The Parthian (59 page)

Gallia next ordered her women, who had now put their helmets back on, to reform around the next group, about a hundred men mustered around a banner of a bull’s skull draped with what appeared to be strips of flesh, human I assumed. They truly revolted me.

‘You think my women are a waste of equipment now, Pacorus?’ Gallia’s eyes were aflame with fury. I was suitably put in my place.

‘No, lady,’ I replied. ‘I thank Shamash that you are here.’

She kicked Epona and rode away. Her women now surrounded the bull’s skull standard. Praxima galloped up and saluted her. Was this a dream?

‘They are ready, lady.’

Gallia walked Epona to within fifty feet of the Gauls and removed her helmet. I rode over to be beside her. She spoke in Latin, not in her native tongue.

‘Warriors of the Senones. I am one of you but fight against you. You are beaten, the price you have paid for fighting alongside the Romans. Put down your weapons and prostrate yourselves before me and you shall be spared. Refuse this and you will die.’

The Gauls whooped and jeered in response, some turning around, bending over and exposing their backsides, others laughing and inviting Gallia to come down from her horse and play with their manhoods. She merely smiled at them then shouted ‘Fire’. The arrows made a hissing noise as they cut through the air followed by a dull thud as each one found its target. Their shooting was impeccable, almost beautiful.

The first volley cut down scores of Gauls, as the others desperately grabbed their shields and attempted to form some sort of defence, but Gallia’s archers were firing from a stationary position and were taking careful aim. The second volley produced another heap of dead, this time arrows striking eye sockets and necks as only the knights among them wore helmets. The rest were bare headed, with their long hair washed in lime and combed into points. There was nowhere for them to hide, and some threw down their shields and spears and held up their arms to signal their surrender, but their tormentors were in no mood for mercy, and so a third volley felled what was left of the men who only a short time before had been hurling insults and taunts. From the circle of dead and dying came pitiful moans and cries of pain, and I saw a few figures writhing in agony on the ground with arrows sticking in them. Others were attempting to crawl, using their arms to drag their pierced bodies to seek safety. It was a forlorn hope, for Gallia nodded to Praxima who slipped her bow back in its case and jumped from her saddle. She was joined by every fifth woman, while the rest covered their comrades with their bows. Praxima drew her sword and then calmly walked among the Gauls, killing any she came across. The others did likewise. I watched in horror as this went on, but I knew that if the roles had been reversed we would have received a similar fate. Gafarn sat next to Diana, who I noticed took no part in the killing, and a glance at her quiver revealed she had fired no arrows. She was not of the disposition to be a slayer, but Gallia liked to keep her close and Gafarn watched over her like a hawk. 

Praxima had sheathed her sword and had drawn her dagger, with which she used to cut off the genitals of a dead Gaul. Grinning, she held up her bloody trophy for me to admire. I heard squeals and yelps as the last Gauls were finished off. Gallia was studying me intently. ‘When your women have finished their sport, rejoin the line.’ I wheeled Remus away and returned to where my companies were reforming. Burebista was riding along the line shouting encouragement and telling the men that it would take only one more charge, and they would break. Only one more charge. But I knew we could not make that charge. We had done well and killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Gauls, but several hundred feet in front of us was a new line of them and those we would not be able to break. For one thing our horses were tired, and for another they would not run at a solid wall of shields and spears. We had failed. 

I spurred Remus forward to take a closer look at the new Gaul line, halting him about two hundred feet from them. There was much shouting coming from their ranks, directed towards me no doubt. Suddenly an arrow slammed into my saddle. I quickly moved Remus back to rejoin the rest of the horsemen. I had been lucky; if it had struck six inches to the right it would have hit me in the groin. A lucky escape, but as I looked at three-side head I realised that it was one of our own arrows. How could this be? 

I peered towards where the Gauls were grouped and could just make out small black slivers dropping from the sky into their ranks. Now I understood. Castus’ men must be grinding their way into the Gauls, who were no longer protected by their rows of stakes. And behind Castus and his centuries were Nergal and his archers. This was confirmed when I edged Remus forward and began to see arrows fall just in front of the ragged enemy line that was facing us. These were missiles that were overshooting their intended target. I gestured for Burebista to join me. When he arrived I saw that his injured arm was now heavily bandaged. I pointed towards the enemy.

‘Those are our arrows that are falling among them. See how some have hoisted their shields above their heads. Castus and his men must be cutting through them. And see how their line doesn’t move. If they were still advancing against our men they would be moving away from us. They are going to break. Pass the word and tell your men to be ready.’

He looked at me in amazement. ‘Are you certain, lord?’

‘Of course I am,’ I snapped irritably. ‘Now go!’

I wasn’t absolutely certain, but my instincts told me that soon the Gauls would be running for their lives. I glanced behind me to my left and right, and saw men drawing their swords as word passed along the line of what was going to happen. Gallia halted Epona beside me, followed by Gafarn and Rhesus on my other side, as her women formed up behind me. She had her helmet back on and its cheek guards closed, but I could still see that her eyes were alight with excitement. 

‘They are going to break, and when they do they will be running in every direction. It will be like hunting a heard of lambs.’ I looked at her quiver. ‘You are nearly out of arrows.’

‘I have my sword and dagger,’ she growled, and then looked at my quiver, which was full.

‘Is your bow broken, Pacorus?’ 

Gafarn laughed. ‘Perhaps Gallia should lead, highness, if you are not up to the task.’

‘Perhaps you should shut up,’ I snapped.

‘Eyes front, lord,’ barked Rhesus.

And then it happened. 

At first it was just a few individuals who started to abandon their ranks. They were followed by more and more until any semblance of order among the Gauls had disappeared. They had either forgotten all about us, or their terror was such that they considered facing us less of a danger than what was happening behind them. And that was surely terrifying enough, for the centuries of Castus, thrusting and stabbing with their short swords, were hacking a path of death and carnage through the mass of Gauls who stood in their way. And so those who could, ran. They fled towards us and ran across our front left and right. Perhaps they believed that because we had halted and now sat on our horses we were exhausted, or that our horses were blown and incapable of carrying out another charge. More likely men thought only of their own survival and fled to save their skins, for panic is infectious and once it is unleashed it is like a virulent plague that sweeps through a city. 

I wrapped the reins around my wrist, drew my bow from its case and made sure I could reach my quiver, and then dug my knees into Remus’ flanks. He lurched forward and began to gather momentum. I didn’t bother to look behind me for I knew that the companies would follow, keeping in tight formation as they approached the enemy. The sound of thousands of hooves hitting the hard earth sounded like a low rumble of thunder as we neared the fear-gripped Gauls. Then I heard the wild cheering of hundreds of horsemen as we crashed into them, riding through them like the wind goes through ripened corn. And then the killing began. I shot the first Gaul in the chest, a brute wielding a large two-headed axe who stood crouched with his weapon ready to disembowel Remus, but instead was felled by an arrow. It didn’t kill him but did stun him. As I rode past him he dropped his axe and I swivelled in the saddle and put another shaft into his back. To my left Rhesus was leading his company, which was three ranks deep, in a wedge formation. Like a spear blade it cut deep into the enemy, Gauls being trampled under hooves or cut down with sword strokes, then as one the men wheeled left and then left again, cutting their way back through and then out of the enemy, keeping moving until they were not surrounded by opponents, for the bellies of standing horses are a tempting target for enemy spears, axes and swords, even if that enemy is fleeing. When they had retreated and reformed, each company charged again, almost like a
gladius
made of horseflesh, thrusting into the enemy’s guts and then withdrawing quickly, and stabbing again and again. 

I saw horses bolt from the melee, their saddles empty, while some riders had become separated from their companies or had allowed themselves to believe that they were invincible. Most were either surrounded and pulled from their saddles, to be hacked to death by a frenzied mob of Gauls, or were mortally wounded as they tried to escape the battlefield. But for every rider who died a score of Gauls or more were cut down. One group tried to form a circle of shields to fight us off, rallying around a few bloodied and battered knights who still retained some cohesion. It was not enough. 

‘Gallia,’ I shouted at the top of my voice, and seconds later she was at my side. I had made sure that I stayed close to her when we had charged, and now I had need of her arrows. 

‘How many arrows have you got left?’

‘No more than half a dozen,’ she replied.

‘Cover me, then, my dear. If you can keep up.’

I galloped forward to where the Gauls were standing. As I thundered past them I shot one man holding a spear and a giant oblong shield painted blue. The arrow hit him in the neck and he squealed before he toppled backwards. Gallia was following hard on my heels and dropped another warrior as I wheeled left and left again, then galloped back on the opposite side of the enemy circle, dropping another warrior as I swept past. Gallia did likewise, and then Gafarn, Praxima and the rest began felling the remaining Gauls with their arrows. The last warrior, a tall fat man with a large moustache that hung down to his waist, screamed with rage and frustration as he surveyed his men lying dead and dying at his feet. He joined them when Gallia put an arrow through his right eye socket and into his brain. It was an exceptional shot. 

The whole left wing of the enemy army had by now disintegrated, ground into nothing by my horsemen and the foot soldiers of Castus, who were now finishing off the last remnants of the Gauls and were wheeling inwards to assault the exposed flank of the Romans. Burebista rode over to me. He looked exhausted and in pain, and I could see blood seeping through his bandage. 

I pointed at him. ‘Gather the companies here, dismount those who are injured or whose horses are blown.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Gallia, who removed her helmet and still looked amazingly fresh after all these hours.

‘To find Castus.’

I nudged Remus forward. He was tired now and I could feel his heightened body warmth next to my lower legs, so I kept him at a walk as we threaded our way across a churned-up ground that resembled an open-air slaughterhouse. The dead lay still, but around them dozens, hundreds, of the wounded writhed and crawled in agony, while some of them, their bodies speared and lacerated, lay for death to take them, their lifeblood oozing out of them onto the earth. I saw a Gaul on all fours coughing blood, another sitting on the ground and trying to hold his guts in place inside a belly that had been sliced wide open. Men whimpered clutching at stumps that had once been their arms. Interspersed between the dead Gauls were slain horses, while others lay fatally wounded on the ground. In places there were heaps of dead clustered around a slain knight or chief, faithful to their lord to the end. It seemed to take an age for me to traverse this stretch of horror, but eventually I saw blocks of red shields marching across my front, century after century being marshalled left to assault the Romans’ flank. I smiled as I saw the telltale long black hair jutting from beneath steel helmets. Their discipline was excellent, but Castus’ Germans still looked like barbarians dressed up as Romans. Those who had been selected as centurions had spotted me early but did nothing; they had seen me often enough in their camp to know who I was, or at least they knew my white horse.

I found Castus sat on a stool with a surgeon stood over him applying a bandage around his head. At his feet lay a helmet that had a large dent in it. A concerned Cannicus was observing the surgeon, a small thin man wearing a simple grey tunic with a large canvas bag hanging from his left shoulder. He tied off the bandage, then examined Castus’ eyes and announced, ‘You’ll live.’ Then he walked away to attend to others. Castus saw me and stood up as I dismounted and led Remus over to him. We embraced; I also took the hand offered by Cannicus.

‘Glad to see you are nearly in one piece, my friend,’ I grinned.

He winced. ‘Gaul bastard with an axe nearly took my head off. Managed to rip open his belly, though. Where are your cavalry?’

‘About half a mile away. They’re no use now, the horses are blown.’

‘It doesn’t matter, lord,’ said Cannicus, ‘you helped to halt them and then they gave way when we attacked them. Then it was just a matter of pushing forward and killing as many as we could.’

Castus nodded. ‘That’s about right. They should have kept behind their stakes. Once we had stopped their charge we got nice and cosy with them, and sliced them to pieces. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and I should know, I was in the front rank at the time.’

I took a drink from a water bottle Cannicus offered me. ‘I can imagine. Where’s Nergal?’

‘Spartacus rode over and ordered him and all your archers over to the other wing when he realised that we were winning here.’ Castus looked behind him as rank upon rank of his men marched forward, javelins in their right hands and their shields tight to their left sides. ‘It won’t be long now.’