Carrhae (77 page)

The commander of my horse archers rode to where I sat with Gallia and Surena observing the Romans, who had formed a shield wall on all four sides of their ragged square and had also locked shields over their heads in anticipation of volleys of arrows.

Vagises halted his horse and raised his hand. ‘Pacorus, the commander of the camel train informed me earlier that he has few quivers left. We used a prodigious quantity of arrows yesterday that has nearly exhausted our supplies.’

‘How many do we have left?’ asked Surena.

‘Whatever your men and mine carry at this moment plus an additional two quivers,’ answered Vagises.

‘That few,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should demand the surrender of these Romans rather than waste more arrows. We still have to deal with those Romans who have reached Carrhae, after all.’

I heard a groan of frustration behind me and Gallia laid a hand on my arm.

‘I think you should fight these Romans, Pacorus.’

‘Why? What is so special about them?’

She glanced at Spartacus behind us.

‘Some have to fulfil their destinies, my husband, just as you have fulfilled yours.’

I looked at Spartacus, who because he wore the uniform of a Hatran cataphract had an open-faced helmet. I saw his eyes full of pleading.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Vagises, your men will soften them up first, but controlled shooting. Tell your commanders to be frugal with their arrows. We may need them in the days ahead.’

Gallia, her face largely hidden behind the closed cheekguards of her helmet, nodded at me.

‘Rasha will love you even more.’

‘Not if Spartacus gets himself killed she won’t.’

But Spartacus was not thinking about death or mortality, only glory and his beautiful young princess. After I had given the order for half the cataphracts – five companies – to deploy into battle formation he rode to join the front rank as the horse archers began to attack the Roman square. To break such a formation is not easy and even though Dura’s horsemen were among the best trained in the empire I worried that the cataphracts would come to grief when they made their charge. The customary tactic was for the horse archers to shoot against all four sides of the square, with the heaviest concentration of missiles being directed against one of those sides, which would be the predetermined target for the heavy horsemen. The attacks against the other three sides were diversions only.

His company commanders under strict orders not to waste arrows, riders charged at the Roman shields with empty bowstrings and then swung right to ride along the wall of shields to discover if the enemy had retained their javelins during their retreat. The lack of missiles thrown from the square seemed to suggest that they had not.

The five companies of cataphracts earmarked for the attack were arrayed in a line facing the south side of the square, but I passed the word that their actual assault should be against its eastern side. The Roman commander would have seen the heavy horsemen lining up and would have deduced that they were going to assault his men once the archers had finished their work. Most likely he would have stripped legionaries from the other sides of the square to reinforce the one that faced south, but Vagises’ horse archers were subjecting the eastern side to the heaviest volleys of arrows. His men were now riding parallel to the shield wall, loosing their arrows at a range of below thirty paces, the slim steel heads going through
scutums
with ease, though whether they were piercing flesh was impossible to tell.

I raised my hand to the commander of the half-dragon of heavy horsemen that was waiting patiently in three ranks, the butt spike of every
kontus
driven into the earth beside each rider and helmets pushed up on every head. It was already very warm and they were roasting in their heavy scale armour; to sit in the sun wearing a full-face helmet would only increase their discomfort.

But now the signal was given to move and so lances were plucked from the earth and helmets pulled down as five hundred men rode forward a few paces and then as one wheeled right into column formation, riding parallel to the south side of the square. The commander galloped to the head of the column as it turned again, this time left, to take it parallel to the eastern side of the square, all the time the horse archers continuing their shooting and doing their best to mask the movement of the cataphracts.

I drew my sword and turned to Gallia. ‘It is not right that my horsemen should risk their lives while their king sits idly on his horse.’

‘You and Remus wear no scale armour,’ said Gallia.

‘I will be in the third rank, have no fear.’

‘I am with you, lord,’ said Surena, who also pulled his sword from its scabbard.

‘You and the Amazons are our reserve,’ I said to Gallia, ‘Shamash keep you safe.’

I dug my knees into Remus and he shot forward as Surena followed, both of us galloping after the column of cataphracts that was now deploying into line to face the eastern side of the Roman square. Upon seeing the movement of the cataphracts and their redeployment, Vagises issued orders for his men in front of the heavy horsemen to withdraw as five hundred lances were lowered and the heavy horsemen broke into a trot and then a canter.

No horse will charge into a shield wall and so the cataphracts rode forward at a slow, controlled gallop, the front rank grasping the shaft of each
kontus
not in the middle but nearer to the butt spike, thereby extending it forward beyond the shoulders of their horses. In this way they could slow their mounts just before impact so the beasts would not panic and either swerve sideways or rear up on their hind legs. The second and third ranks rode forward at a slower pace so as not to collide into the front rank when the impact came – a loud scraping noise that heralded over a hundred
kontus
points being driven through
scutums
and into their owners’ bodies.

The riders in all three ranks of the heavy horsemen were widely spaced to allow the second rank to fill the gaps after the initial collision, the next wave of cataphracts moving forward into the openings to drive their lances into Roman shields and bodies. Horrible high-pitched screams pierced the air as men were literally skewered by lances that went through their bodies and into the earth behind, leaving legionaries pinioned to the ground.

Then the cataphracts drew their swords and hacked left and right at helmets, the dark metal splitting them with ease and the skulls underneath. Some Romans avoided the lances and swords and stabbed at horses with their short swords, the blows being deflected by steel scales and thick hide of scale armour. A few stabbed underneath the armour to slice open a horse’s belly, felling the animal and its rider, the pair collapsing onto other legionaries.

The fight was brief and bloody, the cataphracts cutting into the four threadbare ranks that made up this side of the Roman square, prompting some men to flee before the horsemen. Others rallied around the commanders of their centuries, instinctively seeking the security of their comrades, but in so doing they created gaps through which my horsemen flooded. They ignored the groups of Romans who adopted an all-round defence in their centuries and rode into the centre of the square where the senior commanders stood ready to defend the legion’s precious eagle.

One side of the square having been breached and fractured, Vagises sent in companies of horse archers to support the cataphracts, the bowmen shooting down fleeing Romans at short range. Some Romans, fatigued and demoralised, were now throwing down their weapons and attempting to surrender, a risky manoeuvre in the face of enemy horsemen who were not inclined to take prisoners while the battle was still waging. Some were lucky; others were not as more and more horsemen poured into the broken square.

With Surena beside me I accompanied the third rank as it entered the square killing any Roman who crossed its path. I swung my sword at the head of a Roman as he ran past me but failed to hit him. In front of me a lone rider in scale armour charged headlong at the group defending the legion’s eagle.

‘The idiot!’ shouted Surena as Spartacus directed his horse at the score or more men – senior officers and centurions – who guarded the legionary eagle, the sacred symbol of the Senate of Rome and honour of the legion.

I screamed at Remus to move and he bolted forward as I saw with horror Spartacus’ horse smash into the enemy soldiers and collapse to the ground, throwing its rider and rolling over those in its path. I pulled Remus up sharply and jumped from the saddle, sword in hand, as a centurion stood over Spartacus with his
gladius
drawn back, ready to plunge it into my nephew. I screamed at the top of my voice and ran at the Roman, plunging the point of my blade into his mail shirt. I tripped over Spartacus and tumbled to the ground as the dead centurion fell on top of me and then looked up, helplessly, to see an officer, a tribune in a muscled cuirass, pull the dead centurion off me so he could ram his sword through my chest. I stared, transfixed, as he stood over me, drew up his sword with both hands and then died as a
kontus
was driven through his body. He pitched forward with the point of the lance protruding from his chest as the cataphract releasing the shaft rode on past me, the point narrowly missing my throat as it stuck in the earth a few inches from my face. Once again a dead Roman had pinned me to the ground.

Surena hauled the body off me and helped me to my feet as Spartacus, oblivious to anything else, ran at the hulking figure draped in a lion skin holding the eagle. The Romans called them
Aquilifers
, these veterans who were the most senior standard bearers in every legion, and they were selected because they were seasoned soldiers who knew how to take care of the legion’s most precious object.

The
Aquilifer
rammed the butt spike of the shaft that held the eagle into the ground and drew his
gladius
as Spartacus swung his sword at the man’s head. The Roman ducked and thrust his own sword into the left arm of Spartacus, which was fortunately protected by tubular steel armour, causing the point to glance off it. My nephew attacked the Roman with a series of lightening-fast sword strikes, his blade moving so rapidly that it appeared that he was holding a weapon of the immortals as it flashed in the sunlight. But the
Aquilifer
parried every stroke and then smashed his small circular shield into Spartacus, knocking him to the ground.

The Roman raced to stand over him but Spartacus already had his dagger in his left hand and brought it down hard to go through the man’s foot. The
Aquilifer
screamed in pain and hobbled backwards as Spartacus then swung his sword and cut deep into the side of the Roman’s right calf. He screamed again and this time collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his foot and lower leg. I ran to Spartacus and lifted him to his feet as Surena fought another Roman officer who had rushed to aid the
Aquilifer
. The latter had managed to haul himself to his feet but was knocked to the ground again as Spartacus swung his sword at the side of his helmet, severing the cheekguard and knocking the Roman senseless. He collapsed again as Spartacus jumped on him and launched a frenzied attack on him with his dagger, stabbing at his face and neck again and again, showering his face, hands and armour with the
Aquilifer
’s blood.

I hauled Spartacus up once more as Surena killed his opponent with a downward strike of his sword splitting helmet and skull. Cataphracts were now forming around us as more and more horse archers darted around, killing Romans who had thrown down their weapons and raised their hands in a sign of submission.

Spartacus was oblivious to the scenes of carnage around him as he stepped forward and touched the silver eagle with up-raised wings surrounded by a laurel wreath. He grasped the shaft and yanked it from the ground, holding it aloft for all to see while Surena and I flanked him to ensure that the enemy did not ruin his moment of triumph.

Cataphracts swirled around us and cut down Romans with their swords and maces, supported by the bows of Vagises’ men who were now shooting at point-blank range. Romans who had surrendered had been slaughtered, those who had attempted to run had been cut down and now the last vestiges of what had been half a legion were being methodically destroyed. I slapped Spartacus on the shoulder and left him in the capable hands of Surena as Gallia and the Amazons rode to where I was standing, my wife leading Remus by the reins.

‘You should take more care of your horse,’ she chided me.

I hauled myself into his saddle and pointed at Spartacus.

‘I had my hands full keeping him alive.’

‘So he will marry Rasha. All is well.’

I looked around at the hundreds of dead Roman bodies. ‘Yes, all is well.’

The battle was now over, the ground littered with discarded
scutums
, swords, helmets and legionary standards, in addition to the hundreds of dead bodies with arrows or lances stuck in them. A few Romans, their heads horribly gashed by sword or mace strikes, were still clinging on to life as their lifeblood poured from their wounds, others sat upright on the ground staring in disbelief at their bellies that had been sliced open by Parthian blades. A few poor wretches were endeavouring to push their guts back inside them, not realising that the hand of death was already upon them.

After the frenzy of bloodlust had receded horse archers and cataphracts looked on with pity at their defeated foes, though there remained a small group of Romans still fighting. The calls of horns alerted me to their presence a short distance away from where Spartacus had taken the eagle. There were a score of them, most wounded, some helmetless and all grouped around a figure with a badly gashed head who was holding a century standard, made up of a number of silver disks called
philarae
, mounted above which was a metal plate bearing the century’s title and from which hung two red leather strips. The standard was topped by an image of a human hand in silver. I had seen many of these emblems in Italy and Spartacus had amassed a great collection of them following his many victories.