He screwed up his face. ‘And I could refuse, but I am touched that you are both so concerned about my welfare.’
He smiled and then walked off back to his medical wagons.
‘He’s impossible,’ grumbled Domitus.
‘But a good doctor,’ I replied.
It was as if the enemy had disappeared as thousands of hobnailed sandals tramped across the barren ground. The thousands of mules grunted and the oxen pulling the wagons containing Marcus’ siege engines lowered. Only a few puffy clouds filled the sky now and the sun was beating down on us and heating the earth. I was beginning to think that our trek would be unmolested when from the south I heard the infernal din of kettledrums and the sound of horns. Then the earth began to shake and I knew that we were under attack.
Narses sent in his horse archers first, a great torrent of horseflesh that swept around us and unleashed volley after volley of arrows against the square. The drivers of the wagons dived for cover under their vehicles, while the walking wounded sought shelter beneath the shields of the legionaries. Parthians use a variety of arrowheads, ranging from leaf-shaped to those with grooves for the application of poison, but the most common variety is the bronze three-winged arrowhead. And it was these that were loosed against the edges of the square.
At first horsemen rode parallel to each side of the square, shooting arrows as they did so. Discharging up to five arrows a minute, each side of the square was peppered with thousands of arrows in a matter of minutes. For those on the receiving end of this barrage it was truly nerve-wracking, arrows slamming into shields like raindrops hitting a tile roof in a thunderstorm. It was an impressive display of mass archery and against typical Parthian foot soldiers would have been devastating. Unfortunately for Narses he had sent his horse archers against men who knew how to counter his tactics. Before the first charge of his horse archers had been made the trumpets had sounded a halt and then signalled to defend against arrow attack. The men deployed on each side of the square as one all knelt down. The first rank formed an unbroken shield wall while those behind lifted their shields above their heads to form a forward-sloping roof of leather and wood to counter the arrow rain that fell on them. The front ranks also rested one end of their javelins on the ground and held them at an angle of forty-five degrees to present a line of points to deter the enemy horsemen from getting too close.
We all knelt and prayed as whooping, cheering and screaming horse archers emptied their quivers against us. Each shield weighs over twenty pounds and it was testimony to the strength and stamina of the Durans and Exiles that they were able to hold them in place while the horse archers lapped around the square. Each leather-faced shield was identical — three layers of wood glued together with the grain of each layer fitted at right angles to the preceding layer to make it harder to cut through. Wooden reinforcing strips added to the back further increased its defensive capabilities.
The first attack was noisy, frightening and largely ineffective and covered us all in choking dust. There was little time to celebrate, however, as more horns calls announced a second assault against us. This time the horse archers ignored the wall and roof of shields on each side of the formation and shot their arrows high into the sky so they fell inside the square itself. The central area of the square was empty but around its edges were grouped the wagons and the mules pulling them. Once more arrows thudded harmlessly into shields but others hit mules and caused a dreadful carnage. We lost four hundred animals in that second attack, some killed outright and others being grievously wounded as they were struck by a number of arrows. Some went mad with the pain and bolted in a vain effort to escape their tormentors, succeeding only in colliding into wagons in front of them and suffering more wounds. A few ran into the rear of the cohorts and nearly caused the formation to rupture. Only a few quick-thinking centurions saved the day, using their swords to kill the beasts outright and stop their rampage.
The square held but it required great efforts on the part of the drivers, those who hadn’t been crushed under the wheels when their beasts bolted, to get their animals under control.
The enemy horse archers retreated to regroup and fill their quivers, giving us time to take stock of the situation. I called a meeting of the senior officers to ascertain whether we could continue the march. Domitus was not optimistic.
‘As soon as we start marching again they will be back.’
‘We can’t stay here forever,’ I said.
‘Perhaps we may march through the night, majesty.’
Kronos, the man who had spoken, was the commander of the Exiles. Having just entered his forties, he had spent fifteen years fighting under King Mithridates of Pontus against the Romans and had been one of the first to present himself at Dura following Rome’s victory over that land. Thereafter thousands of his countrymen had made their way south from their homeland, through Armenia and into my father’s kingdom. Many made their way south on hearing that the King of Dura, the man who was the enemy of Rome, was raising an army and needed veteran soldiers.
‘That is not a bad idea, Kronos,’ I replied. ‘Parthians do not like fighting at night. Perhaps we can steal away under cover of darkness.’
Domitus was not convinced. ‘Except that Narses will surround us with his army. As soon as they realise we are on the march they will be alerted and will be standing to arms, regardless of whether it is night or day.’
Such was the contempt that everyone had for Mithridates that no one mentioned his name, despite the fact that he was technically in command of the enemy horde. No one liked Narses but they at least respected his military ability.
‘If they try the same tactics as the last attack,’ said a concerned Marcus, ‘we will undoubtedly lose more mules and oxen, which means we will not be able to move all the wagons.’
‘Our priorities,’ I told him, ‘are the wounded, water and food. After that, your siege engines and the spare weapons. The tents, tools and spare clothing we can do without if need be.’
‘How much water do we have?’ Domitus asked Marcus.
‘Enough for five more days.’
We all looked at him. Unimpeded we could march a hundred miles in that time. Surrounded and under constant attack we would be able to cover barely half that distance, probably less.
‘It would be best to drain the dead mules of their blood so we can drink it,’ remarked Kronos.
Compact and muscular, Kronos was actually shorter than Domitus but his lack of height did not detract from his martial bearing nor his great intelligence.
‘A veritable feast for us all,’ remarked Alcaeus dryly. ‘Unfortunately I will need additional water to keep the wounds of the injured clean, Pacorus.’
I drew the meeting to a close. ‘Very well, we will drink dead mule blood and cook their flesh tonight. Keep the situation regarding the water supplies to yourselves but enforce strict water discipline.’
There were no more attacks that day, the enemy content to make camp at a distance of a mile all around us. The blood drained from the mules tasted disgusting though their cooked flesh was palatable enough. The men rested and slept where they had fought in their ranks earlier that day. Sentries were posted every ten paces a hundred paces beyond the outer edges of the square and were relieved every hour.
The mood among the men was subdued but not bordering on despair. To date they had tasted nothing but victory, and though they had been forced to retreat they had still beaten off the enemy. I walked among as many as I could, clasping arms and sharing stories. All of us were aware of the glow of the opposition’s campfires that seemed unending as they stretched into the distance, and which indicated the enemy’s great strength. I wondered if Narses had received reinforcements during the day — he must have emptied the whole of Persis and Sakastan.