The Parthian (81 page)

For my horsemen had come.

They swept across the plain as they galloped forward to assault the Roman legion situated on the enemy’s right wing. Its first line of legionaries was already in the water as the first companies swept around its flank and behind its rear-most cohorts, firing arrows into the packed ranks of the Romans. Other companies charged forward between the troops in the water and the legion’s second line of cohorts waiting to cross the river. The result was chaos, as those in the water were struck from behind by arrows and their comrades on the bank momentarily panicked. But moments were all it took for centuries to collapse in panic and attempt to flee. Some ran back into the third line and broke the latter’s formation, others tried to withdraw south towards their camp, but only succeeded in crashing into and disrupting other units deployed on their left. Soon, what had been an impeccably disciplined Roman legion became a disorganised rabble assailed on all sides by horsemen shooting arrows and hacking at individuals with their swords. My company commanders kept their men under tight control, working their way in and around isolated groups of Romans and then killing them with arrows, then withdrawing and reforming, before once again seeking out easy targets and destroying them.

Castus led his legion forward to the river to allow his men to hurl their javelins at the men still in the water. The Scorpions were still firing, those whose crews had not been killed by my horsemen, but they soon stopped as hordes of fleeing Romans turned tail and tried to escape back out of the water. Those were the lucky ones. Hundreds were speared in the river as the Germans hurled every javelin that had at the men in the river, whose waters were soon turned red by the butchery.

The three Roman legions, what was left of them, now withdrew badly shaken, so assured of victory and now demoralised and disorganised. My horsemen kept them under attack as they shuffled back to the safety of their camp, leaving the field littered with their dead and dying and most of the Scorpions, whose crews had abandoned them. Two cohorts disintegrated and ran towards the trees that covered the slopes of the valley. None made it, being ridden down and slaughtered to a man by horsemen. The Roman legions on that side of the river would take no further part in the battle.

A company rode across the river and headed towards us. The Germans cheered them loudly and the horsemen raised their bows in acknowledgement. They were led by Nergal. Gallia was behind him leading Remus, and behind her Vardanes carried my banner. He dismounted and I shook his hand.

‘We did not know where you were, highness.’

Gallia jumped down from Epona and we embraced. She looked at my tunic splattered with mud and blood.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No. Where is Diana and the child?’ I asked.

‘Safe with Gafarn and Godarz,’ she replied. ‘Where is Spartacus?’

I told them what had happened but Gallia did not cry; she had used up all her tears.

‘When did you get back?’ I asked Nergal.

‘Yesterday, highness. We sheltered among the trees in the hills while the storm was raging, and then came down this morning. Godarz told me what had happened. I moved the cavalry down the valley but kept it hidden among the trees. The Romans were so busy preparing to cross the river that they didn’t think to put scouts out. We waited until they began to cross and then hit them.’

‘You did well, Nergal.’ I turned to Domitus. ‘I must rejoin my men. Stay here and inform Castus where I have gone.’

To our front, the sounds of battle had once again died down as the Romans withdraw once more, the failure of their river crossing having dented their morale somewhat. Gallia rode beside me.

‘I thought I told you to stay in camp.’

‘My place is with my women,’ she replied.

My horsemen were reforming in their dragons on the plain across the river. Their ranks looked somewhat depleted.

‘What happened on the Appian Way?’

‘We lost three hundred men, highness,’ said Nergal. ‘We achieved surprise at first and killed many Romans, but those troops we fought are veteran soldiers. We were too few and they too many.’

‘Do you think you slowed their march?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe for a day or two, but no longer.’

It was a poor reward for losing three hundred men but I said nothing. It was my orders that had sent them to their deaths. I pulled my bow from its case and fixed its bowstring in place. I checked my quiver. It was full.

‘Has anyone got anything to eat?’ I enquired, ‘I’m starving.’

Gallia passed me some bread and cheese, which I devoured greedily, then washed it down with lukewarm water from my waterskin. Around me horsemen lay on the ground resting while their mounts chewed at the lush grass that filled the valley. I was weighing up in my mind my next course of action when a scout thundered up and halted in front of me. One of Byrd’s men, no doubt, by the threadbare state of his attire and unshaven face.

‘Roman cavalry are forming up two miles or so to the south.’

‘How many?’ I asked.

‘Twelve hundred, maybe more, deploying into line and heading this way.’

I turned to Nergal. ‘It appears that our old friend, Lucius Furius, has arrived.’

‘What do you intend to do, highness?’

‘We must fight him, otherwise he will cross the river and charge our forces in the flank. Pass the word: all archers in the front rank to shoot at their horses first.’

Nergal rode away to take command of his dragon while horns blared and men remounted their horses. My standard was held behind me.

The large scarlet banner barely fluttered in the light breeze, but would billow as our speed increased. The sky was cloudless and the sun was beating down, drying out the ground nicely — perfect for cavalry. I wondered why the enemy’s horse had not appeared earlier. I could only surmise that they had been camped some miles away and had received a desperate summons when Crassus’ army had been assaulted.

Gallia and her women formed line immediately behind. I motioned for her to take her place beside me. It was useless to try to persuade her to ride back to camp, so I didn’t bother. Her face was a mask of stern concentration. I nodded to her; she did likewise, then replaced her helmet and closed the cheek guards. I nudged Remus forward then turned him to face my horsemen. I raised my bow over my head; two thousand others did the same. Then I returned to face the front and urged Remus forward.

We began at a steady trot, covering thirteen feet a second. I reached into my quiver, pulled an arrow then placed its nock in the bowstring. I could see the Roman cavalry now, a great black mass growing larger by the second. Men in steel helmets and mail coats carrying long spears and green shields. Some carried standards of square pieces of cloth mounted atop a pole. In front of them rode a rider on a black horse, his red cloak fluttering behind him and his helmet crested with red. His outstretched right arm held a sword that was pointing directly at us. Furius himself.

We were nearing them; perhaps a mile now separated the two groups. I urged Remus to increase his speed and he moved into an easy gallop, his mighty hooves traversing nineteen feet of ground a second. I could hear the Romans cheering and see their spears levelled to ram their points through our bodies. I screamed and Remus increased his speed, charging at a full gallop of over thirty feet a second. If the Romans had reached us unbroken they would have hit us like a steel blade being rammed though a wicker shield, but once more they underestimated us and our tactics, for in their arrogant eyes we were but slaves fit only to be slaughtered.

They were already thinking of victory and glory when the first volley of arrows hit their mounts and riders, sending both crashing to the ground. We opened fire seven hundred paces from them and kept stringing and loosing arrows. In ten seconds each horse archer had fired at least three arrows. For the Romans it was like riding into a steel rain. Their front rank went down and their second crashed into the wounded and flaying horses in front of them, throwing many to the ground and causing others to rear up in panic. At once their charge disintegrated and then we were among them. I galloped past one rider and swung around in the saddle to shoot him in the back, then shot another rider who was bearing down on me with his long spear, the arrow piercing his chest and throwing him from his mount. We had broken the Roman formation as each of our companies kept its arrowhead formation, thirty of so riders in each of its three ranks. We charged straight through the Romans and out the other side, leaving the ground strewn with dead and dying men and horses. Horns blasted and we halted and turned. We had also suffered losses, many horses running around with empty saddles. I glanced to my left; Gallia was still with me.

We charged back into the Romans, this time not galloping but moved our mounts forward at a gentle trot. The Romans were disorganised and stationary, and so presented easy targets. We emptied our quivers, each rider firing up to seven arrows a minute. We didn’t fire wild, we made each arrow count, creating a swathe of death in front of us as we neared the enemy. Some Romans attempted to charge but died before they got close to us. The Romans were being slaughtered. As one rider ran out of arrows another behind him moved forward to take his place and began to shoot at a diminishing number of Roman cavalry. I heard a man shouting and screaming wildly and saw Lucius Furius riding up and down the line, frantically trying to restore some order. He failed. The surviving Romans broke and galloped away, this time north, in the direction of our camp. We charged after them.

I had no arrows left now, so I drew my sword and rode level to an enemy rider. His shield covered his left side so I swung my sword to strike the side of his helmet. He squealed like a stuck pig and toppled from his saddle. During the next half hour or so we methodically hunted down and killed most of the Roman horsemen, who had become nothing more than a host of desperate fugitives. Some were still dangerous, though, and one group of around fifty led by Furius turned and charged straight at me, killing a number of Gallia’s women before we surrounded and then fought them in a desperate melee. I reached Furius and tried to run him through, but he blocked my thrust with his shield and then swung his sword to try and decapitate me. I ducked and hacked at him, but again his shield saved him, though his horse became frightened and reared up in alarm. Furius fell from his saddle and sprawled on the ground. I jumped down from Remus as he staggered to his feet and I thrust the point of my
spatha
into his right shoulder. He screamed in pain and fell to his knees. I drew back the blade to send him to hell when I heard Gallia’s shout of ‘Pacorus’, and turned to see a Roman horseman bearing down on me with his spear aimed at my chest. Gallia shot his horse with an arrow and the beast collapsed to the earth, spilling its rider onto the ground. I stood over him, rammed my foot down on the base of his spine, grasped the handle of my
spatha
with both hands and then rammed it down as hard I could through his back. I nodded at Gallia and turned to see the wounded Furius being hauled onto a horse by one of his men, who rode away with my nemesis laid flat across his horse’s back. I ran to Remus but my quiver was empty. Lucius Furius lived again. How many lives did this man have?

I ordered recall to be sounded and over the next hour or so horsemen regrouped around my standard. We were now at least a mile south of where the battle was being fought on the other side of the river, and I was eager to get back to offer support. The news was not good. We had lost five hundred riders in the fighting with the Roman cavalry, though they must have lost perhaps three times that number. Gallia had lost forty of her women killed and now her company numbered a mere thirty riders. I sent them back to camp in case any Roman cavalry had found their way there, and told them to remain there until I returned. Then, as the sun began its descent into the western sky, we rode south again.

The battle had ended. Both sides were exhausted after hours of close-quarter fighting in which thousands had been killed. Among the dead was Castus, who had died while leading a desperate charge against a Roman assault that had threatened to split his line. His attack succeeded in driving back the Romans, but he himself was killed under a plethora of sword blows. Cannicus now led the Germans, what was left of them, but he himself was also wounded.

‘It’s not too bad, Pacorus,’ he said, holding his right side that was soaked in his blood.

‘I am sorry about Castus.’

‘He was a good man and my friend. But still, at least we beat the bastards.’ He grimaced and coughed, spitting blood onto the ground.

The Romans, what was left of them, were leaving the field now, crawling back to the safety of their camp, many of them limping and others being loaded onto stretchers. They left thousands of their comrades dead on the field. There would be no more fighting today.

I left Cannicus and rode over to the centre of the line where Akmon’s Thracians were located. I had to navigate Remus around mounds of dead Romans and Thracians; their corpses intermingled in a ghastly embrace of death. Most of the Thracians still alive were either sprawled on the ground or resting on their shields. They barely looked up as we rode past them. I found Akmon lying on the ground surrounded by his officers, one of whom was Domitus. His face was white and his eyes were closed. He had joined Spartacus. I knelt beside his lifeless body and bowed my head in respect.

‘You had better get your men back to camp,’ I said Domitus. ‘You lead the Thracians now.’

‘I will, sir, when they have the energy to walk.’

He looked numb, as though he had seen a vision of hell. Looking round, he probably had. How strange fate was. Here was a Roman leading the Thracian warriors of Spartacus, and I for one was glad for he was a brave and loyal soldier. We rode over to the right flank where Afranius and his Spaniards had fought. There were barely any of them left, while in front of them the ground was carpeted with dead Romans as far as the eye could see, Afranius himself stood alone among the dead, far in front of his still living troops. He sneered when he saw me.