Sarmatian

by Peter Darman

  ‘No, it is not,’ I said. ‘The Immortals have scorpions like my own legions, and a scorpion bolt can go through scale armour with ease.’

  ‘Then what?’ he demanded.

  I turned and beckoned Sporaces to attend me.

  ‘Send forward the horse archers to shower the Immortals with arrows,’ I told him when he was adjacent to me.

  He saluted. ‘Yes, majesty.’

  ‘After the horse archers have forced the Immortals to halt and adopt testudo formations as a defence against out arrows, the Durans and Exiles will attack,’ I informed Pacorus and Akmon. ‘I would appreciate the assistance of Hatra and Media in this effort.’

  It took time to organise nearly twenty thousand horsemen into four formations, each one numbering five thousand men, every individual carrying two full quivers of thirty arrows. In an act of churlishness, Pacorus insisted that Hatra’s ten thousand horse archers be on the right flank – the place of honour on the battlefield. On the left were Sporaces’ men and Akmon’s horse archers.

  The ammunition trains came forward to be nearer the horse archers to make re-supplying them with full quivers easier. I also rode forward with Pacorus and Akmon, our respective bodyguards trailing, to follow the battle that was about to begin more closely. Horns, sensing the tension in the air, began tossing his head up and down in impatience, eager to join the fray. I patted his neck.

  ‘Easy boy.’

  The sight of the legions advancing always made me tingle, the sun reflecting off thousands of javelin points and helmets, ten thousand soldiers marching in perfect unison, as though a single mind was directing each and every one. Even facing the prospect of death or serious injury their discipline never faltered. Train hard, fight easy. On the flanks of the two legions, thousands of horse archers, deployed in their companies, were trotting forward. Once the legions had halted around four hundred paces from the enemy, the horsemen would deploy in front of the Durans and Exiles and then gallop forward in files, wheeling their horses to the right some fifty paces from the Immortals. The rider at the head of each file would shoot his arrow just before he wheeled to the right, stringing and shooting another arrow as he galloped along the front of the enemy line, then turning his horse right again to withdraw from the Immortals. He would swing in the saddle and shoot a third arrow over the hind quarters of his horse just before the rider following him blocked his view of the enemy.

  Some ninety-five companies of horse archers were now deploying in front of the legions, each one ready to shoot an average of one arrow every ten seconds – a total of five thousand, seven hundred arrows raining down on the Immortals every minute. Even for veteran troops, such a withering storm of arrows would take a physical and mental toll. And then they would be hit hard by the Durans and Exiles before they had time to recover.

  Trumpet blasts brought my attention back to the centre of the enemy battle line, which, to my great surprise, was moving. Backwards!

  ‘The Immortals are retreating.’

  I heard Gallia’s words but did not believe them. But my own eyes did not deceive me, and I saw the divisions of mail-clad foot soldiers, cast in the same mould as Dura’s legions, showing their backs to us as they retreated.

  ‘You can run, but there is nowhere to hide,’ spat Pacorus beside me. ‘Now we have them.’

  Sporaces and the commander of Hatra’s horse archers were professionals and I saw riders galloping from their respective knot of senior commanders to relay the order that I would also give: all companies to deploy to the flanks. I clench my fist when I saw horse archers break formation to head towards gaps that had suddenly appeared between the retreating Immortals and the strongholds that had anchored their flanks. Castus had garrisoned those strongholds but what use were soldiers manning walls when his Immortals were about to outflanked by thousands of horse archers? If our own horsemen managed to get behind the Immortals, Castus’ men would face being shot at from the flanks and rear while being attacked head-on by the Durans and Exiles. I had no doubt Castus’ own horsemen were behind the Immortals, but they too would be shot at by our horse archers flooding into the expanding gaps between the retreating Immortals and the strongholds.

  And then the gates of those strongholds opened.

  We sat in silence, unable to tear our eyes away from the horrible spectacle as horsemen flooded from the strongholds, smashing straight into the flanks of the dense formations of horse archers cantering past.

  A horse archer is most effective when operating over large open spaces, where his speed and manoeuvrability can be used to optimum effect. When attacked at close quarters by horsemen armed with spears and swords and equipped with shields, he is terribly vulnerable.

  And so it was now.

  Gordyene’s medium horsemen, attired in red tunics, black leggings and scale-armour cuirasses, smashed into the horse archers and went to work with their spears, swords and axes. They were greatly outnumbered by the horse archers, but the latter wore no armour and carried only swords as a back-up weapon. Within minutes, hundreds had been knocked from their saddles by spears as Gordyene’s horsemen got among them and then went to work with their swords. Company commanders ordered their men to withdraw, signallers relaying their commands. But the horse archers had to run the gauntlet of hundreds of armoured riders slashing left and right with their swords and axes after they had used their spears to skewer our riders.

  ‘Send forward the cataphracts,’ shouted Pacorus to no one in particular, his body quivering with rage and frustration.

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘They will only get caught up in the chaos on each flank. We must trust the commanders on the spot to extricate their troops.’

  They did so with difficulty, and many horses with empty saddles joined the throng of now disorganised and weakened companies making their way back to safety. Mercifully, Gordyene’s medium horsemen did not follow. But while they had been causing mayhem and murder among our horse archers, the Immortals had about-faced to return to their original positions. The gates of the strongholds were slammed shut, the Immortals had been unharmed in the battle on the wings that had worsted our horse archers, and from their perfectly aligned and full-strength divisions galloped red-uniformed horse archers.

  Just as we had intended to pepper the Immortals with arrows, so did Gordyene’s horse archers now gallop through the gaps between the divisions of Castus’ foot soldiers to unleash volleys against the Durans and Exiles. I did not worry unduly about this albeit unwelcome development. Dura’s legionaries had been under volleys of missiles before and instantly adopted the formation to defeat them: the front ranks kneeling, the second and subsequent ranks hoisting their shields above their heads to form a wall and roof of hide and wood that easily absorbed the shower of arrows raining down on them. The horse archers would not stray too far from the Immortals, not with three thousand cataphracts lurking behind the cohorts of the Durans and Exiles.

  An angry and sweating Sporaces rode up and saluted.

  ‘I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you,’ I said to him.

  ‘How glad we are to see you,’ Gallia corrected me.

  He gave her a weary smile. ‘The companies are reforming, majesty, but we lost many men to the spears of the enemy horsemen. I did not realise Shamshir was such a good general.’

  I thought of the repellent head of Gordyene’s army and discounted the notion, then remembered Hovik visiting me.

  ‘Shamshir is an imbecilic sycophant. This is Hovik’s work, of that I am sure,’ I said.

  The whooshes to our front proclaimed volleys of arrows being shot at the legionaries, but with the now depleted companies of horse archers reforming to the rear of their flanks, I was not unduly concerned. If Castus wished to waste his arrows, I was more than happy to let the shields of my Durans and Exiles be his pin cushions.

  ‘What now, uncle?’ Pacorus pressed me.

  I tapped my nose. ‘Castus has played his hand and given us a bloody nose. But he can only use his stro
nghold trick once, and once his horse archers have exhausted their ammunition, our own will ride forward to keep the heads of the Immortals down prior to the Durans and Exiles attacking.’

  Talib appeared, winking at Minu holding my standard behind me. He bowed his head to me.

  ‘They are dummies on the battlements of the strongholds, majesty.’

  This did nothing to sweeten my nephew’s humour.

  ‘Dummies?’

  ‘Smoke!’

  We all turned to where Akmon was pointing, at the stronghold anchoring the Immortals’ right flank, from which came thick smoke. The black pillar rose into the sky, to be followed by a second pillar of smoke coming from the other stronghold.

  ‘Castus is firing his forts?’ said Akmon in disbelief.

  A chill went down my spine.

  ‘No, they are signals.’

  Pacorus laughed. ‘To whom?’

  The answer was revealed a few minutes later when one of Talib’s men, a swarthy individual in tatty black robes, galloped up and reported to his lord, ignoring the three kings and one queen in close proximity.

  ‘Many horsemen approaching from the west, lord.’

  Talib remained calm. ‘Who?’

  The man spat out phlegm right in front of my nephew’s horse.

  ‘Aorsi and others, probably the lords of King Castus.’

  Pacorus was appalled, though not about the appearance of the enemy behind us.

  ‘Is this how you conduct yourself in front of your king? I have never seen such disrespect.’

  He drew his beautiful sword and pointed it at the Agraci scout.

  ‘Arrest him.’

  Two of the gilded officers of his bodyguard walked their horses forward.

  ‘Halt!’ I said loudly. ‘Dura’s scouts are in my service, not Hatra’s. If the Royal Bodyguard wants to do something useful, it will join Dura’s cataphracts in dispersing the new threat that has appeared behind us.’

  Pacorus looked at me in disbelief.

  ‘You are sending the cataphracts against a rabble of Aorsi and Gordyene’s lords?’

  I had had enough of his petulance and arrogance. I pointed behind me.

  ‘Our camp containing our supplies, siege engines and tents is two miles distant. It is currently protected by squires only. And then there are the hundreds of camels of our ammunition trains between us and camp, which will be easily taken if the rabble, as you so dismissively call them, reach them. So yes, Pacorus, I am sending the cataphracts against them.’

  ‘Azad!’

  The commander of my cataphracts came forward. I instructed him to lead his dragon against the approaching threat.

  ‘Media’s cataphracts will join them,’ said Akmon, wheeling his horse to the right to follow Azad.

  I looked at Pacorus. ‘Hatra’s cataphracts can remain here, the safest place on the battlefield, should they so desire.’

  The insult stung the two officers sporting white plumes in their burnished open-face helmets, both forgetting about the Agraci scout and looking imploringly at their king. Pacorus gave me a hateful glance and turned his white stallion, white being the colour of all the horses of Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard. I smiled when he plucked a kontus that had been thrust into the ground behind him from the soil, the two officers following.

  ‘I see you have not lost your talent for diplomacy,’ said Gallia dryly.

  A succession of trumpet blasts announced that three thousand cataphracts had about faced and were cantering west to meet the Aorsi and Gordyene’s lords, who if they had any sense would quit the battlefield and flee back to the hovels they had come from.

  ‘Thank you, Talib, you and your men have once again saved our arses,’ I said.

  ‘White smoke.’

  Our attention was diverted from the departing cataphracts back to the forts, from which was coming columns of white smoke, not black.

  ‘The enemy horse archers are retreating, majesty,’ said Talib.

  He was right. The shooting had ceased, and the companies of red-uniformed horse archers were riding back through the divisions of the Immortals, which now charged.

  They did not have to advance far, for unbeknown to all of us, General Motofi, their commander, had used the volleys of his horse archers to mask the movement of ten thousand foot soldiers forward. So, when they assaulted the Durans and Exiles, they did so from less than a hundred paces. I thanked Shamash that my own foot soldiers were highly trained, for if they had received the Immortal assault from a stationary position, they would have suffered heavy casualties. Instead, Dura’s centurions led their legionaries forward without waiting for orders to even the odds.

  Thousands of men screamed their war cries and hurled their javelins, the air suddenly filling with thousands of spears as the first two ranks on each side hurled them forward, followed by a second volley when the third and fourth ranks also threw their javelins. What sounded like a blade being scraped along a rock face followed as the front ranks smashed into each other, soldiers identically armed and equipped using their short swords to stab at enemy faces, groins and necks.

  It was carnage.

  As the front ranks stabbed at each other and those behind waited for men in front to either fall or advance, the five, sixth and subsequent ranks hurled their javelins at the enemy. There was a constant criss-crossing of javelins in the air, the heads either slamming into shields, earth or finding flesh. The thin metal shafts bent on impact, making them impractical for further use. Now the air was filled with the familiar sounds associated with close-quarter combat: screams, yelps, roars and a constant tapping noise as gladius blades struck shields, helmets and other sword blades.

  I saw Chrestus and his senior officers riding up and down the line, shouting encouragement to his men and issuing orders. On the flanks of the legions were our battered horse archers, uncommitted, and I knew that behind the Immortals were Gordyene’s own horse archers, and behind them Castus and his King’s Guard and Vipers. Castus had made me commit our cataphracts by offering his lords and Aorsi allies as bait. His Immortals were grinding their way into the Durans and Exiles and the battle was heading for a stalemate. But if we were stopped from advancing on Vanadzor and laying siege to the city, the scales of war would tip in Castus’ favour. We could not remain in his kingdom indefinitely, and the longer we did so without having destroyed his army, the weaker we would become.

  ‘Castus has out-witted us.’

  Gallia put into words what I was thinking. He had planned his battle to perfection. And yet…

  I turned to Minu. ‘Send one of your Amazons to fetch Kewab. With haste.’

  Kewab, Parthian satrap, native of Egypt and soon to be governor of that ancient land, for surely now the prospect of him becoming King of Gordyene had probably vanished. Unless…

  The complete commander, attired in a simple white tunic and scale-armour cuirass, appeared moments later, saluting both me and Gallia.

  ‘Majesty?’

  ‘We are facing a stalemate,’ I told him. ‘But you and your men can provide the key to unlock the enemy’s position.’

  He and his horsemen had been guarding the ammunition trains and had formed our reserve. More prickly commanders would have refused such a ‘lowly’ responsibility. But Kewab was a general who knew how battles could ebb and flow, making even supposedly insignificant formations the keystone of success, or failure. So it was now.

  ‘I am going to pull back the legions,’ I told him, ‘to lure the Immortals forward and thus create gaps between their flanks and those wretched forts.’

  He nodded. ‘And you wish me to lead an assault into one of those gaps.’

  ‘Yes. Your men are armed with lances as well as bows. Well, at least half of them. Get behind the Immortals and create a barrier with your lance-armed men to prevent Castus using his horse archers and King’s Guard assisting his foot soldiers.’

  I pointed to our left flank. ‘I will follow you with my own horse archers.’

  He was sh
ocked. ‘You, majesty?’

  ‘I am not yet in my dotage,’ I told him. ‘Now go. The battle now rests on your shoulders, Kewab.’

  Gallia pulled her bow from its case and grinned at me.

  ‘Just like the old days, eh?’

  ‘Just like the old days.’

  I dug my heels into Horns’ side and rode over to where Chrestus was directing his own personal battle.

  ‘We are struggling to hold them,’ he told me bluntly.

  ‘Pull the Durans and Exiles back,’ I ordered him, ‘we are going to mount an outflanking manoeuvre, but to do so we need an exposed flank.’

  He relayed the command immediately, wishing me good fortune as I rode away with Gallia and the Amazons towards the left flank. I ignored Hatra’s horse archers on our right flank, knowing their commander would not budge until he received authority from his king, who was leading his cataphracts against enemy horsemen. But I hoped that when the legions pulled back, he would spot the opportunity to lead his companies through the gap. I had no time to worry about Hatran sensibilities.

  After being told of my plan, Sporaces marshalled his companies once more, perhaps four and a half thousand, maybe less. The commander of Media’s horse archers, a handsome young man obviously of great wealth judging by his blue saddlecloth edged with gold and his dragon-skin armour, rode up and bowed his head.

  ‘I request permission to join the attack, majesty.’

  ‘I am not your king,’ I replied.

  ‘My king would wish his soldiers to assist his friend and ally, majesty.’

  ‘Very well, ensure your men have full quivers.’

  He bowed his head and rode back to his blue-uniformed units.

  ‘There’s a sight we don’t see often.’

  Prompted by Gallia’s words, I turned in the saddle to see the Durans and Exiles falling back, the second-line cohorts doing so impeccably, what was left of the first line of each legion disentangling themselves with difficulty from the divisions of the Immortals they had been battling.

  What an unholy mess.

  There was a succession of sharp cracks as the scorpions of the second-line cohorts began shooting, their crews picking their targets carefully to avoid hitting their comrades in front. The machines attached to centuries in the front line had either been captured or disabled in the fighting. At least the scorpions of the Immortals had not been brought into play on account of the speedy attack mounted by Castus’ foot soldiers in the wake of our cataphracts having to depart to deal with the threat to our rear.