by Peter Darman
I placed the white saddlecloth on Remus’ back and then threw the saddle on top. As I began securing the saddle’s leather strap under his belly the tall fisherman with the gold rings came to me.
‘You ride to war, majesty?’
I slipped Remus’ bridle over his head. ‘It appears so. If you see any enemy soldiers or anything that makes you suspicious, get yourselves across the river and wait there.’
He looked over at the opposite riverbank. ‘To Agraci territory?’
‘Do not worry,’ I told him. ‘They are our allies not our enemies now.’
He gave me an unconvincing half-smile and wandered off. He and his companions probably feared the Agraci more than they did Parthian enemies but I had no time to worry about their welfare.
I heard trumpet blasts ahead and knew that the legionaries had left the rafts and were now forming up in their cohorts. The raft’s crew placed a row of planks from the deck to the bank so we could walk our horses ashore where Amazons began vaulting into saddles to await their queen’s orders. Like the horse archers each one carried three full quivers, one slung over their shoulders, the other two fastened to their saddle horns.
I vaulted into the saddle at the moment Malik and Byrd appeared, behind them their black-attired scouts riding black horses. Their faces and heads were covered by loose-fitting black shemaghs – square pieces of black cloth that protected the face, head and neck from the sun. They also added to the overall forbidding appearance of Byrd’s scouts.
‘Find out what is happening,’ I told him, ‘but don’t get yourself killed.’
Byrd turned to stare at the columns of black smoke on the horizon.
‘Uruk under attack.’
‘It would appear so,’ I said.
He grunted, tugged on his reins to turn his horse and cantered away, his men following. Malik raised a hand to me and followed his friend.
The horse archer company commanders were marshalling their men into formation as I rode Remus down the line of rafts to where Domitus was organising his cohorts. We were less than ten miles from the city, I estimated, about three hours’ march from Nergal’s capital. A forced march would get us there faster but I was conscious of the fact that each legionary was hauling at least sixty pounds in weight on his back – food, water bottle, cloak, spare clothing, armour and weapons, entrenching tool and eating utensils – all strapped to what the Romans called a furca. This was a wooden pole with a crossbar at the top, to which the pack that contained his equipment is strapped. As with many things Roman it was extremely practical and in an emergency could simply be dumped on the ground. But because we had brought no carts or mules the men were also burdened with the wooden stakes that surrounded the camp at night, plus spare javelins and shields.
Domitus stood in the middle of a knot of his officers, pointing his vine cane to the cohorts and then towards the smoke to the south. He dismissed them when he saw Gallia and me approach. His men were facing south with the river on their right flank and the fields of Mesene’s farmers on their left. Ominously, there was no one working the land, which suggested that the nearest villagers had fled. To where I did not know.
Domitus held his helmet with its white transverse crest in the crook of his arm. He squinted up at me.
‘Looks like the old witch was right, then?’
‘It would appear so,’ I replied sadly. ‘I have sent Byrd and Malik ahead to find out more.’
‘We had best get started,’ said Domitus. ‘You had better keep your horsemen close in case we run into the enemy. First I will move the cohorts inland.’
‘That will delay our advance,’ said Gallia.
Domitus pointed his cane at the next field. ‘It will take an age marching across these fields and through date palm groves and will tire out the boys unnecessarily.’
Before Gallia had a chance to reply he pointed his cane at one of his officers who turned and barked an order to his trumpeters. There was a blast of the instruments and then as one the legionaries turned left and began marching away from the river.
‘He’s right,’ I said to Gallia who closed the cheekguards on her helmet and wheeled Epona about to trot away.
‘The Amazons will form the vanguard,’ she called to me as she led her warriors towards the east where the legionaries were marching.
Vagharsh began coughing behind me as the horses of the Amazons kicked up a small dust cloud. The legionaries, meanwhile, had broken into song as they tramped across the baked earth, a mournful ballad about my victory over Narses at Surkh. I smiled as I heard them sing about Narses disguising himself as a woman to escape the slaughter and their hopes of meeting the men of Persis again in battle.
‘Brotherly business, isn’t it, killing each other?’ said Vagharsh.
I dug my knees into Remus’ sides and he cantered forward. I rode to where the score of company commanders of the horse archers sat on their horses waiting for instructions. Like the Amazons they each carried three full quivers of arrows, their bows in the leather cases hanging from their saddles. They also carried swords and daggers but only in the event of an enemy rout would the horse archers be unleashed to use their close-quarter weapons. Their strength was in their mobility and ability to unleash devastating volleys of arrows. But being unarmoured they were very vulnerable if they engaged in a mêlée. I ordered two companies to provide flank cover and another to cover the rear of our army. The remaining companies would dismount and walk their horses in the rear of the cohorts, rotating with the mounted companies every hour.
After twenty minutes we had left the fields and swung south to march across the iron-hard ground as we headed for Uruk. Domitus had been right about leaving the fields. In every kingdom that bordered either the Tigris or Euphrates villagers positioned their fields next to small irrigations ditches or reservoirs that channelled water from the rivers. As a result, complex irrigation systems sprang up everywhere. To march through those fields and accompanying irrigation ditches would have been extremely taxing for foot soldiers and horses alike. Much better to march across hard, even ground.
The nearest village, a collection of small mud-brick homes with reed roofs, was deserted. The animal pens were also empty, which suggested that the residents had fled with their animals. To where we had no idea. Hopefully Byrd would be able to cast some light on the mystery.
The legionaries were still singing as they tramped south, though they must have been sweltering under the sun and from the loads they had to shoulder. But they had been trained hard by Domitus and were well used to route marches under a merciless desert sun. After two hours Byrd and Malik returned with the news that I had dreaded.
Domitus called a halt so they men could rest and drink from their water bottles as I called for an impromptu war council. Byrd, his robes covered with a fine layer of light brown dirt, slid off his horse and unwrapped his shemagh. The area around his eyes was covered with dust.
‘Uruk under attack,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
Malik was more informative.
‘We rode to where villages to the west and north of the city have been burned, Pacorus. We saw parties of foot soldiers in the settlements but they are merely patrols.’
‘Many boats on the river,’ said Byrd.
Domitus looked confused. ‘Boats?’
‘Carrying soldiers,’ continued Malik. ‘They are rowing up the main canal that leads to the city.’
Uruk was sited five miles to the east of the Euphrates and was connected to the river by a series of canals that provided water for the inhabitants. Most were small, narrow channels that fed reservoirs inside the city. A man could step over them with ease. But there was a large canal – at least fifty feet wide, its sides faced with stone – that ran directly east from the river and which bisected the city. It brought water from the river to irrigate the great gardens inside the city that had been created by its kings for their recreation. It also divided the city in two. To the south of the great canal were the homes of the cit
izens and the city’s businesses, while to the north lay the great White Temple of Anu, the Sky God, and the spacious royal quarter that contained the verdant gardens.
‘The soldiers carried round, red shields, Pacorus,’ said Malik.
‘Did they carry any insignia?’ enquired Domitus.
‘White wings,’ answered Byrd.
‘The symbol of Nike,’ said Gallia, ‘the goddess worshipped by the people of Charax.’
‘So Tiraios has become our enemy,’ I remarked bitterly. ‘We must draw away the enemy soldiers in those boats from the city, otherwise they will sweep into Uruk and burn it.’
I looked at Byrd. ‘Did your men see what was happening where the canal passes the walls?’
He shook his head. ‘But archers still in towers either side of canal. They are still shooting at the enemy.’
‘That would suggest Nergal still holds the city walls,’ I said. ‘Very well. Domitus, you will lead the foot south towards the canal. I will take a dragon of horse archers and gain the attention of the enemy to force them to array themselves to the north of the canal. Hopefully this will relieve the pressure against Nergal’s soldiers. Gallia, you will stay with Domitus to guard the flanks of the foot.’
Malik coughed. ‘The dust of Mesene gets in my nostrils.’
Domitus looked up at the angry white sun. ‘Let’s hope we can destroy the enemy quickly. Fighting in this heat will test even my boys.’
‘Then let us not tarry,’ I said. ‘Shamash be with you all.’
Domitus raised his cane in acknowledgement and sauntered back to his waiting officers. Gallia nodded and wheeled Epona away to ride back to the Amazons, while I cantered over to the company commanders of the horse archers. As the trumpets and whistles of the Durans and Exiles sounded I ordered half to report to Gallia and the rest to gather their men and follow me. Half left us in a cloud of dust to receive their orders from my wife as the others rode away to their waiting companies. I turned Remus to face south and then nudged him forward. Malik was right, this land was parched and even small movements kicked up clouds of dust. What would be the effect of two thousand iron-shod horses and two thousand hobnailed sandals on this baked surface?
‘This standard is going to be reduced to tatters soon,’ remarked Vagharsh behind me as he slipped off the waxed sleeve that protected my griffin banner.
I turned and looked at the red griffin and the gold edges of the standard.
‘It looks as pristine as the day I first saw it in my father’s palace.’
Vagharsh gripped it with his right hand and straightened his arm, but there was no wind and so it just hung limply on the pole.
‘The rumour is that it is bewitched and cannot be damaged,’ said Vagharsh confidently. ‘Let’s hope the same applies to the man who carries it.’
I laughed and urged Remus on, a thousand horse archers behind us as we broke into a canter and headed south. We were about four miles from the Euphrates and there were no fields or irrigation canals to impede our progress, just a hard-baked dirt surface made of gravel and pebbles that the horses’ hooves kicked up to disturb the soft soil underneath. To our left was an endless expanse of sun-scorched desert that ended at the Tigris some fifty miles to the east, to our front the high walls and towers of Uruk. I prayed we were not too late.
It took us twenty minutes to near the canal; the muffled sounds of battle coming from the left where boats filled with enemy soldiers were trying to force an entry into Uruk. We were perhaps a quarter of a mile away from the watercourse and I could see the two towers that flanked the canal, though it was impossible to ascertain whether archers were still shooting down from their ramparts. Byrd and Malik galloped up, their horses covered in sweat and their black robes turned light brown by dust. Byrd unwrapped his shemagh as his scouts galloped through my companies and halted behind them.
‘City still holds out,’ he said, ‘but canal full of boats loaded with soldiers.’
I cursed.
‘How many soldiers?’
Byrd looked at Malik.
‘Thousands,’ replied the Agraci prince. ‘It is only a matter of time before they storm the city.’
‘Byrd, I would ask you to take your men to request that Domitus speeds up his march.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Malik asked me.
‘To pick a fight, lord prince,’ I answered.
Byrd replaced the cloth around the lower half of his face and dug his knees into his tired horse, galloping away. Malik reached behind him and pulled a recurve bow from a leather case. I also saw he had three quivers attached to his saddle, their contents protected by leather covers.
‘I would assist you, Pacorus,’ he said.
‘That looks like a Parthian bow,’ said Vagharsh. ‘I hope you didn’t steal it.’
‘I found it,’ answered Malik.
I was intrigued. ‘Found it?’
‘Before you were Dura’s king, Pacorus,’ replied Malik, ‘the high king of your empire sent Mithridates to rule your city. He believed himself to be a great warlord but my father destroyed his army. I took this bow as a trophy of our victory.’
Vagharsh laughed.
‘Let us hope you have more luck with it than its former owner,’ I said. ‘Keep yourself safe, Malik.’
I turned and signalled for the company commanders to come forward. The sounds of battle were getting louder and they were straining at the leash to get to grips with the enemy but I counselled caution.
‘I will take one company forward to reconnoitre,’ I told them. ‘You must impress on your men the importance of conserving their arrows. We have no supply train to draw on so when they empty their quivers there will no replacements. Aimed shots only. Now go.’
Each archer carried ninety arrows but they could be expended in around fifteen minutes of continuous shooting. Byrd had told me that the enemy army was large. Horse archers without any arrows were useless.
There was a succession of horn blasts followed by the companies deploying into line, each one of two widely spaced ranks. I reached down and uncorked the water bottle and took a swig. The liquid was warm and barely alleviated the dryness in my mouth. I replaced the cork. It was going to be a long, hot day and I would need its contents in the hours ahead. The lead company came forward and halted a few paces behind me. Each man took an arrow from his quiver and nocked it in his bowstring. I gave the signal to move forward. Malik was beside me and Vagharsh directly behind as our horses broke into a walk and then a canter, the low rumble to the rear indicating that the company was following.
We were now less than four hundred paces from the canal, the walls of Uruk perhaps a quarter of a mile on our left. Though I could clearly hear the noise of men fighting coming from the city walls the ground to our front was empty. It was most odd. Then I saw a few figures ahead, shimmering individuals on foot that appeared as if by magic. Then more and more until suddenly there were hundreds of warriors flooding the ground directly ahead. They were leaving their boats on the canal to face the horsemen that had suddenly appeared immediately north of the canal. Good. That is what I had intended.
I raised my hand to signal a halt as more and more warriors appeared like devils from the underworld as they clambered from their boats. I recognised them. These were not the soldiers of King Tiraios. They wore baggy yellow leggings, loose fitting red tunics and leather caps on their heads. They carried round ox-hide shields and were armed with a variety of sword and spears. These men came from Sakastan.
‘So Narses has not been quelling insurrections in Sakastan but gathering an army,’ I said aloud.
Malik looked at me quizzically.
‘Nothing,’ I said.
To add to the sounds of battle the noise of horns and drums suddenly erupted within the ranks of the warriors of Sakastan. The latter had now gathered into a brightly coloured block with a wide frontage. There were perhaps two thousand but scanning their ranks I saw no slingers or archers. The din of drums and horns increased
as I called forward the company commander and gave him his orders.
‘Raking attack, left to right, half volleys only.’
He saluted and trotted back to his men, relaying my orders as the red and yellow horde ahead began shouting war cries and banging their weapons against their shields in an attempt to intimidate us. A few left the ranks to run forward to open their arms to reveal their torsos to taunt us.
What is war but a series of training exercises interspersed with death and gore? Dura’s army had been forged by Lucius Domitus, ex-Roman centurion and later commander in the army of Spartacus, a man who was as hard as the gladius he wore at his hip. There was nothing remarkable about Dura’s army. It was smaller than most armies fielded by the other kingdoms of the empire, but it was staffed by professionals, men who did nothing from dawn till dusk but train. Endless drills that made them as efficient as Marcus Sutonius’ machines. Every legionary knew his role and place in the century, cohort and legion, knew the meaning of every call made by the trumpets and every whistle blast that came from a centurion. It was the same among the horsemen: every horse archer practised drills and shooting on the training fields every day and the cataphracts trained to be the mailed fist of the army. And Domitus had integrated the horse and foot so they could work together on the battlefield, an apparently seamless amalgamation of legionaries fighting on foot and highly mobile horsemen. Dura’s army had a simple motto: train hard, fight easy.
In most Parthian armies the horse archers would be unleashed against an enemy in a wild, disorganised charge: thousands of horsemen swarming around an enemy shooting so many volleys of arrows that they would black out the sun. Behind the armies would be dozens, sometimes hundreds, of camels loaded with spare quivers that the horsemen would ride to in order to replenish their ammunition. But eventually even camel trains ran out of ammunition.
But we had no camel train and so we had to adapt our tactics accordingly. Raking attack, left to right, half-volleys only. Every man of the company understood the drill well enough: they had practised it many times on the training field. There was no need for a signal as the first rank wheeled their horses left and the company commander galloped to the head of the line to lead the attack. The enemy, seeing us seemingly immobile and intimidated, became louder in their war cries and taunts, walking forward and spitting in our direction.
