‘Show them your ire!’ Gallus lifted his spatha from his scabbard and gazed along the blade, the reflected sunlight dancing across his face and conjuring a grimace. ‘Show them with sharpened steel! XI Claudia, ready!’ he roared, smashing the hilt on his shield boss. ‘For the empire!’
‘For the empire!’ Pavo roared in reply with his comrades.
As the Roman cry faded, the Persian archer cavalry on the flanks stretched their bows skywards. Pavo’s gut knotted — seeing the strategy play out in his mind. This volley would scatter the Roman ranks, allowing the cataphractii to cut through the gaps. But he noticed something; the towering puffs of salt-spray were drifting across the shore, soaking the riders as they charged. Many of the archers fumbled, fingers slipping on their dampened weapons.
Thousands of bows twanged, but instead of an ordered storm of arrows arcing up and into the sky, chaos erupted and arrows shot off in every direction. A chorus of pained cries and thwacking of arrowheads into flesh sounded as some punched straight into the riders before them. Crimson puffs of blood leapt into the air, horses whinnied, rearing and bucking, some setting off on a panicked charge back through their own ranks, arrows bristling from their flanks. In disarray, the gunds of archer cavalry on either flank fell away. Only a fraction of their hail fell upon the Roman ranks, and merely a handful of legionaries were struck.
Sura exhaled in relief. ‘What in Hades?’
‘The bows are useless! The fletching and sinew are damp from the salt spray,’ a legionary nearby gasped.
Realisation dawned on Pavo as he recalled the pirate skirmish near Rhodos. His heart soared.
He glanced to the side to see Gallus whispering skywards. Thank you, Mithras.
The cataphractii continued at a full charge, unaware of the chaos on their flanks, fully expecting the arrow volley to scatter the tight Roman spear line before them.
Pavo grappled his spear shaft and looked the nearest rider square in the eye. His mouth was agape in a war cry, dark moustache splayed, the red wetness at the back of his throat and the whites of his eyes betraying his battle-rage. The mount gnashed, its hooves throwing up great clumps of sand and its wild eyes rolling behind the bronze mesh baskets that protected them. The rider grappled his lance two handed and the chain tying the ends of the spear to the mount’s coat of armour stretched taut.
‘Dig your spears in, stand firm. . ’ he heard Gallus bellow.
For even the bravest horse will never charge a nest of spears, Pavo mouthed the rest of the iron tribunus’ words.
At that instant, the cataphractii seemed to realise their archers had failed. The man directly in front of Pavo lost his expression of hubris, his jaw falling slack as he saw the wall of Roman spears unmoved. At the last, his mount skidded to a halt and he was catapulted through the air like slingshot, one leg snapping as it was wrenched through the curved horn front of his saddle. Pavo braced behind his spear as the man flailed towards him. With a weighty punch and a shower of hot blood across his face, his spear arm shuddered as the cataphractus landed upon the lance-tip. The man stared at Pavo in confusion as the death rattle tumbled from his lips and he slid from the spear. Nearly every horse on the cataphractii front had foundered likewise, the bodies of the riders cast to the ground or up in the air and onto the Roman spear tips. The second and third ranks of riders had charged into the rear of their stricken comrades, trampling them or tumbling themselves. Many of the riders that remained saddled and had made it to the Roman spear line were quickly hacked down by legionaries leaping forth, skewering man and mount. Within moments, the lapping waves underfoot were stained red and the screeching gulls were joined by a thick, dark pack of vultures, eyeing the reddening shoreline. The remaining Persian riders scattered and the legionaries fell back into line, panting. The first blood had been let and it had all come from this mighty Persian war machine.
By Pavo’s side, Sura grinned as he looked over the thrashing mass of riders. Those who had broken away reformed on the flanks, but of the four gunds in the first wave of attack, nearly half had been felled. ‘Invincible? Mithras’ arse they are!’ he cooed.
Pavo pushed closer to his friend. ‘Aye, but the clibanarii have yet to have their say.’ He pointed his gore-encrusted spear out to the next wave of riders, cantering down from the grassy dunes. Another two gunds, in plate-armour and iron facemasks etched with an inhuman rictus. Behind them on the dunes, he saw Tamur, snarling, barking at his men, enraged at their self-destruction so far.
‘Hold the line and they will not charge us — we know this!’ Gallus barked, Varius echoing the words. ‘Now, bows may be useless here, but our darts care little for a touch of spray in the air. Ready plumbatae!’ At once the Roman line became a foot taller, twelve hundred arms hefting weighted darts overhead.
The war drums picked up and the clibanarii built up to a canter.
Pavo trained his dart on the clibanarius coming for him. A few hundred feet became a hundred in moments. Then two of Tamur’s banners swung down in a chopping motion, one to either side. On the flanks, the remainder of the cataphractii had reformed. Now they hared round to splash into the shallows, then raced along the shoreline towards the Roman flanks.
‘Form square!’ Gallus cried, eyes bulging as he saw the manoeuvre.
The plumbatae were dropped, unloosed as the lines scrambled to protect the flanks and rear. But they were too slow. The cataphractii plunged into the barely protected Roman flanks. They barged through the unprepared lines, sending groups sprawling, trampling and cutting down men. In moments, the legionary line had disintegrated into pockets. Pavo stumbled forward, the blood of some comrade in the rear ranks showering his back. He righted himself and rushed over to Sura, Quadratus, Zosimus and Gallus. They quickly clustered together with a handful of Flavia Firma men, swiping their spears this way and that.
The clibanarii swooped on this disorder, their mounts racing into the gaps between the clusters of legionaries, lancing and swiping, felling men like wheat. The cries of dying legionaries grew deafening. Pavo leapt back as one clibanarius’ lance scored across his scale vest, tearing the scales from it and stinging the skin of his chest. He saw the rider thunder onwards to burst the chests of two less fortunate legionaries, the smattering of plumbatae and spears hurled at the rider bouncing from the man’s armour. Then the all-iron riders swept out of the fray, circling further up the beach, readying to swoop in again. There was no time for the Roman lines to reform, but if they remained in clusters like this, they would be cut down. Pavo’s eyes darted. Something nagged at the depths of his mind. Something Khaled had once told him.
The clibanarii are invincible? I thought so too, once. The finest blades — lances and swords — all will blunt on their plate-armour. Then I saw a shepherd’s boy fell one of them with his sling.
Pavo snatched a glance to the water; there, the slingers had fled out into the waves, standing waist deep now. He roared to Gallus. ‘Sir, the funditores — have them fire on the clibanarii, at close range!’ he called to Gallus. Gallus looked at him with a scowl, as if he had been torn from a nightmare. ‘It’s something I heard in the mines — it might work.’ The tribunus frowned, then cried over the melee to where Varius braced with a hundred or so of his men.
The Flavia Firma standards swiped through the air and orders were barked to the slingers. In moments, a burring of slings picked up. In way of reply, Tamur’s battle cry sailed over the beach and the war drums thrashed in a frenzy. The clibanarii swooped for the legionary clusters.
Pavo braced, fingers flexing on his spear. ‘Come on, come on!’ he cried, glancing to the slingers and then to the clibanarius lancer coming for him. But the rider’s spear was upon him. It was too late. He heard his own battle cry as though from a great distance as he swept his spear up to parry, but the tip of the clibanarius’ lance punctured the flesh of his shoulder and blood burst into the air. The rider then tore out his shamshir blade and hefted it to cut through Pavo’s neck.