by Peter Darman
‘This is how a Roman army marches,’ he began, pointing his sword point at the first mark, ‘at the tip of the marching column are horsemen, lightly armed foot soldiers and archers. Behind them is the vanguard made up of auxiliaries, more horsemen, a party of legionaries, standard bearers and the colour party that guards the eagle, the legion’s most precious possession.’
I glanced at the others who appeared engrossed by what Domitus was saying. He pointed at the third mark in the soil.
‘Next comes the command group containing the army’s leader and his senior officers, plus mules carrying the army’s machines.’
‘Machines?’ said Draco.
‘The scorpions and larger engines that are used to besiege cities.’
Akrosas looked very pensive at the mention of siege engines. Domitus continued.
‘After them come the legionaries marching six abreast, followed by the carts, wagons and mules carrying food, spare weapons, ammunition and replacement armour and shields.’
He pointed at the last mark. ‘Finally there is the rear guard made up of auxiliaries and horsemen. They usually post horsemen to act as flank guards, though after yesterday’s mauling they may not have enough.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Akrosas in admiration. ‘And every Roman army marches in the same fashion?’
Domitus nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
He pointed his gladius at the kings. ‘Now, sirs, your task is to hit this army at several places while it is strung out along its line of march, which is easier said than done.
‘The Romans are not stupid but they do not know that there are nine thousand enemy foot soldiers in these trees and that is to your advantage.’
He let his sword drop to his side. ‘Your only advantage so use it wisely.’
Radu looked with excited eyes at the simple gashes in the soil. I knew what he was thinking: nine thousand foot soldiers plus over seven hundred horsemen against a weakened enemy, an enemy that was strung out in line.
‘Rome’s soldiers are trained to respond quickly to crises that may develop, both on the march and on the battlefield,’ I said. ‘We must stick to the initial strategy.’
‘Hit and run,’ added Domitus. He pointed at each of the marks he had made in the soil. ‘Hit them all along the line and from all sides. Then you may save your kingdoms.’
‘We do not have the luxury of time to grind down the enemy,’ I told them. ‘Therefore we must speed up the process, which means that I must have command of all the horsemen we can muster.’
‘Why?’ said Radu.
‘I intend to use them to attack the Roman carts and wagons.’
Radu looked disgusted. ‘Is this how the Parthians wage war, plundering carts while others do the fighting?’
Domitus shook his head as he wiped the point of his sword and slid it back in its scabbard. Akrosas maintained his polite demeanour but was also confused, while Draco and Decebal regarded me with suspicion.
‘It is quite simple,’ I said. ‘The wagons carry the enemy’s supplies. Destroy them and the Romans will be forced to withdrew, either that or die.’
‘Each Roman soldiers carries a few days’ supplies on his person while on the march,’ added Domitus, ‘but if their supplies are destroyed then they will face some hard choices, as King Pacorus says.’
Akrosas, who was mindful that it was his city that was in the greatest danger, added his support for the plan.
‘I believe it is a most prudent scheme.’
The others agreed, Radu begrudgingly. All that remained was to work out the specifics. As the foot soldiers were some miles to the east of our position it gave us time to set the trap that the Romans would hopefully walk into. There was only one route to Histria unless the enemy wanted to hack their way through thick forest, which made choosing our ground easier. But I still worried that as soon as the Romans were spotted the Thracians would charge out of the forest to fight them.
We broke camp and retraced our steps, riding through the trees to stay away from meadows and plains where enemy scouts would already be operating. The moss and soft undergrowth muffled the sound of the horses’ hooves as we trotted through the verdant forest, the occasional magpie taking flight above us as we passed underneath.
Domitus was in an ill temper, either due to his having to ride a horse or the thought of the coming clash I did not know.
‘You disapprove of my plan, Domitus?’
‘You haven’t seen the calibre of the foot soldiers of our allies,’ he said. ‘As for the plan, well, even Dura’s army would have difficulty in coordinating a simultaneous assault against an enemy that is strung out over several miles. But this lot? There is no hope.’
‘There is always hope, Domitus. Besides, if we can destroy their supplies then that might tip the balance in our favour.’
‘Our favour? This is not our fight. We should be sailing back to Parthia by now.’
‘King Akrosas extended the hand of hospitality to us,’ I said. ‘What sort of guests would we be if we turned our backs on him in his hour of need?’
‘Living ones.’
It took the rest of the morning to organise the Thracians and Dacians into their ambush positions. The actual site was spread over five miles, the width of the open ground in the area varying between a hundred and four hundred paces in extent. In an effort to simplify things as much as possible, each of the kings was assigned a sector of the ambush site. King Akrosas and his three thousand Getea foot would attack the Roman vanguard and command group; the rash and boisterous Radu and his two thousand Bastarnae would assault the right flank of the Roman army, while Draco and his fifteen hundred Maedi would attack its left flank. With the addition of Akrosas’ five hundred horsemen I was able to muster seven hundred and sixty riders for the assault on the enemy baggage train, while King Decebal would command his two thousand Dacians in the assault on the Roman rear guard.
I liked the wild-haired Dacian leader. Beyond his intimidating appearance and unrefined manners he was a thoughtful and intelligent king. Actually he was very similar to Burebista who came to me when the horsemen and Dacian foot had been withdrawn back from the treeline and were resting among the trees. Even out of the sun it was very warm, thousands of midges tormenting men and horses alike. I was counting my remaining arrows when he walked over to me.
‘I would like to fight among my fellow Dacians, lord, with your permission.’
Gallia smiled as she examined the white flight feathers of her arrows.
‘You do not need my permission, Burebista,’ I told him. ‘You are a free man.’
‘That is something I am still getting used to, lord.’
I stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are free to forge your own destiny, Burebista, you and Anca. That was always the purpose of our journey to Ephesus.’
‘Thank you, lord.’
The warriors he desired to fight amongst were called falxmen and they were a fierce lot. They wore leggings and tunics but no helmets, armour or shields. Their main weapon was a two-handed instrument called a falx, which was a wicked curved, scythe-like blade on the end of a long handle that was sharpened on its inner curve. In this way the damage from a blow was done with a pulling motion, the force capable of hacking off a limb.
‘He will probably get himself killed,’ remarked Domitus as he hoisted himself into the saddle of his patient mare, ‘then what will you do?’
‘At least he will die a free man. Where are you going?’
‘King Akrosas has requested my presence,’ he replied. ‘He can’t wipe his arse without my advice, it would appear.’
‘You should be flattered,’ I said.
He settled himself on the horse’s back. ‘I should but I’m not.’
He reached down and offered me his hand. ‘Mars be with you.’
I took his hand. ‘Shamash protect you, my friend.’
Gallia came over, pulled him down and kissed him on the cheek.
‘I order you not to get ki
lled,’ she said severely.
He cracked a smile. ‘Yes, majesty.’
He raised a hand, turned his horse and trotted away, two of Akrosas’ royal guards escorting him back to the king, who was about three miles to the northeast. As he left Decebal arrived on his horse with a brace of his scouts.
‘The Romans approach, King Pacorus.’
I mounted my trusty mare and walked her through the trees, preceded by the scouts, leaving behind the hundreds of horsemen and falxmen who thirsted for battle. When we got nearer to the treeline we dismounted and left the horses with the scouts as I crept forward with Decebal towards the edge of the forest. We crouched low against a lime and looked out into the meadow of long grass to see the sun glinting off javelins and helmets and horsemen equipped with large green-faced shields.
‘Looks like the vanguard,’ I said quietly. ‘They are the target of King Akrosas. It will be another two hours before the baggage train arrives.’
‘That long?’ said Decebal.
‘Roman armies can move fast over well-maintained roads, but dirt tracks and open ground slows wagons and carts. Besides, they are in no hurry. They will be cautious after what happened yesterday.’
‘They will also be on the lookout for us,’ he warned.
‘That too. I just hope Radu can restrain himself and allow the vanguard to pass him by before he attacks.’
‘Radu wants to avenge the humiliation of his defeat,’ he said, ‘but he is not a fool. He will curtail his recklessness.’
I doubted that but there was nothing I could do to influence the events that were going to unfold. We made our way back to where the horsemen and falxmen waited, most of the latter laying on the ground beside their fearsome weapons, seemingly unconcerned about the approaching battle they would fight in. I called together the leaders of the Maedi, Dacian and Getea horsemen, the latter the best equipped in their helmets and leather armour. I tried to impress on them all that their task was to destroy what was in the carts rather than loot them.
‘Remember,’ I said to them, ‘that you will have superiority in numbers so make it count. Kill any guards quickly and then destroy the wagons.’
I sensed that they listened to my words concerning killing but ignored the rest. Capturing slaves and taking plunder were integral to the Thracian and Dacian way of war and all of them were probably thinking of returning home loaded down with Roman loot. But their morale appeared to be high, notwithstanding the losses they had suffered yesterday.
Decebal posted a number of scouts at the treeline to keep him updated as to the progress of the Roman army. After the briefing I had taken the opportunity to rest my eyes and must have fallen into a deep slumber, from which I was awoken from by Gallia’s boot.
‘It is time,’ she said curtly.
Around us there was great activity as riders slung saddlecloths and saddles on their horses’ backs and secured harnesses. There was an ominous rumble as Dacians grouped around their chiefs in their war bands and headed toward the edge of the forest. Decebal came over to me and proffered his hand.
‘Zalmoxis be with you, King Pacorus.’
I shook his hand. ‘And with you, King Decebal.’
He turned to order over his bodyguard that was holding his horse, hoisted himself into the saddle and trotted away. Surena and Gallia were already in the saddle as I walked over to my mare and untethered her. I adjusted the strap of the quiver that was slung on my back and vaulted into my saddle. Behind us a mass of horsemen were gathering, which I led forward with a wave of my arm. I had forty arrows left, slightly less than Gallia and slightly more than Surena. But in the coming clash it would be the men behind me who would decide the outcome of the battle not a few paltry missiles.
‘Keep close,’ I said to Gallia and Surena. ‘When the fighting begins any semblance of order will disappear.’
‘I wonder if we shall see Burebista again?’ mused Surena.
I wondered the same thing.
There was bright sunlight and no breeze as we broke cover and advanced towards the line of wagons and mules that covered the grassland in either direction as far as the eye could see. The ‘plan’ had been for the various contingents to launch their attacks as soon as they heard the sounds of fighting that signalled that the Getea had locked horns with the Roman vanguard. In this way the Bastarnae and Maedi would hear the sounds of battle and join the mêlée, which in turn would alert us at the rear of the enemy that the time had come to reveal ourselves. I thought I heard the faint sounds of battle to my right as I left the treeline but that noise was soon drowned out by seven hundred and sixty riders screaming their war cries as they bore down on the enemy. We charged in one long line, though it was more a ragged collection of groups because the men stuck to their tribal chiefs as they cantered through the long grass.
Ahead were Roman horsemen, a thinly spread line acting as flank guards for what appeared to be auxiliaries standing nearer the wagons. A few charged our line but were simply brushed aside by the Thracians and Dacians. The wagons were now less than two hundred paces away as I nocked an arrow and shot it at a slinger who had just released his stone. He disappeared into the grass as my arrow hit him but the hisses in the air indicated that his fellow slingers were still a threat as riders were struck and dislodged from their saddles.
We reached the wagons and slowed our mounts, or at least myself, my wife and Surena did. Many of the Thracians and Dacians, possessed by bloodlust, galloped straight at them and either became entangled with the mules that were pulling them or were thrown as their horses reared up in alarm at the obstacles immediately in their path. Those who were thrown and had not been badly injured immediately sprang to their feet and attacked the unarmed drivers, hacking at them with axes.
Within minutes the wagons had been captured, the few enemy archers and slingers being hunted down and killed, though not before they had emptied a sizeable number of saddles. Then, just as I had feared, the horsemen began to loot the waggons. I became the commander of thieves as they acted like excited children while ransacking the transports. I rode up and down the line, shouting at them to stop what they were doing, or at least unhitch the wagons and carts. Their responses varied from ignoring me to outright abuse. In the end I found half a dozen signallers and with a mixture of threats and pleading got them to blow their horns to signal recall.
Gradually a semblance of order was restored as the commanders, now attired in captured Roman helmets, cloaks, mail shirts and carrying entrenching tools, cooking pots and javelins precariously perched on their saddles, mustered to me.
‘Unhitch the mules,’ I shouted to them, pointing left and right at the long column of transports. ‘The mules.’
I gave a huge sighed of relief as they appeared to understand and rode away, then sat in stunned silence as their men began to slaughter the mules. My orders misunderstood, I just watched as they killed every mule within reach, then set about smashing up the carts and wagons.
‘Well,’ said Gallia as she studied the outbreak of destruction, ‘at least the Romans have been denied their baggage train.’
We had achieved a decisive victory but I had no idea what was happening further up the line or with regards to the rear guard. So once more I ordered the signallers to blow their horns and keep on blowing them until the Dacians and Thracians had desisted from their slaughterhouse activities and reformed in their ranks. It took around half an hour for them to do so, by which time the signallers were exhausted and the riders were splashed with blood. The smell of gore soon permeated the air and entered our nostrils, spooking our horses.
‘We will assist King Decebal against the Roman rear guard,’ I said to the leaders. ‘Follow me.’
I turned my mare left and cantered along the right flank of the smashed Roman baggage train, the delighted booty laden warriors following. We rode for half a mile before coming across Decebal and his men, all of whom were either leaning on their falxes or sitting on the ground among piles of dead. I saw no
Romans still standing.
I rode over to where the king was riding among his men, reaching down to shake the hands of those he knew and shouting encouragement to others. My robber horsemen dismounted, being careful not to disturb their ill-gotten gains, and took off their stolen helmets to wipe their sweaty brows. The sun was high in the almost cloudless sky now and the temperature was climbing. When I reached Decebal I saw that his tunic was even more blood stained and there were splashes of gore on his saddlecloth.
‘A hard fight, lord king?’ I asked him.
He looked at me with tired eyes. ‘Hard enough. The enemy rear guard comprised slingers, archers, horsemen and legionaries. I have lost a quarter of my men at least. And you?’
I was almost ashamed to give him my report. ‘The enemy baggage train had been destroyed with little loss.’
I did not tell him about the looting, but then as a Dacian he would think it remiss if booty had not been taken.
‘My men can do no more fighting this day,’ he said flatly.
‘We should leave this place of dead flesh,’ I said, ‘and get the men and horses to water and into shade.’
He wiped his sweat-beaded forehead with a dirty rag. ‘Agreed.’
He pointed at a knot of wild-looking men stripped to the waist, their long hair matted to their necks, and ordered them over.
‘Get the men back into the forest,’ Decebal commanded.
In the next few minutes fifteen hundred men, some of them hobbling from wounds, slowly began to make their way back to the forest where we had lain in wait for the Romans. I was about to return to the horsemen when I saw that one of them was Burebista, looking tired but appearing to have no visible wounds. I jumped down from my horse and rushed over to him, embracing him and giving thanks to Shamash that he was unharmed.
‘It took us a while to break them, lord,’ he said. ‘They had stiffened the rear guard with three centuries of legionaries that proved tenacious foes.’
‘It is ever so.’
He looked in the direction that the Roman army had marched. ‘And the other tribes, have you heard how they have fared, lord?’
