by Peter Darman
I shook my head. ‘No word as yet.’
But as we stood among the sweet-smelling long grass we heard a noise that we both recognised. A barely discernible noise of tramping feet marching in unison, interspersed with the sharp sounds of trumpet blasts. We had both heard those sounds many times and said nothing as we stared at each other. There was no wind and so the noise was not being carried on the breeze, which meant that it would not be long until we saw the source of the sounds that had sent a shiver down our spines.
‘Get into the forest,’ I told him before vaulting back into the saddle.
‘Romans,’ I shouted, ‘Romans approaching.’
The Dacians turned to stare at me with disbelief, looking around at the dead auxiliaries and legionaries, thinking that some were still alive. But then they too heard the noise, craning their heads to hear more clearly. Decebal heard it too and began riding up and down with sword in hand, shouting for them to make haste.
‘We will cover you, lord king,’ I shouted to him.
He raised his sword in acknowledgement as I told Burebista to stay alive and then headed back to where the horsemen were regaining their saddles.
Gallia’s face was a mask of concern. ‘Surely they can’t have destroyed all the other tribes?’
‘We shall know soon enough.’
Amid much complaining my recalcitrant horsemen followed their leaders as we headed back towards the smashed wagons and dead mules that were now crawling with flies. We cantered along the line of wrecked, stationary transports and their slaughtered drivers, mostly unfortunate slaves that might have expected liberation but instead found death at the hands of undisciplined barbarians. The latter, having reaped a great bounty, were now less willing to re-engage the enemy. Their surliness increased when we came upon the main body of the Roman army and even my spirits sank when I saw a long line of red shields marching slowly towards us.
I called a halt as I watched what appeared to be a giant square of legionaries advancing towards us. I sent riders ahead to discover if the Romans were being assaulted on the flanks, but warned the horsemen to be wary of getting too close to the enemy. There might still be archers and slingers within their ranks who could pick off lone horsemen with ease. They galloped away but I knew the answer when the Romans came nearer, marching in perfect step and at a pace that suggested that their army was not being assaulted from the flanks.
‘Have a care,’ I shouted to commanders grouped behind me, ‘their ranks may part so horsemen can sally out against us.’
They were around half a mile away now, and I gave the order for the majority of our horsemen to withdraw into the forest and ride to link up with King Decebal. I remained with Gallia, Surena and a score of Dacians and waited for the scouts to return. When they did my fears were confirmed: there was no sign of the Maedi, Bastarnae or Getea.
‘They are all dead?’ said Gallia, dumfounded.
‘I do not know,’ I replied before giving the order to retire, the din of Roman trumpets in our ears as we did so.
The Dacian foot reached the sanctuary of the forest before the Romans arrived. I sat on my horse in the trees with Gallia and Surena and watched them pass, a great mass of red shields and tunics retreating crab-like towards the site of their previous night’s campsite. They halted to relieve the wagons and carts of anything useful, which meant they tarried only briefly. I saw few horsemen among their ranks, though the legate and his senior officers were surrounded by upwards of fifty riders. I also saw a glimpse of the legion’s eagle, the sun catching its wings as it passed.
‘So, your plan has failed,’ said Gallia, staring with contempt at her mortal enemies. ‘They must have destroyed the foot soldiers of Akrosas, Radu and Draco.’
I said nothing as I tortured myself with thoughts of Domitus, Arminius and Drenis lying butchered somewhere. Surely they could not have perished having survived all the travails at Ephesus and afterwards? I heard the mocking laughter of Dobbai in my head and her sharp words.
‘The gods are above all cruel, son of Hatra, and delight in the miseries of men.’
‘Then why have they protected us thus far?’
Gallia turned to look at me. ‘What?’
‘Nothing. We must return to what’s left of our army.’
With a heavy heart I wheeled my mare around and headed into the forest. It was now late afternoon and the temperature in the trees was stifling. Sweat was pouring off my face and my tunic was drenched. Gallia had tied her hair into a long ponytail that hung down her back but was sweating nevertheless, her cheeks pink as she perspired. Only Surena, who had been born and raised in the heat-ravaged marshlands south of Mesene, seemed unaffected by the high temperature.
Decebal had retreated at least a mile into the forest’s interior, having posted sentries on foot at regular intervals to ensure he was not surprised by a Roman incursion. Small groups of falxmen eyed us warily as we approached them, waving us through when they recognised our attire and our horses’ saddlery, if not ourselves. Eventually we came across a great lake in the middle of the forest where the Dacians and horsemen were camped. Hundreds of naked men were splashing around in the water and others were leading horses to the lake’s edge to drink. Saddles and saddlecloths littered the ground along with sleeping warriors lying under trees and others, wounded, propped up against their trunks. Some had horrific injuries, half their faces torn away or their bellies sliced open, but they did not cry or moan; they just stared with vacant eyes at the waters of the lake. Many would be dead before nightfall.
We slid off our horses and led them with our heads down to the water so they too could drink. Afterwards we took off their saddlery beneath a huge oak tree and I was about to take the weight off my feet when Decebal himself arrived with his mounted bodyguard. Both he and his horse looked tired.
‘A rider has come from King Akrosas,’ he said. ‘He asks that he joins us to discuss the recent battle.’
I felt relief sweep through me. ‘It is good to learn that he is well.’
‘What of General Domitus?’ asked Gallia.
‘I have heard no news concerning the general,’ said Decebal.
So I saddled my weary mare once more and accompanied Decebal and his men to Akrosas’ ‘headquarters’, which turned out to be a round tent that had been sent from the city, together with carts carrying food and fodder. Fortunately the king and his army were only a mile to the east of our lakeside position, which meant that my horse was saved an arduous journey.
The campsite among the trees was filled with warriors sitting around campfires that filled the early evening air with smoke. I took the fires as a sign that the kings were no longer concerned about the Romans knowing of their whereabouts. When I entered the tent with Decebal my belief was proved right.
‘Hail, King Decebal and King Pacorus,’ said Akrosas, rising from a chair and holding up his silver cup to us. ‘To victory.’
I smiled and then beamed when I saw a mail shirt-attired Domitus seated next to the king. He nodded to me and sipped at his drink.
‘Wine for the kings,’ ordered Akrosas.
Slaves rushed forward proffering cups that were filled. I drank the delicious liquid greedily. Draco and Radu also held cups but seemed less enthusiastic than the king of the Getea.
‘Sit, please sit,’ Akrosas pleaded, slaves positioning two chairs near the entrance to the tent, a single pole in the middle supporting its sagging roof.
Akrosas sat down and spread his arms. ‘I praise Apollo that you both live. I trust the god blessed you with victory?’
Decebal drained his cup and held it out to be refilled. ‘We destroyed the Romans’ rear guard but had to retreat when the rest of their army appeared.’
‘My horsemen captured their baggage train,’ I added, ‘and relieved it of anything valuable.’
Domitus cracked a smile but my inference was lost on the others. I doubted that Akrosas was even listening as he jumped up once more.
‘Myself and m
y fellow kings this day defeated the Roman army, which now limps back to the foul abyss whence it crawled from.’
I could see that he was already thinking of the heroic poem that he would write to celebrate his triumph.
‘Among the sacred oaks of Histria,’ continued the king, ‘the barbarian invaders were put to the sword. I shall build a shrine to Apollo in this forest as a lasting monument to the martial superiority of the Thracians and Dacians.’
Radu, Draco and Decebal appeared bemused by these words but I did not deflate Akrosas’ childlike enthusiasm.
‘A most worthy intention, lord king,’ I said.
Domitus rolled his eyes but Akrosas was delighted and tipped his head to me.
‘And now, sir,’ said Domitus, ‘we must address the strategy for tomorrow.’
Akrosas frowned. ‘Strategy, general?’
‘He means wiping out the Romans instead of letting them crawl back to Macedonia,’ spat Radu.
‘A mere trifle,’ said Akrosas dismissively. ‘They will surrender anyway.’
‘We must attack them,’ insisted Radu, ‘and wipe them out.’
‘I agree,’ said Draco. ‘We have lost too many men to let them escape.’
‘I would advise against it,’ argued Domitus. ‘An animal is at its most dangerous when it is cornered.’
Radu stood. ‘No! You have no say here, Roman. Tomorrow I will attack with my men. That is the only strategy the Bastarnae will tolerate.’
Draco nodded. ‘The Maedi will stand beside you.’
‘And the Dacians,’ added Decebal.
Their eyes settled on Akrosas.
‘Well, naturally the Getea will be present to complete the victory.’
The ‘victory’ of which Akrosas boasted was only half-complete and had been bought at a high price, as Domitus informed me afterwards.
‘As I thought, Radu and Draco hurled their men against the legionaries’ flanks, which at least got their attention while I dealt with the vanguard. I managed to persuade Akrosas to keep his men on a tight leash, hit-and-run attacks spread over a wide area. He was deliriously happy when the Romans fell back.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘More importantly,’ he continued, ‘the Getea lost only two hundred men, whereas Radu suffered six hundred slain.’
‘Six hundred?’
‘Like I said, he threw all his men against the legion.’
I shook my head. ‘And the Maedi?’
‘Draco told us that four hundred of his men are dead or wounded. Still, we have destroyed the enemy’s vanguard, rear guard and baggage train, which means they will abandon the advance on Histria.’
‘We, Domitus,’ I grinned, ‘are you warming to these people?’
‘Yes, like a wolf warms to a bleating lamb.’
‘What about Drenis and Arminius?’
‘They are safe,’ he said. ‘I have enlisted them as Akrosas’ personal advisers.’
‘And Cleon?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Still alive, I think.’
‘Make sure he takes no further part in the fighting,’ I ordered. ‘I have plans for him.’
‘What plans?’
I tapped my nose with a finger. ‘You will find out soon enough.’
‘The immediate questions that need answering, of course, are how many men did the Romans lose today and what will they do tomorrow?’
I left him and the other kings to ride back to Gallia and Surena before night fell, the smell of wood smoke filling the air as I slid off my horse near the lake that the Dacians besieged. Decebal had sent my queen a gift of a young deer that one of his men had shot, which Surena had gutted and skinned and was now roasting over a fire. I was delighted to find Burebista seated on the ground chatting to Gallia, showing her his fearsome falx. I told them all what had happened on the other sectors of the battlefield and the plan to recommence hostilities tomorrow. Gallia was delighted that Domitus, Drenis and Arminius were well and Burebista appeared in high spirits. But I worried that he and his fellow tribesmen would suffer more heavy casualties tomorrow.
When the new day dawned, like the ones before it hot and airless, the two armies gathered their strength once more for a renewal of hostilities. Both were like wounded animals that, although they had a lot of fight left in them, had suffered grievously. The army of the kings had suffered nearly eighteen hundred dead and wounded, a high proportion of its total strength. We had no idea how many men the Romans had lost but the fact that they remained in their camp, positioned three miles to the west in a wide expanse of open ground, indicated that they too had suffered significant losses.
‘They are waiting to see what we do,’ said Domitus as we assembled once more in the tent of King Akrosas, ‘which tells me that they have abandoned the advance on Histria.’
Akrosas brought his hands together and grinned like an idiot.
‘Praise Apollo.’
‘So all that remains is to destroy the Romans,’ said Radu, who had regained his verve after appearing deflated after yesterday’s losses.
‘We tried storming their camp before,’ said Decebal, ‘and achieved nothing except the loss of many comrades.’
Draco, still smarting from the previous day’s bruising, was in agreement.
‘I am unwilling to see any more Maedi sacrificed needlessly.’
‘So force them to fight on your terms,’ said Domitus, who was now standing and pacing up and down in front of the kings. I smiled when I saw that he had found a vine cane, taken from a dead centurion no doubt. Just like at Dura he began to tap it against his thigh as he spoke.
‘Forget about assaulting their camp. Instead, wait until the Romans retreat for that most likely is what they will do. Yesterday they lost their rear guard, all their transports and most of their auxiliaries and horsemen, in addition to at least a cohort of legionaries.’
Radu looked around confused. ‘What’s a cohort?’
‘Nearly five hundred men,’ I told him.
‘Ten percent of their best soldiers,’ added Domitus. ‘I would advise the same tactics that were used yesterday.’
‘We lost many men yesterday,’ growled Draco.
Domitus stopped pacing. ‘The difference is that today the Romans will be retreating instead of advancing.’
He was right. It was two hours after dawn when the enemy struck camp and headed towards the southwest, to Macedonia. The legionaries dismantled the camp and assembled in close order to begin the journey back to Roman territory. They posted few horsemen on the flanks and ahead of their formation, testament to our success during the preceding two days. The spirits of the kings were raised when a scout returned with news that several dozen Romans had been left behind in the camp. At first they suspected it was a trick to lure them into the enemy’s base until Domitus told them that the Romans had left behind their wounded so they would not be slowed down on the march.
Radu, revenge on his eyes, demanded that he and his men be allowed to kill them and Akrosas agreed, shaking his head at the barbarousness of the enemy in abandoning their wounded.
‘I would have done the same if I had been the Roman commander,’ Domitus told me as Radu left to muster his men. ‘Shows that they are in a desperate state, though.’
‘If the kings can hold their nerve,’ I said, ‘then they might just take an eagle.’
‘The only eagle this lot is going to take is one that you shoot out of the sky with that bow of yours.’
But as the army left its camp I was optimistic that the kings had learned their lesson and were content to shadow the Romans, waiting for opportunities to launch fast attacks against them to gradually wear them down. Radu took his Bastarnae and slaughtered the Roman wounded. The main weapon of his warriors was the rhomphaia, a curved blade sharpened on the inner edge like a sickle. Unlike the falx it was a one-handed weapon, the Bastarnae carrying a small shield for protection and also sporting helmets, though no body armour. Many were bare-chested, their bodies adorned with t
attoos and their hair dyed blue.
For most of the morning the two sides were content to watch each other from a safe distance, myself and Decebal leading the horsemen who rode in the rear of the Roman column, the foot soldiers of the Dacians following us and the warriors of the Maedi and Getea moving through the forest on the flanks of the Romans. Occasionally a party of Thracians would race from the trees to attack the legionaries, who invariably responded with javelins, any auxiliaries near them adding their arrows and slingshots to the missiles. At first the Thracians launched many such assaults, which slowed the Romans as they halted and adopted an all-round defensive posture, but a sizeable number of Maedi and Getea were killed or wounded in these forays for few Roman casualties and so they stopped.
After a while we dismounted and walked our horses in the wake of the enemy, which was around four hundred paces ahead, moving at a slow pace, weighed down as they were with the heavy load each legionary was carrying. As the time passed it was almost sleep inducing trudging along in the summer heat, everyone left alone with his thoughts. A vision of Claudia came to me, laughing and playing on the palace terrace at Dura under the watchful eye of Dobbai. I saw Rsan’s serious face, the fatherly figure of Godarz and the valiant Orodes, listening intently to a petitioner in the throne room. I suddenly longed to be back in Parthia, to be among my people at Dura and not wading through high grass following a beaten enemy.
‘King Akrosas requests your presence, majesty.’
I looked up to see one of the king’s bodyguards sitting on his horse. I raised my hand to him and squinted up at the sun. It was getting hotter. The guard saluted and rode away to speak to Decebal, no doubt informing him that Akrosas also wanted to see him. I hoisted myself into the saddle, my mare turning her head and shaking her mane.
‘Hopefully he is going to inform me that he and the army are returning to Histria,’ I said to Gallia.
‘That would make sense,’ she replied, ‘so I suspect it will not be what he wishes to talk to you about.’
My wife knew the nature of men well enough, for when I arrived at the phalanx of Getea horsemen that surrounded the king I found him in an excitable state. Domitus, by contrast, looked very sombre and shook his head when he saw me approach. Decebal was hot on my heels as I rode up to Akrosas.
