I turned to Gallia.
‘Take your Amazons to the rear and link up with Babylon’s royal guard. They and you will be our reserve.’
She nudged Epona forward, her face enclosed by the fastened cheek guards of her helmet, her hair plaited behind her back.
‘Take care, Pacorus.’
I smiled and laid my hand on hers. ‘It is Narses who should take care. This will not take long. Tonight we feast in Susa.’
She nodded, wheeled Epona away and the Amazons followed. I rode through the ranks of my men with Vagharsh carrying my banner behind me. I halted Remus in front of the first rank and faced my men.
‘Soldiers of Dura,’ I shouted. ‘We have come a long way together these past few years, shared hardships and won many great victories. Now we must win one more battle to rid the world of Mithridates and Narses who stand but a short distance from us. Show the enemy no pity, no mercy, just as they have shown no mercy to you in the past. Remember those friends you have lost and remember Godarz. Above all remember that victory today will bring peace to the empire and unite it under Orodes, the rightful king of kings. Today we fight to liberate Parthia from tyranny. I know you will not fail me, my brothers. So let us fight for our friends, our families and for Parthia.
‘Death to Narses.’
They raised their lances and began cheering and chanting ‘death to Narses, death to Narses,’ and then across no-man’s land I heard massed horn blasts and turned to see that Narses was advancing.
Vagharsh retreated to the second rank as I took my position in the middle of the first line and then we also moved forward. We were around five hundred paces from Narses, perhaps more, the distance rapidly decreasing as both sides walked their horses forward and then broke into a trot. My men pulled their helmets down to cover their faces and then levelled their lances as the horses broke into a canter, the men maintaining their lines just as they had done a hundred times on the training fields.
In the charge the distance between the two sides closes alarming as both sides move into a gallop and then the final charge, riders screaming their war cries as they attempt to skewer an opponent with their lances. So it was now as both sides hit each other to produce a sickening scraping noise as kontus points were plunged into targets. When two lines of heavy cavalry charge each other both sides are equally matched in terms of momentum, armour protection, weaponry and length of lances, but the side that holds its nerve and is better trained will triumph. In such an armoured clash every Duran cataphract was taught to ride directly at the head of an enemy horse, and at the moment before impact to direct his horse to the right so the animal would pass by the right-hand side of the hostile rider, the opposite side on which an enemy soldier held his lance, at the same time raising his own lance to shoulder height before plunging it into the torso of the enemy horseman. In such a way Dura’s finest would spear their opponents while at the same time avoid being skewered themselves. Such a manoeuvre took many months for even an accomplished horseman to perfect, but Dura’s cataphracts were unequalled in the empire when it came to training, discipline and battle experience. Train hard, fight easy.
I directed Remus against a horseman, veered him right, brought up my kontus and then plunged it into the target, the long point easily piercing the man’s scale armour. Remus’ momentum meant the shaft continued to disappear into his chest half its length, swatting him from his saddle before I released. I grabbed my mace to swing it at a kontus that was being aimed at me by a rider in the enemy’s second rank. I managed to deflect the blow as the horseman passed me and I swung my mace at his helmet, but he ducked, released his lance and in one slick movement drew his sword and directed a backswing at me that glanced off my leg armour. Then I was behind the enemy lines, which appeared to have been two ranks only.
I wheeled Remus around and rejoined the mêlée — a frenzied maelstrom of mace, axe and sword blows. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the great yellow banner of Narses to my right and so I dug my knees into Remus who bolted forward. I raised my mace above my head as I closed on the figure of Narses who was finishing off a horseman with his sword, driving its point through the victim’s exposed neck. He whooped in delight as the man fell from his horse and had just enough time to turn to see me attack him, striking his armourless left arm with my mace. He yelped in pain as I passed him, brought Remus to a halt and wheeled him around. As I did I was surprised to see that Narses had followed and now swung his sword at me, the blade striking my arm armour and denting it. Then he was beside me and we were attacking each other with a superhuman rage, oblivious to what was happening around us. He moved his sword with the deftness of a juggler throwing a ball, one horizontal cut knocking the mace from my hand. I drew my sword and swung it at his head but missed. He kept his horse moving around Remus, aiming a series of downward swinging cuts with his sword at my neck and face, the only exposed parts of my body.
But by now the yellow sleeve of his left arm was soaked in blood and his movements were more laboured as I aimed a vertical cut at his helmet in an attempt to split it. He brought up his sword to stop the blow and then flicked his wrist to swing his blade horizontally at me. The point of his sword nicked my neck as it passed in front of me, but before he could aim another blow I instinctively thrust my sword forward and drove it through his neck. I yanked it free and he toppled onto the ground. Narses was dead!
‘Narses is dead, Narses is dead!’ I screamed, holding my sword aloft in triumph.
No one heard me as I looked around to see hundreds of men engaged in their own personal combat, hacking and stabbing at each other, trying to find weak spots in their opponent’s armour. As I sat on Remus panting and soaked in sweat I saw small groups of horsemen with yellow sleeves leaving the mêlée and falling back. The enemy was breaking; victory was ours.
Vagharsh came through the fighting with an escort of my men and rode up to me. I pointed at the dead body of Narses lying on the ground and spat at it.
‘Behold, the King of Persis and Parthia’s lord high general.’
More and more enemy horsemen were now fleeing and around us horns were sounding to reassemble the ranks.
‘Congratulations, lord,’ beamed Vagharsh, who also spat on the body of Narses.
Then Orodes appeared, his leg and arm armour looking as though it had been struck many times by a large hammer. He stared at my bleeding neck with alarm.
‘You are hurt, Pacorus.’
The elation of killing Narses had blocked out all other feelings, including pain, so I slid my sword into its scabbard and felt my neck. The wound was not deep and I felt nothing, though my neck was smeared with blood. It obviously looked worse than it was.
‘Just a scratch. Narses is dead, Orodes.’
He looked down at the corpse on the ground, slid off his horse and knelt beside it. He turned it over, ripped off its helmet and sighed.
He looked up at me. ‘It is not Narses, Pacorus; it is his eldest son, Nereus.’
The energy drained from me and suddenly my neck ached with a vengeance.
‘Are you sure?’ I said, but looking at the blood-smeared face I knew the answer before he spoke. Despite its fair hair, broad forehead and powerful frame I could see that it was the face of a young man.