‘It won’t be long now,’ I said.
Domitus offered me his hand. ‘Good luck, and don’t let them outflank us.’
I took his hand and then that of Kronos. ‘Keep safe, my friends, and may Shamash be with you. And remember, they must not break through.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Kronos, ‘they shall not pass.’
We passed the first line of the Durans in front of the stakes, nodding to those men I knew and acknowledging the well wishes of others. Then I came across Thumelicus and stopped and saw that he still wore a centurion’s crest. He grinned at me.
‘I thought I had promoted you,’ I said.
‘You did,’ he answered, ‘but I turned it down.’
‘Why?’
‘A centurion is in charge of eighty-odd men,’ he replied, ‘that’s about as far as I can count. So there’s not much point in putting me in charge of anything bigger.’
He was probably correct: in battle you wanted Thumelicus standing next to you; in camp he was known for being too loose with his tongue, a vice that earned him many extra hours on fatigues and sentry duty. But he was greatly respected for his courage and fighting skill. The whole army knew and loved this prince of rogues, but he and I knew that he would never rise above the rank of centurion.
I slapped him on the arm. ‘Keep safe. One day we will get you a bigger shield.’
‘You too, Pacorus, don’t fall off your horse.’
I walked to where Drenis was holding Remus and he helped me into the saddle. Across the river the light horsemen had left their position at the water’s edge and were being replaced by groups of horse archers in bright tunics.
‘Pretty bunch,’ remarked Drenis sarcastically.
I slipped my helmet on my head and fastened the straps under my chin.
‘I will see you after the battle, Drenis.’
He raised his hand as I rode back to where Orodes and the armoured horsemen were waiting, their helmets shoved back on their heads and their lances resting on the ground. The air was filled with the unrelenting din of the kettledrums, but was momentarily drowned out by trumpet blasts as the Durans and Exiles adopted their battle formation for dealing with enemy archers: every man in both legions knelt down, the first rank formed a shield wall while those behind lifted their shields to create a roof of leather and wood. Then there was a great blast of horns and the enemy’s horse archers walked their horses into the Tigris and began advancing towards the legions.
At a distance of around three hundred paces they began shooting their arrows, releasing their missiles high into the sky so they would drop onto the packed ranks of the foot soldiers before them. The horsemen halted their animals in the middle of the river and unleashed a fearsome arrow storm that made a sound akin to a great wind whistling across the steppe. As each rank emptied its quivers it fell back and was replaced by another with full ones. It was impossible to identify individual arrows such was the intensity of the arrow fire being directed at the legions. I began to worry that not even Domitus and his men would be able to withstand such a battering. The expenditure of arrows was massive. And then there was another blast of horns and the arrow storm abruptly ceased.
Such a deluge of wood and bronze would normally kill and maim foot soldiers and spread fear and panic among those that still lived. Having softened up the enemy thus, I knew that Vologases and Cinnamus would launch their heavier cavalry to smash through the battered foot soldiers, which would then be cut to pieces and destroyed. And so it was.
The enemy horse archers withdrew from the water and filed back through the ranks of the next group of enemy horsemen who were forming up at the water’s edge — heavy spearmen. These riders were not cataphracts but did wear helmets, scale armour cuirasses and carried long spears and large round shields whose faces were reinforced with strips of iron. They moved into the water in an unbroken line, rank upon rank of them until the whole of the river was filled with horsemen. There must have been at least twenty thousand of them, the sun glinting off their helmets and whetted spear points. This mighty wall of horseflesh moved slowly through the water as the first line of the legions fell back through the rows of stakes and before the first rank of the enemy reached the dry land of the western bank and briefly halted to dress its ranks. Then the horsemen charged the legions, realising too late that a forest of stakes barred their path.
As more and more enemy spearmen reached the western bank the first rank crossed the short strip of ground between the river and the legions and ran straight into the rows of stakes. No, that is wrong. The horses reared up in panic before they impaled themselves on the sharpened stakes and confusion reigned among the enemy horsemen as more and more of their comrades rode from the water and pressed in behind them. There was a mighty blast of trumpets followed by a cheer and then three thousand javelins arched into the air as the front ranks of the cohorts hurled them at the packed ranks of the enemy horsemen. Had they been cataphracts then many iron tips would have glanced harmlessly off armoured men and horses, but these men rode horses that wore no armour and the beasts were cruelly struck by iron points that hurt and maddened them. They reared up and collapsed to the ground or bolted forward onto the stakes, throwing their riders or crushing them beneath their great weight. The pitiful squeals and cries of wounded animals filled the air as another volley of javelins was launched at the stationary horsemen. More cries from injured and dying men and horses. Then another and another volley hit flesh and horsemeat. It was slaughter.
Frantic horn blasts up and down the line signalled the withdrawal of the heavy spearmen, though not before another volley of javelins had harvested a further crop of enemy dead. Those riders still in the water turned and withdrew back to the safety of the Plain of Makhmur, followed by what was left of those that had been first to cross the river. In front of the stakes was heaped a great pile of dead and dying horses and their riders.
‘First blood to us, Pacorus,’ said Orodes defiantly.
‘They will attack our horse archers next,’ I said.
While the carnage in front of the legions was taking place Dura’s horse archers were sitting on their horses gazing across the river at the light horsemen who lined the opposite bank and watched them back. How strange is battle when one part of the field is the scene of horror and another part is as peaceful as an empty temple. But now, having seen their heavy spearmen routed, the enemy shifted his attention to where my horse archers were positioned. With the departure of Surena to Gordyene command of Dura’s horse archers had devolved upon Vagises, a Parthian and a Companion, a sober and intelligent individual who retained a sense of calm even in the white heat of battle. It was he who now sent a rider to me, an officer of his horse archers who saluted.
‘Lord Vagises conveys his compliments, majesty, and sends word that enemy cataphracts are deploying in front of him, across the river.’
‘How many?’
‘Three dragons, majesty,’ he replied.
I turned to Orodes. ‘First blood may have been to us, my friend, but three thousand cataphracts can quickly weigh the scales in their favour.’
I looked at the courier. ‘Give my regards to Lord Vagises and inform him that aid will be with him shortly.’
The man saluted and rode back to the horse archers.
‘What is your plan?’ asked Orodes.
‘We will meet them in the water, otherwise their greater numbers will punch straight through us.’
I called forward the commanders of the cataphracts and told them that we would deploy in a long line to match the frontage of the enemy horsemen.