David Gemmell - Dark Prince

They were frightened! The Guards had seen what they thought to be slaves smashing their fighting lines, and now they believed themselves to be facing the finest warriors in the world. The men at the centre in the first rank were holding back, fearful of the clash. This had the effect of compressing the Makedones phalanx, rank after rank closing and eliminating the vital fighting space between the lines.

'Drummers by the step five!' shouted Parmenion. The drumbeat quickened, the advance gathering speed. 'Ready spears!'

The Makedones were hardly moving when the Spartans struck them. The second rank spear-carriers threw themselves forward, the iron points of their weapons hammering into the enemy. Tightly compressed as they were, the Makedones could not block them all and the points plunged home between their shields. 'Withdraw spears!'

shouted Parmenion and back came the blood-covered weapons, only to stab forward once more.

The Makedones line buckled as hundreds of warriors went down. But the formation did not break.

Again and again the spears clove home, but now the Makedones reformed and began to fight back. The slaves in the front rank drew their swords and the fighting became hand-to-hand. The Spartan advance slowed.

Gaps began to appear in the front line.

Helm leapt into one breach, slashing his sword across the face of an advancing Makedones warrior. 'Keep close, brothers!' he shouted. His voice carried along the line and the effect was instant. The slaves gathered themselves, closing the gaps and fighting back.

All forward movement had ceased now and the two forces stood toe to toe, shield to shield.

Parmenion looked around him. Everywhere the slaves were holding their ground, and his pride in them soared. Cold reality touched the strategos . The Makedones were still hesitant, but soon they would become aware of the lack of skill and advance again.

And in that moment he knew how his twin had felt at Mantinea, the sweet taste of victory so close to his tongue.

Another gap opened before him. Just as he was about to leap forward the giant form of Brontes stepped into the breach, a huge axe in his hand. The blade slashed down, cleaving through helm and breastplate to smash a Makedones from his feet.

Turning, Parmenion raised his arm. 'Rear six ranks wide formation!' he called. No one moved, men glancing one to the other, for this was not something they had practised. Parmenion stifled a curse. 'Rear six ranks follow me!' he called again, pointing to the right. The lines began to move. 'Re-form and attack from the right!'

The men began to run, following the King in his golden armour as he moved across the battle-lines. 'Re-form in wide defensive,' he ordered.

This the men understood, and swiftly they grouped themselves in three ranks 200 shields wide. In the first rank Parmenion drew his sword, hefted his shield and led them towards the Makedones flank. There were no drummers now, and the dust was thick and choking.

At the last moment the Makedones saw them and tried to turn.

Parmenion knew the slaves could not break through, but he hoped that the sudden switch of attack would slow the enemy as warriors were forced to defend both front and flank.

To his left he could see the minotaur still cleaving and hacking with his axe, the Makedones falling back before him -

and Helm, fighting now alongside Attalus in the front line.

A sword slashed for his face. Parmenion deflected it with his shield and stabbed out his own blade in response, but this too was blocked. Dropping to one knee, the Spartan thrust his sword under the Makedones shield. The blade tore through the man's leather kilt, slicing into his groin. Wrenching the weapon clear, Parmenion rose to block another attack.

All around him the slaves pushed forward.

But the Makedones held them off.

And the enemy line began to move inexorably forward.

Leonidas eased himself back from the front line and ran swiftly up the hillside, turning to look down on the battle.

Parmenion's plan had worked beautifully, but the weight of numbers was still against them. The Thracian mercenaries had fled the field, but the Spartan could see their officers desperately trying to regroup the survivors.

Given time they would return to the battle.

Squinting through the dust, Leonidas saw that Parmenion was leading his disguised slaves against the Guards, while on the far left Learchus, hard-pressed by the Makedonian Regulars, was making little headway. As with all battles the first to fall were the less skilful, the weak, the slow, the inept. Now only the real fighting men remained, and there was no question of the bravery of the Makedones. Stunned and demoralized by the early charge, they were now showing their discipline and the battle was slowly beginning to turn in their favour.

The field was littered with corpses, the vast majority being the Makedones or their mercenaries, but Spartans had fallen too and Leonidas ran an expert eye over his fighting lines. He had begun with 2,500 men under his command; just over 2,000 remained in a phalanx 200 shields wide, ten ranks deep.

Against them were ranged some 4,000 Illyrian irregulars in their red breastplates and horned helms. Tough, seasoned fighters, but ill-disciplined. Leonidas' regiment was pushing them back, but the enemy were far from either panic or retreat.

Leonidas was racked by indecision. The slaves could not withstand the might of the Guards, and Learchus on the left needed support. Yet if Leonidas was to send any troops to their aid, his own force would not be able to withstand the Illyrians.

Nevertheless a decision had to be made.

Then he saw Parmenion leading the flank attack against the Guards. It was a courageous move, but doomed to failure unless supported. His decision made, Leonidas ran back to the battle.

'Rear five fighting wedge left!' he shouted. 'Formation Ten!' The rear five ranks of his regiment moved smoothly to the left, re-forming ten ranks deep, fifty shields across, Leonidas at the centre with two officers on either side of him.

'The King!' he bellowed.

The men in the first rank hefted their shields and began to march, angling to the left. The Illyrians, screaming their battle-cries, hurled themselves against the weaker right flank of the phalanx. This was the danger Leonidas had braved. Shields were always carried on the left arm, and when a regiment swung to the left the right side of the phalanx was open to attack, for the shields faced inwards. But he had no choice. To order a switch to the more standard fighting square would make forward movement almost impossible. The men on the right had only their swords to fend off their attackers, yet still they were Spartans and the Illyrians suffered heavy losses as they tried to crash through the phalanx.

Worse was to come, Leonidas knew, for as they fought their way forward the Illyrians would move in behind them.

He could only hope that Timasion, with the troops left under his command, would see the danger and launch a counter-attack to defend the rear.

'At the slow run!' shouted Leonidas. There were no drummers to sound the beat, but the Spartans responded instantly, the front line swinging further left. Leonidas glanced back. Timasion had ordered his men to advance into the breach created by Leonidas, and the harrying Illyrians were now caught between two forces.

A gap opened before the fighting wedge and Leonidas could see Parmenion and his warriors battling to contain the Guards. The huge minotaur and the warrior with the metal face were now surrounded by the enemy, but giving no ground. 'The King!' yelled Leonidas again.

'The King!' came the thundrous response from the Spartans.

He saw Parmenion glance back. Immediately the King ordered his men to pull aside, creating room for the charging Spartans to hammer home against the Guards' left. The enemy flank crumpled under the sudden assault, the Spartans pushing deep into the Makedones square.