The light was beginning to fade as the level of noise rose but I could see no enemy horsemen. Most strange. Domitus ran back from his men to report. Behind him the rear two ranks of two cohorts hurled their javelins at the enemy.
‘It seems that they are throwing the dregs against us now. All foot soldiers, mostly ill armed and acting in small groups. Some have no weapons at all.’
Kronos reported the same thing. On all four sides of the square small groups of poorly armed men would charge us in an attempt to break our line. But they either died before they got within striking distance of the front ranks, felled by javelins, or were literally cut to pieces when they came within gladius range. They would fall back, reform then charge again, only to meet the same fate. As the sun set the desultory affair continued, the piles of enemy dead getting larger by the hour as dusk gave way to night. Some of the enemy wore only tunics, no armour or helmets. Their only weapons were stones that they hurled at legionaries in a vain attempt to split a skull encased in a helmet. Some had to be whipped forward by their own officers before they would fight, only to have their bellies sliced open by the waiting legionaries. After a while they stopped attacking and stood out of javelin range, hurling insults at us. So I moved the archers forward and stood with them beyond the front rank of the legionaries. And as the moon once again filled the night sky to illuminate the enemy in a ghostly glow, we shot at them. Legionaries ran back to the wagons to pick up bundles of enemy arrows that had been shot at us earlier. They had been meticulously collected by details of men under the command of Marcus. They were dumped at our feet as we shot arrow after arrow at the enemy.
At first we were content to stay close to the front ranks, especially when a group of the enemy made a half-hearted attempt to rush us. But after a while there was nothing left living in front of us, just heaps of dead that stretched left and right and into the distance. I rested the end of my bow on the ground. The fingers on my right hand hurt and my right shoulder ached. I had no idea how long I had been shooting at the enemy or how many arrows I had used.
Domitus came through the ranks of his men to join me. In his mail shirt, white tunic, greaves and helmet with its white crest he looked like a phantom in the moonlight.
‘What’s happening on the other sides of the square?’ I knew that there were no archers to support the legionaries on the other three sides of our formation.
‘They are holding the line with ease. Kronos sent a message that a load of unarmed slaves or such like attacked from the east. Most were cut down by javelins, the rest died easily enough on our swords.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
He looked up and down the line with a grim smile on his face.
‘I do. Narses and Mithridates are keeping us occupied while they go about their purpose.’
‘What purpose?’
‘They’re either scarpering or they will hit us again when it’s light and roll right over us.’
I suddenly felt very tired and every limb in my body ached with a fury as the awful realisation dawned on me that the last reserves of our strength had been used up on slaughtering the scrapings of the enemy army.
The men were spent. They had been fighting almost non-stop for over twenty-four hours. Dehydrated, tired, hungry and filthy, they had surpassed themselves in maintaining their discipline, morale and fighting spirit. But even men of Dura’s army now needed rest.
When the dawn came there were no longer any enemy soldiers attacking us, only heaps of dead and dying in front of the first rank of legionaries. These stood leaning on their battered shields like ghosts, staring blankly ahead at the twisted mounds of men that they had made dead flesh. There was no water left to slake their thirsts now. With parched mouths and fatigued limbs they remained silent and waited for the next enemy assault. The final assault that would destroy them. Except that there was no assault, and as the red and yellow rays of light lanced the eastern sky and Shamash returned day to the earth once more we realised that there was no enemy. Narses and Mithridates had gone and taken their army with them.
An hour after dawn had broken and as the sun began its accent in a cloudless sky, Kronos and Domitus joined me as I left the ranks and walked south. My left leg was screaming at me to stop and lie down. It was with difficulty I ignored the torment, enduring a stab of pain with every step. We halted a couple of hundred paces from our lines and stared at the empty space previously occupied by the enemy camp.
‘So, they’ve gone,’ mused Kronos.
‘All that fighting last night was to cover their retreat,’ said Domitus, smugly.
‘You were right,’ I replied. ‘But why? They had almost finished us off. One more day and we would have been meat for crows.’
‘Perhaps that god of yours took pity on us,’ suggested Domitus.
‘Well if he did,’ said Kronos, ‘he only did half a job because we still have no water.’
Our good fortune with regard to the enemy vanishing was forgotten as I gave orders for the army to continue its march northwest, if only to escape the stench of dead flesh that permeated that air. We broke up some wagons to make a pyre on which to burn our own dead, but the thousands of opposition slain and dozens of mules that had been killed by arrows we left to rot. In no time corpses were swarming with large black flies gorging themselves on decaying flesh. As the black smoke of the funeral pyres drifted upwards into the vivid blue sky those still living trudged from the scene of horror.
We maintained our hollow square formation but had not gone half a mile before trumpet calls signalled the alarm. Reflexes honed by countless hours on the training fields commanded tired bodies to once again close ranks, shields forming a wall and roof around our battered formation. I hobbled over to the northern side of the square to join Domitus and Kronos who were standing beyond the front rank peering into the distance.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
Domitus pointed his vine cane directly ahead. ‘Riders.’
My heart sank. ‘The enemy?’
‘Looks like,’ he replied.
I strained to identify the shimmering black shapes on the horizon that were getting larger, albeit agonisingly slowly.
‘Why are they approaching from the northwest?’ asked Kronos. ‘It makes no sense. They should be coming from the south or east.’
I did not care from which direction they were coming, only that once more the enemy was approaching. I knew that this time they would succeed in breaking our square, and after that… There would be no after that for us. With a macabre fascination I watched the figures grow larger as they approached. Oddly they did not fill the horizon in a line but seemed to be riding in a column. Black shapes on black horses. I could now make out spears, the sun catching the tips of the whetted points, presaging our slaughter.
The silence was unbearable as we watched, unable to take our eyes off the black demons approaching with the intent of sending us into the next life. There were a lot of them that much was certain, for they were kicking up a large dust cloud.
‘They are Agraci.’
All three of us turned to stare at the legionary behind us whose eyes were obviously keener than ours. In his relief and joy he momentarily forgot that he was speaking to his king and general as he smiled at me and said the words again.
‘They are Agraci. It is Prince Malik.’
We snapped our heads back to the front once more to see with our own eyes the miracle that was unfolding. Ahead, swathed in black robes and riding a black horse, was the son of King Haytham, my friend and Dura’s ally. But he was not alone. Beside him, galloping towards me on her faithful mare, rode Gallia, her face covered by the cheekguards of her helmet. Behind her came Vagharsh carrying my griffin banner and behind him rode the Amazons, while on Gallia’s other side was Orodes.