It was a thinly disguised attempt to save a little face and Cato played along. ‘I thank you, Majesty.’
Then he turned back to the fort. It was hard to be certain, but he felt that he could make out more detail than before. A glance to the east confirmed it; a pale hue was discernible behind the distant line of hills.
‘When the attack starts, you and your men must prevent any attempt by the enemy to break out and escape, Majesty.’
Rhadamistus patted the hilt of his curved sword. ‘Trust me, none will escape.’
The bolt-throwers had been mounted on their stands and trained towards the battlements just beyond the range of the enemy bowmen, as far as Cato had been able to calculate the distance under cover of darkness. Macro was overseeing the assembly of the onagers, and there was a steady series of sharp blows as the wedges were driven in to steady the uprights. As soon as the torsion cables were secured, and capped, and the locking pins tapped home, the men began to twist the cables, using long levers, and the loud clank of the iron ratchets carried for a wide distance. The keenest-eyed Parthians must be able to make out the battery by now, Cato decided. If they had not already guessed what their opponents were up to, the coming dawn would soon sweep away any remaining doubt.
‘Get the ammunition up here!’ Macro snapped and hurriedly directed his men to position the baskets containing two-foot-long bolts with heavy iron heads, sturdy shafts and wooden flights beside the weapons. The first bolts were carefully laid in the narrow troughs as one man in each crew worked the windlass that wound back the bowstrings. The others held back, in case the throwing arms snapped. It happened from time to time and the only warning would be a tell-tale creak before the wooden limbs splintered and hurtled back towards the man working the windlass, sometimes resulting in severe injuries. More men came up in twos, carrying strings of carefully chosen rocks for the onagers. As the first rocks were placed in the slings, the throwing arms were cranked back.
Soon all was ready within the battery and the slingers filed past on each side and then spread out across the open ground to the east of the fort. If the enemy attempted to charge out at them they would be able to run for safety behind the Iberians. There would be no escape across the river either as the rest of the Praetorians were formed up across the shingle bank to block any enemy attempting to break out in that direction.
For the last time Cato ran over his preparations and tried to envisage his enemy’s possible responses, but every contingency that he could imagine had been considered. His men knew exactly what was required of them and he must trust them to do their duty.
The steadily growing light filtered over the landscape. It was quiet now that the siege weapons were ready and the crews stood silently waiting for the command to unleash their missiles. The first birds began to break into song, while others cried out mournfully and the dark, elegant shapes of swifts darted through the air, weaving around the frames of the onagers and over the battlements of the fort. Cato removed his helmet briefly, to mop his brow and brush any loose strands of hair away from his eyes, before he adjusted his felt skullcap. He eased his helmet on and grasped the cheek guards to work it firmly into position before he tied the straps and gave it an experimental wag from side to side. Satisfied, he shifted his scabbard so that it ran straight down the line of his thigh and then slowly exhaled now his rituals were complete.
‘Finished fidgeting?’ Macro clicked his tongue. ‘Not long now.’
Cato smiled to himself at the unnecessary comment. So Macro was as tense as he was on the cusp of action. Glancing round the crewmen of the battery, Cato realised that every man in his command shared the sensation. Poised to act. Willing it to happen.
The cool blue tint of the morning air gave way to the first bright shaft of light as the sun edged above the crest of a hill and fiery orange spilled across the landscape and threw the stark shadows of the onager frames across the ground towards the battlements of the fort, where Cato could easily see the gleam of helmets and the glint of spears as the Parthians stared back, at last fully aware of their fate.
He raised his arm and took a deep breath.
‘Onagers! Make ready!’
The section leaders braced their feet and grasped the levers, waiting for the order that would unleash the throwing arms.
There was a beat as every man held his breath. Then Cato swept his arm down.
‘Onagers! Release!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The quiet of the dawn was shattered as the stout timbers flew up and cracked against the padded leather buffers on the crossbeams. The rocks shot out of the slings and streaked up at a sharp angle, slowing as they reached the top of the arc they described towards the fort. Cato snatched a glance at the enemy and saw their faces raised towards the death and destruction now swooping down towards them.
The first rock landed with a large explosion of grit and dirt at the foot of the wall and then the others struck home in rapid succession. Another miss and a strike on the wall and the last went over the battlements and out of sight.
‘What the fuck are you gawping at?’ Macro roared. ‘Get on them loading levers, you idle bastards! The emperor does not pay you by the bloody half day!’
At once the men threw themselves into action and the clanking of the ratchets rang in their ears as Cato attempted to recall the fall of shot for each weapon as best he could. ‘Onagers one and two, adjust up for range! The others are good. Shoot at will!’ He strode towards the optio in command of the heavy bolt-throwers and pointed towards the fort. ‘Have your crews sweep the battlements. I want you to keep their heads down, and level the crenellations as much as you can to reduce their cover. Shoot at will.’
‘Yes, sir. You heard the tribune, lads! Pick your own targets.’
An instant later the first bolt leaped through the gap between the throwing arms and swept towards the fort in a much flatter trajectory than the rocks hurled by the onagers. Cato saw it strike three feet below the top of the fort’s gatehouse and there was an explosion of debris and the Parthian standing behind the wall was snatched from view.
Macro snorted with surprise. ‘Bloody thing’s made out of mud bricks. The bolt went right through it! Sweet Jupiter, we’ll knock it to pieces in no time.’
Cato did not reply as he watched the other bolts smash into the fortifications with equally destructive results. He could imagine the helpless terror of the defenders as the vicious iron heads burst through the wall in front of them, showering them with grit. He watched for a little longer, until a swirling haze of dust hung over the fort.
‘Keep them at it, Macro. As fast as the crews can work their weapons. I want the Parthians to be shitting themselves with fear.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Macro rubbed his hands gleefully as he paced along the line barking encouragement at his men.
Cato trotted out of the rear of the battery and made his way round the earthworks to find that Centurion Keranus had already given the order for his men to add their weight to the barrage. Slipping lead shot into their pouches the men swung the thongs in a loop, then quickly switched the movement overhead to build up speed before releasing their grip with a snap and sending their deadly missiles whirring towards the ramparts. Small explosions of dried mud marked their impact. Just a handful of faces were visible now as only the brave and the foolhardy dared to expose themselves. One of the Parthians was struck in the face and jerked back out of sight.
‘Good shot!’ Cato called out. ‘Keep it up.’
For the next hour the bombardment levelled the battlements and the gates were shattered as one of the onagers scored several direct hits. The nearest corner of the fort had begun to collapse into the shallow ditch beneath. Returning to the battery Cato gave the order to slow the rate of shooting to conserve ammunition so that they would have enough left to batter open a breach if the enemy refused to surrender.
The blare of a trumpet drew his attention towards Rhadamistus and the main body of his horsemen. He could see the
prince throwing back his robes as he reached for his bow case, drew the weapon out and fitted the bowstring over the horns. Around him, his men followed suit.
‘What in Hades does he think he’s doing?’ asked Macro.
Cato felt a stab of anxiety in his guts as he looked on and saw Rhadamistus point a hand to his trumpeter. A fresh note cut through the dawn air, and with a ragged cheer of excitement the Iberians rippled forward into a walk, quickly accelerating into a trot and then a steady canter as they surged towards the fort. The slingers turned as they heard the cheers and the pounding of hoofs and ran out of the path of the oncoming horsemen. Macro saw the imminent danger at once and cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.
‘Cease shooting! Before you hit the bastards.’
The order came too late for one of the bolt-thrower crews: there was a final crack and the weapon lurched violently as the shaft flew towards the fort. Macro rounded on the crew at once and stabbed a finger at them. ‘You! Yes, you lot! You’re on a charge. Optio! Take their names!’
Rhadamistus and his men swept forward in a wave of flowing robes and flickering horse manes and tails. As they approached the fort, the first of the defenders reappeared behind the battered defences. Then, as soon as he saw that the battery was standing by, he called to his comrades and the wall was swiftly lined with men, many of whom were armed with bows, Cato noted, with sick apprehension of what was to come. Sixty paces from the outer ditch, Rhadamistus swerved his horse and his men followed suit as they began their ride around the fort, loosing arrows at the defenders. At the same moment the Parthians shot back and the first two riders toppled from their mounts, and several of the horses were struck, rearing or stumbling and crashing to the ground, crushing their riders beneath them. It was not an entirely one-sided exchange of missiles, and Cato saw one of the enemy topple from the wall into the ditch as the Iberians galloped round the fort.
‘A magnificent spectacle,’ Macro observed. ‘But it ain’t how war is fought, the foolish bastards.’
More men fell from their saddles as the Parthians concentrated on the leader of the horsemen recklessly galloping around them. Yet every arrow missed him, even as many struck his followers, and Rhadamistus coolly aimed, shot, and nocked fresh arrows as he steered his horse with his knees.
‘What are we going to do, sir? He’s going to get them all killed at this rate.’
But there was nothing that could be done, Cato realised. If he gave the order to charge the fort, his infantry would most likely be trampled by the Iberians. Even if they managed to avoid the Praetorians, the two units would become hopelessly entangled and present a dense target for the Parthians.
‘Damn him,’ Cato muttered as he glared at the distant prince.
Then the Iberians’ trumpet shrilled again, and they swerved away from the fort and let fly their final arrows across the rumps of their mounts. As Rhadamistus led them back to their starting point, Cato saw at least thirty men and horses writhing in the dust around the fort. He had to seize his chance to take back control of his unravelling plan.
‘Macro, get your century down there in a line between those idiots and the fort, and don’t let them get past you. Go!’
As the centurion called to his men, Cato grabbed Narses and made for their horses, which had been brought up to the rear of the battery. Swinging himself up into the saddle, Cato took a tight hold of the reins and kicked his heels in. The two riders galloped round the edge of the battery as Macro led his century obliquely across the open ground to cut the Iberians off. Cato could see that Rhadamistus was already readying for another fruitless charge and hoped that Macro and his riders would have time to place themselves between the Iberians and the fort. He himself steered his horse directly towards the gatehouse. As soon as he was within bowshot distance he slowed to a trot, then a walk, all the while feeling an icy tingling in his spine as he watched the enemy on the wall intently. Most stared at him, some held their bows ready and a handful took careful aim at the two riders. Fifty paces out, Cato reined in and raised his empty hands for the enemy to see.
‘Narses, tell them I have come forward to demand their surrender.’
The Iberian nobleman’s chest swelled in readiness, and then he called out to the defenders.
‘Tell them that if they refuse, I will order my siege artillery to level the walls and then everyone still alive will be put to the sword. That is what will happen. No one is coming to their aid. I have all the time I need to wipe them out,’ Cato bluffed. ‘Ask their commander to make himself known.’
There was a brief delay before one of the splintered gates was forced open just far enough for a man to squeeze through. A slender figure wearing a scale vest over a dark tunic and breeches emerged. He wore a conical helmet with a strip of black cloth tied about the rim. As he approached warily, Cato saw he had a narrow beard and a thin face with deep-set eyes. He did not appear to be armed as he stopped ten paces away and addressed Cato in a high-pitched voice.
‘He says he is Baltagases, the senior surviving officer,’ Narses translated.
Cato looked more closely and saw that the Parthian was no more than a youth. ‘I don’t believe him. Tell him I demand to speak to the commander of his band.’
There was a brief exchange, and Cato noted the anger in the young man’s tone.
‘Baltagases says that his father was the leader. Until he was killed within moments of your attack starting. So he is in command now.’
Cato nodded. It was unfortunate that he was dealing with an inexperienced youth who had shortly before had the responsibility of command thrust upon him. Moreover, Baltagases’ mind was bound to be clouded with grief at losing his father. That could well affect his judgement, and place many lives at risk, Roman as well as Parthian. Cato felt little compassion for his loss. After all, Baltagases and his father had led the raid across the river and had killed some of the townspeople and looted their valuables. Thanks to the timely arrival of Cato’s men the people of Arbelis had avoided worse treatment at the hands of the Parthians. No, there was no cause for pity, he decided.
‘Then I’ll address my demands to him. Tell Baltagases he is to surrender, immediately. There will be no second chance.’
The Parthian heard the stark instruction and then stared at Cato in silence for a moment, seeming to weigh him up. Cato stared directly back, his features fixed and his expression implacable. Then the youth’s gaze wavered and he clasped his hands together at the end of his loose arms as he made his reply.
‘He asks what terms you will offer him. He wishes for free passage if he gives his word to return to his estate near Nisibus.’
‘Nisibus?’
‘A city far to the east,’ Narses explained.
Cato shook his head and Baltagases spoke again.
‘He says he gives his word that they will not take up arms against Rome. Until the present war is over.’
‘No.’
‘He says they will give up their weapons and all their valuables as well.’
Cato smiled cynically. Whatever valuables they had had belonged to the people of Arbelis only the day before. ‘My terms are simple. He orders his men to surrender and lay down their arms. Their lives will be spared, but that is all I will guarantee. But only if he surrenders now.’
Cato glanced round and saw that Rhadamistus and his men were edging towards them. Macro shouted an order and the Praetorians advanced their spears. The youth listened to the translation and his face twisted into an anxious expression. He began to speak again, quickly, but Cato raised his hand.
‘Enough! I will not waste another moment. Will he surrender? Yes or no? I want the answer at once . . . Do you wish for you and your men to live, or die? If you surrender, I give you my word that your lives will be spared.’
Baltagases visibly flinched as the final terms were translated, then he lowered his head and muttered a few words.
‘He will give the order to surrender,’ said Narses.
Cato hid
the relief that flowed through his body. No more men would need to die this day. ‘Very well, he is to order his men to lay down their weapons.’
He did not wait for confirmation but turned his horse and galloped over to Macro.
‘The fort’s ours,’ he announced. ‘Their commander has agreed to surrender.’
‘Thank fuck for that.’ Macro nodded towards Rhadamistus, who had ordered his men to halt and now rode towards them alone. ‘I was worried I might have to stick it to one of them before they came to their senses. The situation could have become ugly.’
Cato gritted his teeth as he watched the Iberian prince approaching. ‘Last thing we need is a divided command. If that happens then we’re all going to be easy pickings for the Parthians. Let the men know that if there is any trouble between us and that lot, then it won’t be because a Roman started it.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll make sure the lads behave.’
Rhadamistus slowed as he approached the line of Praetorians and Macro barked an order for the men to part to let him pass through.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ The prince gestured angrily at the Roman soldiers. ‘I was preparing to charge again.’
‘There is no need for another charge,’ Cato interrupted. ‘The Parthians have agreed to surrender.’
‘Surrender?’ Rhadamistus looked aghast. ‘But we’ve barely started the attack. The cowards!’
‘Cowards or not, they’re my prisoners now. I gave my word that their lives would be spared. They will be escorted to Antioch while we continue our march without the enemy being any the wiser about our plans.’ Cato pointed towards the Iberian casualties scattered around the fort. ‘And no need for us to lose any more men. I call that a good day’s work, Majesty.’
Rhadamistus rested his hands on his saddle pommel and leaned closer to Cato. ‘And what if one of the prisoners should escape and carry news of our column to the enemy?’
‘I doubt there is much chance of that happening.’
‘Nevertheless, it might. Is it worth the risk? Then there’s the matter of the men required to guard the prisoners on the way back to Antioch. How many will that be? Thirty? Fifty? Men we can hardly afford to lose.’
The Blood of Rome Page 12
