time to reclaim your kingdom, majesty,’ he said to Darius.

  The king swallowed, drew his sword and kicked his horse forward. Behind him ten and a half thousand horsemen followed. The ranks of the cataphracts were immaculately dressed, those of the mounted spearmen less so. But as they progressed from a trot to a canter the ground began to shake and the air was filled with a low rumble. Soon they were riding through the fleeing levy spearmen, men slowing their horses to guide them around frightened groups of individuals who had discarded their spears and shields. But they soon left the deserters behind as they followed the fluttering dragon banner. The horsemen of the lords hooted with delight and goaded each other on as they passed what was left of the levy spearmen being peppered with arrows, the Immortals and Romans and Darius’ professional foot soldiers now battling each other ferociously. Behind these formations the two thousand foot archers were doing good work, shooting over the Medians against the Immortals.