Peter Darman - The Parthian

I was clearly not going to win this argument, so I executed a tactical withdrawal.

‘There is something else that I think of before battle,’ I said.

‘What?’ she snapped.

‘You, of course.’

She rolled her eyes and shook her head in despair. ‘Like I said before, Pacorus, you are a hopeless dreamer.’ She pulled out her dagger. ‘I will kill myself before I let another Roman touch me.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Only Parthian blood flows in my veins.’

She laughed, and suddenly the hatred in her eyes disappeared and her beauty was restored. It may be cold outside, but I always had a warm glow inside me when I was with her.

We moved out at midday, leaving the carts and their escorts to make their way to the rendezvous point. As we descended to the coastal plain between the Sila Mountains and the Tyrrhenian Sea, the amount of snow on the ground lessened, until there was none at all as we joined the Popilian Way and headed south. We formed three great columns, Burebista’s dragon on the left wing, mine in the centre and Nergal’s on the right. The road was heavy with traffic, mostly people on foot who scattered on our approach, though also a good number of wagons carrying supplies to Crassus’ army. I did think about sending them north to Godarz, but that would have required detaching riders as escorts, and I knew that we would need every man in the coming clash. So we killed the drivers and any accompanying guards, and burned their contents. After four hours of riding we were within twenty miles of the Roman lines. I sent Byrd ahead with his scouts to ensure that there were no enemy troops coming from the south, and then gave orders for the column to rest.

There was little talk as each man checked his horse, its straps, saddle and bridle, and then his weapons. Everyone carried a spare bowstring and I was no different, mine being carried in the case that housed my bow. I checked the string that was already attached to the bow for taughtness. It was fine. I drew my sword from its scabbard and spent a few moments sharpening both its edges on a stone, then examined my dagger. I checked my quiver to see that it was still full and then replaced its cover in case it snowed again. Nergal rode up.

‘All is ready, highness.’

I put on my helmet and mounted Remus. ‘Very well. No horns, pass the word to move out, and tell everyone to keep their eyes open. We may run straight into a legion.’

He saluted and rode off, and moments later hundreds of men began to gain their saddles. I walked Remus over to where Gallia sat at the head of her Amazons.

‘Keep close,’ I told her.

‘Don’t worry, I will keep you safe.’

I smiled and then took my position at the head of the three columns. I glanced right and left and waited until the lead companies, each in three files, formed up, and then nudged Remus forward south. As we moved the air was once more filling with snowflakes.

Two hours later, having encountered no traffic on the road, it was almost dark, the sky heavy with dark-grey clouds that were spewing snow onto the earth in ever-greater quantities. The road had almost disappeared under a white blanket, and we necessarily slowed to reduce the chances of our horses losing their footing. Ahead I could barely make out the coastal plain, while the mountains to our left were obliterated by the snowfall. Up to now there had been silence save for the snorting of Remus and the muffled thud of his hooves on the ground, but now I heard a new sound, like the wind whistling through a ravine. As we rode on the sound changed to one of thousands of voices cheering, but then ahead I saw the orange glow produced by hundreds of camp fires and realised that the noise was the sound of men dying, for Spartacus’ soldiers were trying to break through the palisade.

They wore Roman mail shirts and helmets, carried Roman shields and were armed with long Roman spears, and as far as the centurions, officers and legionaries who were pouring out of their camp and frantically getting into formation in the dead space between their tents and the palisade, the horsemen galloping past were but reinforcements to prevent the slave army from escaping. As the companies of Burebista trotted past, some of the Romans even cheered their comrades on horseback, cheered until the shrill horns of the horsemen blasted the signal to wheel left, and then sounded the charge. As one the horsemen lowered their spears and galloped into and around the disorganised centuries of startled Romans, spearing the first ranks and then slashing with their swords at necks, arms and torsos of those behind. Those centuries struck first by Burebista’s men stood no chance; they just crumbled like an earthen jug being stamped on. The wild shrieks of the cavalry proclaimed their triumph as they literally cut deep into the Roman ranks. It was the easiest victory my men had tasted.

Nergal’s and my own dragon rode on, forward towards the palisade, which reared up in front of us, framed by patterns of swirling snowflakes and illuminated by braziers that stood on each platform of the watchtowers and torches planted at regular intervals in the ground from the legion’s camp to the palisade. Each watchtower, a hundred feet apart, had three fighting platforms, from which archers and slingers were raining death upon our comrades on the other side of the palisade. I strained my eyes and saw that the occasional javelin was being launched at the two watchtowers immediately in front of me, while all along the palisade itself legionaries were hurling down javelins from a firing step.

‘Clear the firing platforms,’ I screamed at my men behind.

The horsemen behind me swept into line each side of me. They halted and then began shooting ahead. The legionaries standing on the firing step behind the palisade, looking away from us, were easy targets notwithstanding the poor light and swirling snow. In no time they were felled by arrows, most of them being killed before they had time to turn and see their assailants. It was another easy victory, like brushing snow off a window ledge.

I turned to the men behind me. ‘Dismount, we need to get on the towers.’ Gallia was beside me. ‘When we’ve cleared the two towers ahead, get your women to the fence and use your horses to pull it down.’

I led two companies forward to the towers, with each fourth man staying behind to hold the horses. Around us the sounds of battle filled the air as I shouted to one company to take the tower on the left while I led the other towards the right-hand tower. Missiles flew through the air — arrows, slingshots and javelins — and something hissed past my ear as I reached the ladder leading to the first firing platform. Dead Romans lay on the ground, pierced by our arrows, but others were still alive above me and were now firing their projectiles towards the horsemen. I slung my bow over my shoulder and began to climb the ladder, which led to a square space in the centre of the first platform. I hoped my Roman helmet would fool those on the platform into thinking that I was a friend; otherwise a quick-thinking Roman could lop my head off my shoulders as it popped up among them. Behind me my men followed.

I raced up the ladder and through the trapdoor to gain entrance to the platform, which had wicker screens on three sides. Behind these screens archers and legionaries were launching javelins and arrows down upon the army of Spartacus. They were all facing away from me as the others scrambled up the ladder, all that is until one turned to take a javelin from one of the racks that was stacked on the platform. He froze in terror when he saw us, then died as one of my men shot him through the chest with an arrow. Instinctively we strung arrows and loosed them at our targets. Most of the Romans never even knew we were there before we killed them. I pulled a second arrow from my quiver and shouted at those men appearing through the trapdoor.