‘Men of Rome,’ I shouted. ‘I am the king of the land you now stand on. I salute your courage. You have done all that honour demands this day and more, but now is the time to listen to reason.’
I saw no movement from within their ranks.
‘I call upon your commander to come forward to discuss the terms of your surrender, for to continue fighting will surely condemn you all to death. I give you this promise. If you lay down your arms all of you will walk out of here unharmed. Come forth Lucius Furius.’
I rode back to my men and waited. Domitus strode up.
‘Perhaps he left on one of the boats.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘not Furius. His sense of Roman superiority will not let him flee in the face of barbarians.’
And sure enough, a few moments later, he rode out from the enemy ranks. I nudged Remus forward until I stood ten paces from Lucius Furius. He hadn’t changed; he still had red curly hair and an angry expression on his face.
‘Well, Lucius,’ I said, ‘we meet again.’
‘What do you want?’ he snapped, looking down his nose at me.
‘I want you to leave my kingdom and I want Rome to stop its wars of aggression against the Parthian Empire. Will those two requests suffice to satisfy you?’
He sneered at me. ‘Just like the rabble led by Spartacus perished, so will the Parthian Empire fall.’
I sighed. ‘Even now, with death staring you in the face, you still persist in issuing threats.’
He looked immensely smug. ‘Armies may fall, Parthian, but Rome is eternal. What is Parthia but a collection of desert nomads and horse stables devoid of culture and learning? It is Rome’s duty to bring civilisation to the world. That is why I am here.’
I sighed. ‘You are here because you, or more correctly your master, Crassus, wishes to have possession of the trade route into Egypt.’
‘Parthia has no jurisdiction west of the Euphrates. King Phraates has given Rome sovereignty over this land.’
This was staggering. ‘What?’
He smiled, delighting in my uncertainty. ‘It is true. Governor Lucullus has agreed to evacuate the province of Gordyene in exchange for control of all territory up to the west bank of the Euphrates. You see, Parthian, even your own king does not want you.’
I refused to believe that this was so. ‘Here are my terms, Furius. Your men are to lay down their weapons and you will become my hostage. Your master, Crassus, will have to pay a handsome price to get you back. We will see how much he values you, which is only fair as he puts a price on everything.’
‘I reject your terms.’
‘What?’
‘A Roman general never surrenders, especially in his own land.’
‘You are an idiot,’ I replied. ‘To continue fighting will result in your certain death.’
‘All death is certain.’
A most philosophical answer, I had to admit.
‘I give you one last chance to surrender.’
‘I reject your offer, Parthian. I do not bargain with slaves.’
I shook my head, pulled on Remus’ reins and turned my back on Lucius Furius. I heard a jangling noise behind me followed by a hissing sound. I turned to see Furius directly behind me, sword in hand. He was slumped in his saddle, an arrow lodged in his chest. I looked back at my men and saw Gallia with a bow in her hand. The sword slipped from Furius’ hand and then he fell from his saddle. He hit the ground and rolled onto his back. He glazed eyes told me that he was dead.
Mayhem then broke out as horsemen and foot soldiers charged the Romans. Horns and trumpets blasted as thousands of men attacked the wavering shield wall, while the air was thick with missiles as horse archers loosed their bows and Roman slingers and archers replied in kind. Horsemen surged past me led by Orodes, his sword held aloft, while on their flank Domitus and his men hoisted their shields and marched towards the Romans. Around a hundred paces from the enemy they charged, the front ranks racing at the enemy with swords drawn as the ranks immediately behind then hurled their javelins over the heads of their comrades against the enemy. I heard a loud thud as the Durans smashed into the stationary Romans, thrusting their swords upwards into any gaps between the shields. The Roman line buckled and then began to fall back as the impetus of the Duran charge cut its way into the enemy.
The horse archers did not attempt to charge the Romans but merely continued with their harassing fire, pouring volley after volley of arrows into the enemy. Occasionally an arrowhead hit flesh, but mostly it forced the Romans to take shelter behind their shields, but in doing so it prevented them from reinforcing the threatened sections of their line. Orodes and the cataphracts, now wielding swords or maces, rode up to the Roman lines and tried to batter their way through the enemy. But the ranks of the enemy were too dense and they failed. But Domitus did not fail.
Both armies had been manoeuvring and fighting under a hot sun for hours now. The Romans had seen their cavalry scattered, their eagles spirited away and their commander killed, and now they were penned in like sheep against the river. Assaulted once more, their cohesion began to crack as they continued to endure arrow fire from thousands of horse archers, a fire that seemingly never ceased, unlike their own slingers and archers, who soon ran out of ammunition. So Domitus and his men cut their way into the enemy, creating a gap through which Orodes and I led our weary heavy horsemen. The sight of enemy horsemen behind them once again was too much for the weary legionaries. Most of their senior officers, the legates and tribunes who rode on horseback, were now dead, felled by arrows. Soon groups of Romans were throwing down their weapons and giving themselves up. Fighting began to peter out as exhausted soldiers and horsemen disengaged from the Romans and merely watched their opponents submit to them. It was a strange scene — shortly before the Romans had been a tenacious foe, now they were beaten men meekly submitting to their fate. The battle was over.
Chapter 16
The aftermath of battle is never pleasant and this day was no different. As far as the eye could see the ground was covered with the dead and the dying. Injured horses, their bodies gashed open and their limbs shattered, thrashed around in agony. Men whimpered and screamed as the rush of frenzy within them quickly faded and feelings returned to their pierced bodies. Bodies cut open by sword and spear blades, bones crushed underfoot by men and horses during melees, and flesh pierced by arrows and slingshots. And then the stench hit me. In the white heat of battle all sense of smell disappears, but afterwards, when the slaughter has ceased and men’s bodies are drained of energy, a rancid aroma hangs over the battlefield. The stench of blood, vomit, human and animal dung and urine, the disgusting combination of men fouling themselves, puking as they saw their friends reduced to offal before their eyes, and the spilling of blood and guts during combat. It is this smell that enters your nostrils, infuses your hair and skin and stays there for days. No amount of water will wash it away. Today it was the same, perhaps even worse than before. Men had difficulty controlling their skittish horses as they dismounted and led the beasts towards the river, for both they and their riders were suddenly possessed by a raging thirst.
I too dismounted and watched Domitus and his men move forward to stand guard over the Roman captives. There was no resistance. Where just a short time before they had been highly trained enemy soldiers operating in formation, seemingly invincible, now they were beaten men, glad to be offered the chance to rest. Glad to be alive.
Domitus ambled over as the legion’s colour party escorted the golden griffin back to the city. I raised my sword in salute as it and its escort marched past me. The cataphracts around did the same.
‘Another victory, Pacorus. Well done.’