Tim Severin - King's Man

Fifty paces to the rear of each cavalry squadron rode eight men. They carried no offensive weapons apart from short swords. The moment they saw a cavalryman unhorsed, one of them came dashing forward at full gallop to retrieve the downed man who, reaching up, grabbed the rider's forearm, and at the same time placed his foot in a third stirrup dangling behind the rescuer's saddle. In one smooth movement the unhorsed cavalryman was plucked off the ground, and the two men were speeding away to the rear, where the cavalryman was provided with a remount. I estimated that for every five cavalry horses struck down by Saracen arrows, four riders were back in action by the time their squadron next moved forward. The exceptions, of course, were those men who were wounded. But they were not abandoned. They were taken to where Maniakes's medical teams had set up their field hospital behind the ridge and out of sight of the enemy.

All this time Maniakes never stirred from his position on the crest of the ridge, but stood watching the conflict. The tagmata was extended in a line along the slope of the hill, facing across the shallow valley towards Abdallah's forces. The Saracens were still clumped together in a disorganised mass as they flinched from the repeated attacks of the imperial cavalry. More and more of the Saracen troops were emerging from the gates of the camp, and now they filled the space in front of the palisade until they were too closely packed to be effective. Most of them were foot soldiers, as presumably Abdallah had not been able to ship much cavalry with him from North Africa, and many seemed to be peasant levies, for they were armed with only small swords and shields, and wore leather caps instead of helmets. I saw Saracen officers trying to cajole their men into orderly lines, pushing and shoving at the troops, hoping for some formation. Meanwhile the tagmata stood calmly, regiment by regiment, scarcely moving as their company commanders watched Maniakes's signallers for their orders. I had no idea of their battle plan, and counting the superior numbers of Saracen troops I wondered what Maniakes had in mind.

I never found out, because the Gods intervened. I have mentioned that our march to the battleground was across dry and dusty ground baked under the summer sun. The soil was very loose, almost sandy. As we waited for Maniakes's instructions, I felt a puff of wind, which stirred the dust around my feet. Looking behind me I saw that a windstorm was gathering, rolling down from the distant slopes of the fiery mountain and sweeping across the dry countryside. It drove before it a cloud of fine dust. In almost the same instant Maniakes must have noticed the approaching dust storm, because he said something to a staff officer who produced a wax tablet and scribbled a note on it. Then he handed the tablet to a rider, who galloped away to the rear towards the hidden heavy cavalry. Moments later Maniakes's signallers were flapping their flags and sending orders down the infantry line. Two regiments of the heavy infantry who had been facing the centre of the enemy position moved fifty paces farther apart, leaving a clear path between them.

Glancing back towards the Saracen forces I saw that Abdallah himself had now come out from the camp. A cluster of green and yellow banners rose above what seemed to be a group of his senior officers. They were positioned directly opposite the path that the infantry regiments had now left clear.

The wind ruffled the hair on the back of my neck. I heard the sudden slatting sound of the flap of the command tent. Small twigs and dry leaves tumbled past me, and the wind brought a strange noise to my ears: it was the metallic clatter of the horseshoes of the kataphract riding up the hill behind us, still out of sight of the enemy, but heading directly for the path that led to the heart of Abdallah's army.

Moments later the dust storm was over us. Grains of sand were falling down my collar, and the hot breath of the wind pressed my leggings against the backs of my legs. The enemy vanished from sight, obscured in a brown-grey cloud- A bugle sounded, and was answered by another, then a third. Through the gloom, over to my right, I could make out the shapes of heavy cavalry riding past in a dense mass.

Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the dust cloud swept on and the air cleared. Ahead of me on the far side of the shallow valley, the Saracens were still half blinded by the trailing edge of the swirling sand; many of them had turned away to shield their eyes, or stood with heads bowed, arms raised across their faces. Those with turbans had wrapped the cloth over their mouths and eyes. All of them must have heard the triple trumpet call of the imperial heavy cavalry as they sounded the charge, and looked up to see the kataphract descending down the slope towards them like those sand devils they fear, an evil spectre spawned by the dust.

The kataphract was the cutting edge of the tagamata. As a cavalry force it was unique. Hand-picked and rigorously trained, it was the ultimate shock weapon of the imperial army. Palace regiments could be relied to fight with great bravery, but they were comparatively unwieldy on the battlefield because they were on foot. Only the heavy cavalry of the kataphract could be rapidly directed with devastating effect at a weak point in the enemy lines. Maniakes was doing just this, ignoring the military manuals which advised a field commander to be cautious about committing the kataphract. Maniakes had seen his chance, and now sent it into action very early in the battle.

Five hundred troopers, Nikephorus later told me, made up the kataphract that day. Three hundred of them were heavy cavalry, the remainder were archers. They rode in a close-packed arrowhead formation, the troopers on the outer edges protecting the bowmen in the centre as they laid down a devastating rain of arrows directly ahead of them. The advancing horses moved at a deliberate trot for they were too heavily burdened to gallop or canter. Long padded blankets hung down on each horse's sides, shielding the animal's flanks and legs. Steel plates were strapped to the horses' faces, and across each charger's chest hung a guard of chain-mail. Their riders were equally well protected. They wore steel helmets and thick body armour. Heavy gauntlets covered hands and forearms, and their legs were encased in chain mail leggings under aprons of leather reaching to their heels. The lances they had carried on parade in Constantinople had been for show. Now they held the kataphract's weapon of choice: the heavy mace. Four feet long and made of iron with a six-sided head, it was an ideal instrument to smash any enemy.

The kataphract split the Saracen forces just as a butcher's chopper cleaves a chicken carcass on the block. They rode down the slope, splashed across the shallow stream, and drove their way into the enemy ranks. I saw the leading troopers wielding their maces as though beating on anvils. The kataphract's arrowhead formation thrust deeper and deeper into the mass of their opponents, and those Saracens who did not fall under the rain of blows were thrust aside by the armoured horses. They were too far away for me to hear their cries. Many slipped and were trampled under the hooves. A platoon of disciplined pikemen might have stopped the charge of the kataphract, but the Saracens had no such defence, and their foot soldiers were too lightly armed. The only real resistance came from the Saracen cavalry, who defended their emir. There was a confused struggle as their riders fought back with swords and lances against the remorseless advance of the mace-wielding shock troops. But the impetus of the kataphract was too great. Their charge thrust far into the Saracen position, and I saw the clump of battle standards around the emir begin to waver.

Maniakes saw it, too. He growled an order, and the signallers sounded the general advance. Drums began to beat, a war cymbal clashed, its sound ringing clearly across the valley. To my right I noticed the battle standards of the four palace regiments hoisted in the air. Behind them the icons of the White Christ and his saints were lifted up on poles to encourage the men. To the steady clash of the cymbals, Maniakes's entire force, some seven thousand men, swept down the slope towards the disorganised and leaderless Saracens. They broke and ran. Within moments the battle became a rout. A Greek staff officer shouted to me to tell Harald and his Varangians that they too should join the fighting, but the Norsemen did not need me to translate. Yelling, they ran down the hill towards the combat. I was about to join them when Nikephorus held me by the arm and advised calmly, 'Stay back. Your place is here. In case the situation changes.' I looked across towards Maniakes. He still stood carefully watching the confusion and, surprisingly, I could not detect any look of satisfaction on his face. He seemed to be thinking, not of the battle just won, but of what would happen next.