Sons Of the Citadel, page 22
part #6 of Parthian Chronicles Series
Once again I had donned my scale armour, as did Gafarn, for we became stationary targets for the enemy.
An arrow thudded into the ground a few paces in front of me.
‘I hope your subordinate’s plan lives up to expectations,’ said Gafarn.
A stone pellet, fortunately its power almost spent, hit Tegha’s armour.
‘He is a gifted individual. Scelias believes he will command Dura’s army one day.’
An arrow struck a cataphract near Gafarn, the missile glancing off the man’s leg armour.
‘Who is Scelias?’
‘The individual in charge of the Sons of the Citadel. He is Greek.’
‘How long does it take to line up a few wagons?’ shouted Gafarn in frustration.
It took longer than expected, squires and prisoners frantically unhitching mules and oxen and leading them away once the wagons were in position. Only pressure by the horse archers on the other three sides of the large square of legionaries prevented the Romans’ auxiliary troops from launching a more concerted assault against the immobile heavy horsemen opposite the northern side of the square.
I heard trumpet calls behind me and breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Fall back,’ commanded Gafarn. I gave a similar order and the whole line about-faced and withdrew through the lines of wagons, which were set alight as soon as we had ridden through them. Naphtha had been placed in some because they became a red fireball within seconds, producing thick grey smoke the wind blew south – straight into the faces of the Roman legionaries.
Kewab had done his work well. Over two hundred burning wagons engulfed the northern side of the Roman square with wreaths of grey and black smoke. In response, a testimony to their excellent training and professionalism, trumpet blasts came from the square to order its cohorts to move either left or right to take them out of the smoke’s path. But the thousands of horse archers surrounding the square were also professionals under well-trained commanders and they manoeuvred to keep the legionaries where they were.
The Romans sent their light troops – slingers and archers on foot – to clear the way but though the horse archers immediately to their front withdrew out of range of their missiles, others on their flanks attacked in files to shoot arrows before also retiring. Pockets of slingers and archers advanced too far giving chase to horsemen, allowing more riders to get behind them. These groups were quickly surrounded and shot to pieces. And all the time the Roman formation was engulfed by smoke irritating the eyes, noses and throats, making men retch and vomit, causing others to faint with chest pains, some driven to despair.
A few, those in or near the front rank, eyes smarting and lungs full of smoke, driven to distraction, ran forward towards the burning wagons, screaming like wild men, to be cut down with well-aimed arrows. More arrows were loosed against the other sides of the square, not a deluge but a withering, methodical barrage designed to inflict a steady toll of casualties on the enemy.
Horsemen began their attacks in files, the rider at the head of the file shooting an arrow when he was in range of the Romans, then wheeling his horse right so he could shoot at the enemy as he rode along their line. He loosed perhaps five or six arrows, those following doing the same, before wheeling right again to take him away from the foe. On three sides of the square this continuous pressure was maintained, horsemen riding to camels positioned behind their companies to replenish their ammunition. After a while the Romans gave up sending out their missile troops following heavy losses. And all the while their square was peppered by arrows shot by over twenty thousand horse archers.
The Romans tried to withdraw south but Spartacus threw his eight thousand horse archers against the southern side of the square, inflicting casualties and receiving them, but stopping the Romans in their tracks. They were stuck with the wagons still burning but now not as fiercely as the fires consumed the vehicles, reducing them to glowing, charred husks.
The King of Gordyene rode with a company of his men to where I was sitting. His face was smeared with sweat and he looked tired, though defiant.
‘It is time to break the square,’ I told him, ‘I will need your medium horsemen.’
He grinned savagely. ‘I will lead them myself, uncle.’
In front of us Amazons and Vipers were shooting arrows at the northern side of the square, not aimed shots but missiles with a high trajectory designed to drop down on to the heads of the smoke-battered enemy. Just another irritant they had to endure.
‘They are just as stubborn as I remember them,’ said Gafarn, staring at the Roman square.
‘Age has not improved their manners,’ I agreed.
Prince Pacorus and Azad were busy organising their cataphracts for another charge. I thanked the gods it was still breezy for if we had been on the desert plains the horses would have been blown and their riders totally exhausted. But as it was they had enough stamina left for what I hoped would be the final action of the day.
The wagons were now black, charred wrecks, some still glowing and pumping out smoke but most having burnt to cinders, the wind acting as a bellows of the gods to fan the flames to cover the Romans with smoke. Now it was time for iron and steel to hammer them into submission.
‘Shamash be with you,’ I said to Gafarn before wheeling Tegha away to take my position in the front rank of Dura’s cataphracts.
There were no trumpet blasts to alert the Romans as the two lines of riders began moving forward some two hundred paces north of the row of soot piles indicating where the wagons had been.
Azad, helmet still shoved up on his head, gave me a concerned look.
‘Are you certain about this, majesty?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Well, your age. I mean…’
‘I am not yet in my dotage, Azad.’
I froze him with a stare, he grunted and pulled down his helmet to hide his face.
There were two lines so the cataphracts could more easily move through the blackened remains of the wagons. We broke into a canter and then a gallop, each rider lowering his kontus and gripping it with both hands on his right side. Over two thousand heavily armoured riders and horses made the earth shake as they thundered towards the ragged, broken Roman line. Almost immediately I smelt the acrid smoke and tasted it in my mouth. For a split-second great respect for the Romans who had remained in their ranks while being engulfed by fumes and under arrow volleys surged through me, followed by a burning desire to kill them all.
I screamed Shamash’s name as I fixed my eyes on a Roman shield directly in front of me and Tegha strained at the leash. The shield disappeared as its owner cast it aside, turned and ran, straight into the man behind. We broke them before the first kontus speared its victim, hundreds of legionaries, coughing and unable to stand without using their shields as aids, were killed where they stood. Others ran, collapsed because their lungs were full of smoke and were trodden underfoot by iron-shod hooves.
I gripped my kontus and drove it into the back of a legionary who was staggering backwards, the point going through his mail, into his body and out of his chest. I released the shaft, drew my spatha and slashed it at another, helmetless Roman, who was coughing violently, bent over with his hands on his knees. He crumpled to the ground. The cataphracts were like a wave of iron and steel smashing into the Roman line shattering it into a hundred pieces. Those pieces were desperate, retching individuals grouped around the standards of their centuries; the centurions, professional to the last, trying to rally their men for a final stand.
But now came the medium horsemen of Gordyene – two thousand riders armed with spears and axes – who thundered into the broken square and went to work with their lances. Following them were Nergal and his five thousand horse archers, Gallia’s Amazons and Rasha’s Vipers. And suddenly there was no Roman square as the other three sides, which had been under arrow volleys for a considerable amount of time, dissolved.
‘Rally to the king!’
I heard Azad’s voice and was shaken from my observations by the vision of four Romans circling me. Tegha’s hooves had taken me away from Dura’s cataphracts and I was risking being dragged from my horse and butchered by gladius blades. I hacked down at the nearest legionary, thrust at another on my left side but was helpless to prevent the Roman in front of my horse stabbing at me with his gladius. Until his helmet was caved in by a blow from Azad’s mace.
Azad, helmetless and sweating, was beside me as more of his men formed a defensive cordon around us both. The three remaining Romans were quickly bludgeoned to the ground by maces and axes.
‘Not a good idea riding alone in the midst of the enemy, majesty,’ he educated me.
What had been the inside of the square was now filled with Parthian cataphracts, Spartacus’ men and Nergal’s horse archers, the latter shooting down dozens of Romans at close range. Some cohorts maintained good order, centuries in the rear about-facing to confront the new threat behind them. But even though they formed testudo in answer to the arrow storm, the archers of Mesene had time to halt their horses and direct aimed shots at the small gaps between locked shields. Many missed their target but it only took a few arrows to find the gap between a row of shields held vertically and those hoisted overhead to form a roof to hit a legionary in the face. He went down, his shield with him and suddenly there was a breach in the defence. More arrows were shot into this breach and chaos and death followed as a testudo collapsed and its legionaries methodically cut down.
Roman auxiliaries were quickly surrounded and killed, though not before they had emptied a few saddles. Some tried to give themselves up but the Amazons and Vipers in particular were in no mood to grant clemency. Around me companies of horse archers were retreating back to the camel train to replenish their ammunition as Dura’s cataphracts were formed into a compact mass, ready to launch an assault against any large enemy formations. But there were none, just isolated groups of desperate Romans trying to flee the slaughter while at the same time maintaining their discipline. But there was nowhere to go and so they moved a few paces and halted as Parthian horsemen blocked their escape route.
The dead and dying were everywhere, not only Romans but also Parthians and their horses. It was as if the gods had commanded the entire Roman army to lie down. It was both ghastly and exhilarating because we had won a great victory.
‘Are you hurt, majesty?’
‘What?’ Kewab was beside me, helmet shoved up on his head.
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘We must leave this place of dead flesh, majesty, and regroup to where we can be of more use in case enemy reinforcements arrive.’
‘He’s not wrong,’ agreed Azad.
I spotted Hatra’s banner in the midst of its Royal Bodyguard and sent a party of horsemen to inform Gafarn of our intentions. The sounds of battle were dying down now as organised resistance came to an end and all that was left was hunting down individual Romans. Gallia rode to me, eyes full of fire, her quiver empty. A quick head count revealed the Amazons appeared to have an almost full complement. Rasha was by her side, her quiver also empty but with a great prize in her hand. She held it aloft, the sun’s rays reflecting off the silver eagle.
‘Death to the Romans!’
The female horse archers raised their bows and cheered, as did my cataphracts.
‘It is no small thing to take a Roman eagle,’ I shouted above the tumult, ‘my congratulations.’
A great party of horsemen pulled up their horses next to the Vipers, the banner of Gordyene fluttering amidst them. At their head was their triumphant king who brandished another Roman eagle. I was astounded and lost for words.
‘Just as I gave your father an enemy eagle to fulfil the condition for your hand in marriage,’ said Spartacus to his wife, ‘thus do I now give you another as a token of my undying love.’
More cheers followed as husband and wife dismounted, rammed the ends of the captured eagles into the earth and wrapped their arms around each other. It was a touching moment.
The wind abated as night came and we retreated a couple of miles north to take us away from the stench of smoke, blood, dung and urine hanging over the battlefield. Not every Roman was dead; scores escaped south to try to link up with their main army before Phraaspa. But they had no weapons, food or shelter and would be easy enough to hunt down and kill in the days to come. Our main concern was to pitch camp, light fires, tend to the wounded and rest our tired bodies and horses.
The next day my limbs ached like fury and I struggled to walk around the camp to congratulate those who had distinguished themselves, commiserate with others who had lost friends and show my face in the tents housing the wounded. Mercifully there were few grievously wounded lying in cots, most tending broken bones or minor cuts and grazes. Those horse archers who had been stabbed in the stomach would die; the only thing the physicians could do was make them comfortable. I sat on a stool beside one such individual who had received a javelin in his belly. His eyes were closed, the bandage around his mid-rift soaked with blood and his breathing very shallow. Death was near. I told him I was proud to have fought beside him, Shamash would care for him, and he was leaving all the troubles of the earthly world behind.
‘You are a soldier of Dura, making you part of a special brotherhood, an élite among men. From the bottom of my heart I thank you for your courage and service. We shall meet again.’
‘He’s gone, Pacorus.’
I stood with difficulty, bowed my head and laid a hand on Alcaeus’ shoulders. My friend and chief physician told two orderlies to remove the body. It would be burnt on a pyre later in the day along with any other unfortunates who had passed into the next life.
‘Are you all right?’
I dismissed his concern. ‘My body aches, that is all.’
‘Well, you are not as young as you were.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘It seems everyone is taking a particular interest in my age all of a sudden.’
‘I heard Spartacus took two eagles.’
‘He took one,’ I corrected him, ‘his wife took the other.’
‘You can take a girl out of the Agraci but you can’t take the Agraci out of the girl, it seems. Gallia is well?’
I nodded. ‘Battle and bloodshed seem to invigorate her.’
The orderlies removed the corpse in front of us.
‘Well, she is a Gaul.’
He looked around the tent filled with wounded men.
‘It is curious. Even though I am a military physician, after Carrhae and the rule of Orodes, may the gods bless him, I never thought I would see war again.’
He sighed. ‘Naively I forgot about the Romans’ insatiable desire to rule the whole world. You think they waited for Orodes to die before their invasion, to take advantage of the youth and inexperience of his son?’
I thought about the party of abductors Cleopatra sent to Dura and my reply to her outrageous behaviour.
‘I’m sure it was a part of it, my friend.’
He stretched out his arms. He looked tired and had no doubt been working through the night to tend to the wounded.
‘Of course if you had accepted the position of high king then we would not be in this tent near a lake we cannot use for freshwater on account it is a saltwater pond. Of all the places to pick, Pacorus, you really exceeded yourself this time.’
I sighed as the muscles in my back began to lock.
‘I had and have no wish to be high king of the empire, having neither the talents nor ambition for the position. As such the idea is ridiculous. Besides a woman once told me the king who has no crown would wear no crown.’
‘Who?’
‘Dobbai.’
He gave me a half-smile. ‘She was an intriguing woman. Hated me of course but I like to think she mellowed over the years. She had an enquiring mind, which is to be commended always. The world is full of dullards. Well, if you will excuse me.’
We stayed near the lake for three days, during which time a reconnaissance of the area netted us a further hundred wagons filled with the equipment with which to lay siege to a city. We used the wood to build funeral pyres to cremate the dead, Roman as well as Parthian, the non-combatants Mark Antony had brought with him used as manual labour to pile the bodies on the pyres. Some wagons were used to take the wounded back to Vanadzor, the column escorted by a thousand of Spartacus’ horse archers. I also convinced him to send Spadines and his men back to Gordyene. For one thing I did not want them looting and raping in Media, notwithstanding my sister’s opinion of me. I suggested to Spartacus he encourage the Sarmatians to leave with the inducement of unleashing raids into Armenia, which was now at war with Parthia. This would deter Artavasdes from re-joining Mark Antony once he had returned north of the Araxes where he could gather reinforcements. Spadines was delighted at the prospect of indulging in rapine and plunder and rode away with his gang of ruffians.
As he left Silaces and his men returned, having ushered the Armenians all the way to the Araxes River.
‘We had a shock when the Cappadocian column pitched up behind us,’ he said as we were enjoying an evening meal of freshly cooked beef courtesy of the supplies we had captured from the enemy.
‘There is no guarantee the Armenians and Cappadocians will not return,’ he continued, meat juices dripping onto his beard.
I tipped my cup at Spartacus. ‘I think we can rely on the Sarmatians to keep them amused until we have finished our business with Mark Antony.’
‘He will know soon enough he has no siege engines,’ said Nergal, holding a great wedge of cheese. ‘Perhaps he will break off his siege.’
Praxima relished the idea. ‘Then we can meet him on the battlefield and despatch him and his army just like we did with those escorting his siege machines.’
