I could see the cohorts now, a wall of white shields and shining helmets standing like great slabs of rock on the desert floor. I hurtled through one of the gaps with hundreds of others following me, then passed through the second line of cohorts. I should have run straight into a cohort that stood directly behind the gap between two cohorts in the first line. But the second-line cohorts had parted, the two halves of each one moving left and right to stand directly behind a cohort in the first line. This allowed the horsemen to pass through both lines unimpeded. That was the easy bit.
As soon as all the horse archers had passed safely though their lines, the legionaries of the second line had to race forward to fill the gaps in the first line. This was the hard part, for if they failed not only would the enemy be able to pour through the gaps where the second-line cohorts were supposed to be, they would also hit the men of that second line who were attempting to move forward. The result would be chaos and slaughter.
But they did not fail. As soon as the last horse archers had passed them by the men of the second-line cohorts rushed forward to fill the gaps in the first line and present a continuous front to the enemy. And as they reached their positions, like their comrades who had been in the first line the first five ranks hurled their javelins at the horde of enemy riders bearing down on them. Around three thousand javelins arched into the air as Mithridates’ horsemen hit the front ranks of the legionaries. A sickening grinding noise reverberated across the battlefield as thousands of horsemen tried to turn their mounts aside to avoid hitting a solid wall of leather, wood and steel.
A horse, even when gripped by terror in battle, will not run at a solid object. He will either try to run through any gaps in front of him or turn aside to avoid hitting said object; others will attempt to stop dead, especially when a torrent of javelins is about to engulf them. Cataphracts and spearmen became a tangled mass of horse and human flesh as animals pulled up and catapulted their riders over their heads, while others somersaulted over and over, crushing their riders under them as they did so. Those behind smashed into the ones in front as others were hit and pierced by javelins.
The javelin rain had saved the front ranks of the legionaries from becoming entangled in the grisly drama as the first line of horsemen had careered into the missiles, which had killed their momentum. But it takes nerves of steel to stand in a tightly packed formation of men while thousands of horses’ hooves are shaking the earth and coming closer at alarming speed. To not only stand but also still perform their drills — to throw their javelins and then draw their swords for close-quarter combat. They had practised for this day for years, sweating under a Mesopotamian sun and practising over and over again until they responded to orders and trumpet blasts without thinking. Train hard, fight easy.
The great charge of the enemy had been halted but the day was still young. I halted Remus and turned him around, horse archers kicking up dust as they too reformed behind me. To the left and right of us horns blasted as the army’s two cataphract wings advanced to envelop the flanks of the enemy and attack them from behind.
I suddenly felt helpless. Orodes, Surena and their heavy horsemen would decide the battle. In front of me the front ranks of my legionaries were stabbing at the bellies of horsemen while the rear ranks hurled more volleys of javelins. A charging cataphract is a devastating and fearsome weapon; a stationary one is vulnerable. Those still mounted would have cast aside their great lances to use their close-quarter weapons — sword, axe or mace. But in the tightly packed mêlée it was almost impossible to manoeuvre their horses, and all the while javelins were striking them and their horses were being maimed by gladius blades thrust under their horses’ scale armour. But there were still of lot of horsemen hacking and slashing at the foot solders in front of them.
Vagharsh rode up to me and nodded.
‘Domitus’ men are taking a hard pounding.’
‘The horse archers cannot aid them yet. We must have a reserve just in case he is forced back.’
I bit my lip nervously. I hated sitting here idle and helpless. I would much rather be hacking away by the side of Surena or Orodes. It was one of the disadvantages of being the commander of an army. I was sorely tempted to advance the horse archers so that they were immediately behind the cohorts. From there they could shoot over the heads of the legionaries into the seething mass of the enemy. But if Orodes and Surena had been successful then our arrows would be striking our own men as well. My feeling of helplessness magnified.
Then a chant echoed across the battlefield and a sense of elation swept through me. Above the cries of dying men, the squeals of lacerated horses and the clatter of steel against steel I could discern thousands of voices shouting ‘Dura, Dura’. The hour of victory had come. The cohorts had withstood the great charge of men and horseflesh that had hit them like a thunderbolt, and now they were advancing, cutting though the enemy like a giant and remorseless saw. Then I spotted a man running towards me, a broad figure in a mail shirt adorned with metal discs, greaves around his shins and a white transverse crest atop his helmet. Domitus.
I rode over to meet him, his face streaked with dirt and sweat and his brown eyes alight with glee as his men chanted more loudly as they went about their grim work.
‘They’re breaking,’ he panted. ‘I can see your men in their rear. All that money you spent on plumes and pennants has proved useful in spotting friend from foe. Those that aren’t dead or dying have lost the stomach for it and are retreating.’
I bent down and offered my hand. ‘The victory is yours, my friend. I salute you.’
He shook my hand and spat on the ground. ‘The boys are finding it difficult crawling over piles of dead horse and bodies. There’s plenty that will get away unless you can deal with them.’
I nodded. ‘Consider it done. Don’t get careless, life can still be snatched away in the moment of victory.’
He raised his hand, turned and then trotted back to where his cohorts, slowly but purposely, were grinding their way forward. I rode back to where the officers of the horse archers waited on their mounts.
I pointed at the right flank of the cohorts. ‘They’re breaking. It is time to finish them. One dragon will come with me on the right, one dragon will advance on the left, and one dragon will stay here as a reserve.’
They nodded and rode back to organise their commands. Moments later horns blasted and I led a great column of horsemen to sweep round the right flank of the army. There was a mighty cheer as men spotted the griffin banner billowing behind me as we broke into a canter and then a gallop to pursue the fleeing enemy. I saw the banner of Orodes, or at least I thought it was his banner as Mithridates had taken the same banner to be his own. Where was he?