The Parthian (60 page)

He picked up his helmet and grimaced as he forced it back on his head over the bandage. He clasped my arm. ‘I will see you later, my friend.’

‘Keep safe, Castus, and you too Cannicus.’

They both grinned at me and then strode away to rejoin their men. In the distance the muffled sound of shouts mingled with weapons clashing indicated that the battle was still raging. 

The battle was now entering its final, bloody stages, as Castus’ legions were not only cutting their way into the Romans’ left flank, they were moving into the rear of the enemy army. And that army was now on the verge of defeat. Our men were tired, but the destruction of the Gauls on our right wing had given them a second wind and now they could taste victory. One German legion, the one nearest the Romans, was wheeled sharply left into the flank of the Roman formation that had fought the Thracians to a standstill. But now it was being assaulted in the front and on its flank, and could do nothing to prevent Castus’ other legions, those who had been facing the Gauls, from advancing forward and then swinging left to get behind the Romans. The latter were being herder steadily to the left, towards their right wing where the Gauls were positioned opposite Afranius. And those Gauls were being shot to pieces by my archers, still standing as they were behind their stakes and presenting an easy target. They could withstand short, intense volleys, but a steady, withering fire that went on and on was more than they could bear. Afranius had pulled his men back where they locked shields to the front and overhead — he had made more charges — where they were mostly safe from the enemy’s projectiles: axes, spears, sling shots and the occasional arrow. Our archers were brought forward to stand directly behind the first line of Spanish cohorts, from where they shot at the enemy. 

After I had given the contents of my waterskin to Remus, I rode him back to Burebista’s men. When I reached them many were lying on the ground with their saddles beside them. A screen of riders had been placed around them to warn of any impending attack, but there was no Roman cavalry to be seen anywhere; indeed, I had seen few mounted enemy this day. Rhesus, Burebista, Gafarn and Gallia were stood in a circle of officers on the edge of the group. It was apparent that the men accepted her presence without protest. Her prowess in battle had obviously won them over.

‘All company commanders to assemble their men,’ I shouted as I neared them. 

Burebista spoke to his officers, who sprinted away, as did Gallia. 

‘What news, lord?’

‘The battle goes well,’ I replied. ‘We need to make one last effort to help our comrades fighting on foot.’

A worried look crossed his face. ‘The horses are tired, lord, and so are the men.’

‘I know, but we will not be making any more charges. It will be more a case of casting a large net so that the little fishes will not escape.’

‘Lord?’

‘All will become clear, Burebista.’

I rode at the head of a thousand riders, for we had lost two hundred killed and another three hundred wounded, plus dozens of horses slain and hurt. The wounded were left behind and told to make their way back to the wagons, where they would be treated. The injured horses were likewise left to receive treatment. It was well past mid-afternoon now, and the heat of the day was slowly abating, though it was still warm. We were all covered in grime and soaked with sweat, for it had been a long day.  

We rode in one great column, five companies riding side-by-side, and each one in two files, with another five behind them. The pace was a slow canter to preserve the horses’ last reserves of strength, but when we rode behind the diminishing enemy army I saw that Castus’ men were doing likewise and were filling the ground in front of us. So we rode on, towards the irrigation ditch that the enemy had used to anchor their right flank. Here there were no troops of our army, but as we deployed into line several hundred feet behind the Gauls, I could hear a terrible tumult coming from their ranks. I could not discern what was happening, and my view was partly obscured by clouds of dust, but I surmised that there was some fighting going on. I gave the signal for the line to advance and we walked towards the Gauls. As we got nearer I could see many figures lying on the ground directly ahead, with others being carried on stretchers or limping to the rear — the wounded. There were hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, and when they spotted us a pathetic cry came from their lips. I rode back to Burebista and signalled Gallia to join us. Then I gave the order to charge.

Our attack failed.

The horses, already tired from hours of exertion, were not pushed by their riders, and in truth I realised that Remus was sweating heavily and I was unwilling to risk his health for the sake of glory. So we cantered up to where the Gauls had actually formed a makeshift line of shields and spears in front of their wounded. My cavalry slowed and then stopped around a hundred feet from that line of steel and wood. We did some damage, though, as Gallia and her woman used up their last reserves of arrows and I did the same, so that after a few minutes there was yet more enemy dead heaped in front of their wall of shields. There was nothing else left to do. I signalled the withdrawal and we walked our horses back beyond the range of any archers or slingers who might be lurking among their ranks. There we waited. 

We didn’t have to wait long, for the Roman legions, still fighting with discipline, were still being pushed towards their right flank and the irrigation ditch. Through the clouds of dust that were constantly being kicked up I could see Gauls slowly shuffling to our right. And on the left I could make out fresh cohorts — Castus’ men — moving in their blocks of centuries and gradually overlapping the Gauls. The two Roman legions were now surrounded on three sides, front, left and rear, and I wondered how many legionaries were still alive. It was now late afternoon and the sun was slowly sinking in the west, but it was still warm and there was no breeze. My mouth was terribly dry and my tongue felt as though it was too large for my mouth. My eyes stung from the sweat that had run into them. I pulled off my helmet. The leather lining inside was soaked and my hair was pasted to my skull. Burebista appeared beside me.

‘Are you hurt, lord?’

‘No. Tell the men to dismount and give what water they have to their horses. There’s nothing we can do now.’

He looked sheepish. ‘I am sorry we failed, lord.’

I reached over and laid my hand on his shoulder. ‘The fault was mine entirely.’

Our part in the battle was now over, yet I did not realise that the battle itself would soon be over as well. Our army was now herding the enemy towards the ditch, though order was now breaking down among the Gauls as the grim realisation that they had been overwhelmed dawned on them. The Romans, to give them credit, fought and died in their ranks, though one or two centuries broke and tried to escape. It availed them little, for they merely joined the press of men who sought sanctuary across the ditch. But that ditch had been chosen to anchor their flank because it was wide and its sides were sheer, and it was bone dry for it was summer. Men jumped and tumbled over the sides and broke legs and arms when they hit the hard surface. Hundreds hurled themselves in, falling on those who had jumped seconds before, and soon there was a writhing mass of tangled and twisted bodies crammed into the ditch. Some, the lucky ones, managed to escape by freeing themselves from the mound of humanity and then walk, run or limp along the ditch northwards. I did not know how long they would have to travel for the ditch stretched for miles into the distance.

The remaining Romans in their centuries threw down their weapons and held their hands up to beg for mercy. Our troops, mostly Thracians and Germans who had fought them all day long, were exhausted and were probably glad to stop hacking and thrusting. The Romans were marched to the rear, to await Spartacus’ decision as to their fate. Afranius was not so merciful. When the Gauls facing him, who had been subjected to a withering hailstorm of arrows all day, broke and fled, he ordered his men to pull down the stakes between him and his adversaries. And when it was done he threw them forward. The only resistance they faced was a thin line of Gauls who were trying to cover the retreat of their comrades. They died in a matter of minutes as all the cohorts of Spaniards raced forward and butchered everything in their path. Within fifteen minutes they had linked up with Castus’ men and the battle was over. But not the slaughter.

I ordered my cavalry to mount their horses once more and form into companies, and then we rode forward to lend what assistance we could. I found Cannicus, bloody and tired, holding an impromptu conference with some of his cohort commanders. He raised a hand when he saw me.

‘You live, Cannicus. Where is Castus?’

He slapped one of his officers on the back and then ordered them away. ‘He also lives. He is with Spartacus escorting the prisoners.’

‘We have prisoners?’

‘Once we had broken their left wing and surrounded them, the fight went out of them, especially as their commander was cut down. We cut his head off and threw it into their ranks. I reckon there must be about four or five thousand of them, all Roman.’

So the governor of Mutina was dead. I hoped that King Ambiorix also lay dead on the battlefield.

The sounds of battle were still coming from the direction of the ditch, about half a mile away. Cannicus took off his helmet and wiped his brow with a rag. ‘There’s still some fighting going on over there. Some of the Gauls must have been cornered.’

‘I will see if we can be of assistance. Take care of yourself, Cannicus.’

He smiled wearily. ‘You too, Pacorus.’

I rode at the head of my horse to where the last remnants of the Gauls were being destroyed by the soldiers of Afranius. A great group of Gallic warriors had been surrounded by his men about three hundred yards from the ditch. They stood now, packed shoulder to shoulder with their shields locked together and their spears pointing outwards. They had formed into a large square, within which there was no room, just a mass of mostly bare-headed warriors standing in mute defiance. On each side of the square, a cohort of Afranius’ men faced the Gauls, while behind these cohorts were companies of my archers. I saw Godarz and rode over to where he was standing. I dismounted and embraced him, while his archers cheered when they saw their fellow cavalrymen ride into view.

‘Good to see you, highness.’

I released him. ‘You too, Godarz. It has been a hard day.’

‘It has indeed.’

‘Where is Nergal?’

Godarz gestured to the north. ‘Afranius sent him and his men along the ditch. It is full of fleeing Gauls. Dead Gauls by now, I should imagine.’

I looked towards the square of Gauls. ‘What’s going on here?’

Godarz spat on the ground. ‘We managed to trap this lot and now Afranius is deciding what to do with them. Look’s like there’s around three or four thousand.’

Afranius suddenly appeared, smiling when he saw me. ‘A great victory, Pacorus.’ He bowed his head to me. ‘I dispatched Nergal north to kill as many Gauls as he could who were in the ditch. Your men are fine archers.’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘they have been taught by Parthians.’ I jerked my head towards the Gauls. ‘Are you trying to persuade them to give themselves up?’

Afranius looked horrified. ‘No. We sent an emissary under a banner of truce but they cut him down. They stood behind those wretched stakes all day. It was only when the rest of their army had been surrounded id they beat a retreat. And then we were knocking down those posts as fast as we could. They thought that we would be delayed long enough to make their escape. But they were wrong.’

I looked towards the Gauls. Indeed they were. Did you see a king among them?’

‘A king?’

‘It doesn’t matter. He pays others to do his handiwork.’

‘As soon as my men are in position we will kill them all,’ said Afranius.

I turned to Godarz. ‘How many arrows do your men have left.’

He shrugged. ‘Down to our last ten each, or thereabouts. We did a lot of shooting today.’

I looked at Afranius. ‘Let Godarz soften them up first.’

‘Use all the arrows you have left,’ I said to Godarz, ‘we can always make new ones.’

I put a hand on Afranius’ shoulder. ‘Well done.’

He beamed with delight as I remounted Remus. ‘Godarz, when it’s over stay here. I am going to find Nergal.’ I looked up at the sky; it was early evening by now. ‘I should be back before nightfall.’

We rode north parallel to the ditch, as behind me I heard the hiss of hundreds of arrows slicing through the air, followed by shouts and screams as their metal heads hit flesh and bone. There was no hurry now, so we adopted a gentle trot as we followed the route of the ditch. Like most things the Romans built, it was perfectly straight. I rode a few feet from the edge of it, with Gallia beside me and her women, Gafarn and Burebista behind us, followed by his companies. The ditch itself was filled with dead Gauls, the victims of Nergal’s archers. We travelled for at least a mile before we came across the first group of his men, a company of his dragon riding back towards the battlefield. They cheered as we approached. I spoke to their leader, a tall Parthian with a dark-skinned face and long arms.

‘Where is Commander Nergal?’

‘Half a mile ahead, highness. We have no more arrows left, so he sent us back.’

I looked at him. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Hatra, highness, ten years in your father’s army.’

‘Excellent. You and I will see Hatra again. You have done well today.’

He bowed his head. ‘Thank you, highness.’

We at last found Nergal a mile further north, marching back on foot at the head of his companies and leading his horse. He looked tired and was covered in dust, but he beamed with delight when he saw us and halted his column. He bowed his head to me and then we embraced. It was good to see him. When we separated Praxima raced up and threw her arms around him, which brought a mighty cheer from his men.

‘Are you too out of arrows?’ I asked him.

He held up his empty quiver. ‘Not one left among us, highness.’