Peter Darman - Parthian Vengeance

‘I agree,’ said my father. ‘We must finish this once and for all.’

‘Then my suggestion,’ I continued, ‘is for the legions to attack on the right to shatter the enemy’s left wing. After Narses’ foot soldiers have been destroyed my men will advance on Susa.’

‘The cataphracts will drive through the enemy’s centre,’ added my father, ‘with Vistaspa once again deployed on the left with the horse archers.’

‘With their left and centre destroyed,’ I continued, ‘the enemy’s horse archers will either have to intervene or flee.’

‘It is strange that the enemy remained on the defensive despite their superiority in numbers,’ mused Surena.

‘Narses is obviously not the great general he thought he was,’ was my father’s only comment.

By the time I had ridden back to camp, unsaddled Remus and walked to my tent there were only four hours of the night left. The tents were filled with sleeping men and it was ominously quiet. I slipped into my tent’s bedchamber and lay beside a sleeping Gallia, then stared at the ceiling and heard Surena’s voice. Why had the enemy remained on the defensive? I dismissed them from my mind.

When the dawn came the armies once more marched out to take up their battle positions, the legions deploying in two lines to extend their frontage, their right flank again anchored on the river and the Babylonians once more massed on their left. It took two hours before the latter were in their positions, during which time the two great masses of enemy spearmen once again filtered through the neat rows of the great date palm grove to face the Durans, Exiles and Babylonians. In the centre armoured riders gathered around the kings once more, while on the left Vistaspa gathered his contingents of horse archers.

The day was again dry and sunny, though there was no wind and the temperature was already rapidly rising despite the early hour. The area presented a grisly spectacle as the dead from yesterday’s fighting still lay on the ground where they had fallen, the deployment of the two armies at first scattering the hordes of crows, buzzards and vultures that had been having a feast for breakfast, who then returned to their meal as both sides halted and dressed their lines. The birds pecked at the skulls of fallen soldiers and tore at the flesh of slain horses as they gorged themselves on the dead flesh in no man’s land.

Once more I sweated in my scale armour as Gallia and I joined the other monarchs. In the centre of the battle line I could see small groups of enemy cataphracts directly opposite, perhaps five hundred in total, in between the mounted spearmen who now made up the bulk of the enemy’s centre. And once again the opposition’s horse archers flooded the valley to face Vistaspa’s horsemen on our left wing.

Again the infernal din of kettledrums began to fill the air as the enemy spearmen opposite the legions began cheering and banging their spear shafts against their wicker shields.

‘They attempt to intimidate your foot soldiers, Pacorus,’ remarked my father.

‘It will take more than a bit of noise to frighten them, father.’

‘They outnumber your men, Pacorus,’ said Atrax with concern.

He was right. More and more spearmen were gathering in front of the Durans and Exiles and the purple ranks of the Babylonians grouped on their left. Most of the enemy spearmen were wearing the yellow of Narses, the soldiers who faced the Babylonians carrying white shields and wearing black uniforms — the troops of Mithridates.

I smiled at Atrax. ‘It is not the size of the gladiator in a fight, Atrax, but the size of the fight in the gladiator.’

Gallia laughed and Atrax looked confused. My father shook his head.

‘You are certain your foot soldiers can defeat the enemy’s?’ he asked.

‘Quite certain, father.’

‘They have done so on many occasions,’ added Orodes.

My father tilted his head at Orodes in recognition of his high status. It was now the turn of the king of kings to speak.

‘When Domitus begins to push them back, Pacorus, we will shatter their centre. With their left wing and centre destroyed the enemy will be forced to withdraw back to Susa.’

He looked at Gallia and smiled.

‘I would ask you again to lead the reserve this day, Gallia.’

She smiled at him and nodded, and then came a great cheer came from the right and I was astonished to see the enemy spearmen advancing to attack the legions, their great wicker shields presenting a long wall of yellow and white as they marched at a steady pace towards my men.

‘Looks like the enemy has a death wish,’ remarked Gafarn casually as we all watched transfixed by the great drama that was about to take place on the right flank.

Trumpet blasts sounded from the ranks of the legions and then the whole of the first line — ten cohorts of Durans and Exiles — ran forward, the first five ranks hurling their javelins at the oncoming spearmen. The latter also charged and seconds later a sound like the splintering of wood reached our ears as both sides collided. From our viewpoint it appeared as if time had frozen as the great press of soldiers suddenly became immobile, but the sounds of cheers and screams revealed that in the centre of the great mass slaughter was being done. The wicker shields of the enemy were large and thick, capable of withstanding an arrow and spear strike, but they were unwieldy in the mêlée and became more so when a javelin was lodged in them, further adding to their weight. And the legionaries could use their shield bosses to barge aside enemy spears to stab at enemy faces and necks with their short shorts.

The front ranks of the enemy spearmen had been thinned by the storm of javelins in the first charge, the survivors subsequently being cut to pieces by gladius blades. Soon the legionaries were stepping over the bodies of dead spearmen to get at those behind as the enemy started to crumple. We sat on our horses like members of the audience in the best seats at a play as the tragedy of the enemy’s spearmen was enacted. And above the grim sounds of battle could be heard a rhythmic chant, one that I had heard many times before but which never failed to set my pulse racing. We heard ‘Dura, Dura’ as the legionaries herded the enemy back, back towards the date palm as they chopped the wicker shields in front of them to pieces. The enemy was faltering now, and then I heard fresh trumpet blasts and the first line of the Durans began to wheel left as the cohorts in the second line behind began to form into columns. The Exiles halted their advance as the Duran front line continued to turn like a great door swinging open towards the river, and into the gap created by this turning movement flooded the columns of the second line. Only the best-trained soldiers in the world could attempt such a manoeuvre in battle as the front-line cohorts shoved the spearmen before them towards the water. Around a quarter of the enemy spearmen were being forced into the deep waters of the Karkheh.

Hundreds drowned as they were pushed into the river, unable to flee because of the dense press of men around them. Groups of spearmen in the rear ranks began to run away as the enemy’s cohesion began to crumble, but for those in front of the Durans there was no escape as they were either cut down by swords or pushed into the river and drowned. It was marvellous to behold.

We all cheered and my father turned and gave the signal to his horsemen deployed a hundred paces behind us, who began to walk their horses forward. Behind them the Duran and Median heavy horsemen also began to advance preparatory to the charge while Orodes’ bodyguard closed around him. I also gave the signal to my men to move forward. All that remained was for the enemy horsemen opposite to be scattered and the day would be ours.