by Peter Darman
‘Why don’t they attack us?’ Atrax was plainly itching for another fight.
I shrugged. ‘They will come in their own time. I suggest we withdraw and get some food inside us.’
‘I want to insult them.’ Atrax made to ride forward but I reached over and laid a hand on his arm.
‘No Atrax, we have done enough.’ His face was a mask of disappointment but I did not want him to get shot for the sake of mere bravado.
We camped five miles south of the city in the forest, though I made sure that I had sentries posted all around. There were other gates out of the city, and just because the Romans had not shown themselves at the southern entrance did not mean that they would not send soldiers from another gate to sweep around our rear and catch us unawares.
After two hours Byrd and Malik rode to where we were camped, our horses tethered to branches and their saddles dumped on the ground. Parties had been sent to the river to fetch water for them, and while we waited for the enemy we checked their iron shoes and groomed them.
‘Romani marching out of city,’ said Byrd.
I was standing in front of Remus holding a waterskin to his mouth. ‘How many?’
‘At least two thousand legionaries, plus light troops and more horsemen.’
I gave the order to reform and the sound of horns filled the forest as the companies were assembled. I called their commanders together and they stood in a semi-circle around me.
‘Our plan is simple. We goad the Romans, annoy them, and then fall back. We wear them down.’
‘We could surprise them, attack from the trees, like we did with the last ones,’ suggested one of my officers.
‘No, they outnumber us and there is no point in charging legionaries. You might kill a few, but once we get close to their locked shields we will ride into a hail of javelins.’
‘What about their horsemen, Pacorus?’ asked Orodes.
‘We can kill them. They will be acting as scouts and riding ahead of the foot. Kill them with arrows. But remember that our aim is to lure the Romans further away from the city.’
‘To what end?’ queried Atrax.
‘Attrition, lord prince. Grind them down, just like the Romans like to grind down their enemies.’
And so it was. We saddled our horses and then rode south, letting the enemy horsemen see us but always keeping a safe distance between them and us. The road we were on led south to Media, but after an hour we left it and made our way back to the camp we had constructed among the trees. As we moved we left small parties of riders, half companies, in the trees either side of the track we travelled along. These men would ambush the Roman cavalry, empty a few saddles and then gallop way. Once they had recovered the enemy cavalry would give chase, only to run into another ambush set further along the track. I took part in these ambushes, as did Surena, Atrax and Orodes, and they were immense fun. We would wait in the forest some hundred paces from the tree line, so anyone on the track would see only darkness if they stared into the trees. Once the enemy horsemen appeared we would shoot at the front and rear of the group, which would sow confusion and terror, then we could pick off those in the middle as men tried to calm their frightened horses. Then we would ride away through the trees, leaving the survivors to deploy against an enemy that was no longer there.
By dusk the Roman cavalry no longer pursued us. We had killed most of them and the rest had retreated to take refuge with the foot. The latter had been under the observation of Byrd and Malik, who rode into our camp after dark, having dismounted at the edge of the forest adjoining the wide steppe where the Romans had built their camp. I forbade the lighting of any fires lest they give our position away, even though we were deep in the forest. It therefore took Byrd and Malik some time to weave their way in the dark through the traps that had been laid among the trees. Eventually they found their way to my tent where Orodes, Surena and Atrax were sitting on the ground eating biscuits washed down with water.
‘There must be four thousand Romans in that camp,’ said Malik, flopping down on the hard earth.
‘Tomorrow we will entice them into the trees,’ I said, ‘but tonight perhaps we might ruffle their feathers.’
‘Ruffle their feathers?’ asked Byrd.
‘Why not? Get close to their camp and kill a few sentries. Keep them all on edge.’
Byrd was unimpressed. ‘Romani camp in middle of grassland. Uninterrupted view in all directions.’
‘We’ll just have to crawl, then.’
Two hours later I was impersonating a snake as I crawled on my belly towards the enemy camp. Like all Roman camps it was a neat rectangle surrounded by an earth mound that was surmounted by a palisade of stakes. Inside the legionaries slept eight to a tent, the latter arranged in neat rows and blocks. The night was overcast; if there had been moonlight we would not have attempted our raid because any sentry would have had a clear view of the illuminated steppe. With me were Orodes, Surena and Atrax. Farhad’s son has immediately volunteered to come with us and I had initially refused his offer, but he had made such a protest that I changed my mind just to shut him up. In truth I regretted that he had come on this expedition, not least because I did not want anything to befall him. On the other hand he was brave and loyal, two qualities that seemed to be in short supply in Parthia at present.
Before we left camp I had borrowed a dark brown shirt to wear instead of my white tunic, and we all left our helmets behind. So we crawled for at least an hour across the steppe, inching closer to the Roman camp that was illuminated by the lighted oil lamps and braziers within. We carried no swords, axes or maces, only daggers attached to our belts, full quivers and our bows. No one spoke as we shuffled in a line towards our target. It was a miserable night: cold, damp, the air filled with spits of rain carried on a cool northerly wind. Hopefully the Roman guards would be wrapped in their cloaks with their heads down. On we crawled. I could hear muffled noises now. Straining my ear I thought I caught the sound of laughter. Perhaps a group of men was playing cards or throwing dice, the universal pastimes of soldiers the world over. Around two hundred paces from the camp we halted and then did not move for at least ten minutes. There appeared be a guard every ten paces, and if any of them had seen movement ahead their first instinct would not be to raise the alarm but to look again to confirm what they thought they had seen. So we remained dead still and the guard would have seen no further movement; he would shrug it off as being a lapse in concentration or a trick of the mind, nothing more.
I rolled onto my back and reached into my quiver. The arrows had been bound together to stop them rattling during the journey. I slowly untied the twine and pulled an arrow out and placed the nock in the bowstring. Then I very slowly assumed a kneeling position, my right knee on the ground. I peered head and saw a guard’s head and shoulders directly in front of me. I drew back the bowstring, keeping my eyes on the target. It would be a difficult shot because the only real target was his face. I slowed my breathing and focused entirely on the target; nothing else existed at that moment. Subconsciously I had already made allowances for the wind and distance. The bow was not a weapon; it was a part of me, at one with my senses and instincts. Time slowed as I released the string. I heard a twang and low hiss, then a dull thud as the arrowhead struck the sentry and he fell to the ground. The others took their shots as I strung another arrow and loosed it. The air was filled with hissing noises as my companions searched out targets, and then other sounds were carried on the wind — trumpet blasts and shouts as the camp was awoken from its slumber.
‘Time to go,’ I said, releasing another arrow at a centurion, his telltale crest betraying his rank, who was standing behind the palisade barking orders.
We ran as fast as our legs would carry us, my heart pounding in my chest as I strained every muscle to get back to the safety of the forest. We must have covered that two-mile stretch of ground in a time that a Greek Olympian would have been jealous of, because when we entered the trees we all collapsed on the ground, gasping for air.
Some of my cataphracts had been posted there as a rearguard should we be pursued, and now they helped us to our feet. For a while I had difficulty standing upright and it was painful to breathe, but eventually our hearts returned to normal and anxiety and stress were replaced by boyish enthusiasm as we congratulated ourselves on a job well done. Back at camp we sat on the ground until the grey light of dawn came, exaggerating our feats wildly. Once again we had given the Romans a bloody nose.
In the morning we broke camp and rode to the edge of the forest. The Romans had also left their camp and were forming into ranks on the steppe in front of us. We moved out of the trees and faced them, though they were well over a mile away and we were beyond the range of their archers and slingers. Their cohorts were arrayed in the centre and the light troops — spearmen with shields but no armour, archers and slingers — were deployed on the flanks. A blast of trumpets signalled their advance. Thousands of men began a steady march towards us. I saw few horsemen among their ranks save a small group behind their centre wearing red cloaks and surrounded by standards. The commander and his senior officers, no doubt.
There were only two hundred of us arrayed before the Romans, deployed in one long line at the tree line. But we raised a great clamour and hurled insults at the enemy as we fell back into the trees.
The Romans followed us, sending forward their lightly armed spearmen and archers first. Those of us on horseback withdrew into the vastness of the forest, but always letting the enemy see glimpses of us as we did so. The enemy thought that their light troops, used to operating in open order, would be more than adequate to deal with a few horsemen among the trees. The spearmen entered the trees gingerly, the archers and slingers positioned on their flanks to offer them protection. They shot a few arrows at the fleeting shapes of horsemen among the trees, but the day was overcast and the foliage diminished the light still further. The spearmen kept moving forward, their shafts levelled and their round shields held in front of their bodies. The archers and slingers, carrying no shields to protect them, crouched low in an effort to reduce their silhouettes. Those of us on horseback put away our bows as we kept out of range of the enemy bows and slings. Further we retreated into the forest, back towards our camp. Then our trap was sprung.
Hidden among the trees were the rest of my men, seven hundred archers behind cover waiting for the enemy. The remaining hundred Parthians remained in camp tending the horses and mules, and would form a reserve if we needed them. A Parthian recurve bow has a greater range than its Roman equivalent with its straight limbs, but today my men let the enemy archers get close to them. On horseback a Parthian horse archer can shoot between five and seven arrows a minute; on foot this increases to up to ten arrows a minute. When the enemy had closed to within fifty paces a horn blew and Parthian bows began shooting. My men were hidden and stationary and their first volley was deadly accurate — seven hundred arrows sliced through the air and buried themselves in flesh and bone. After half a minute three and a half thousand arrows had been shot at the Roman archers and slingers, who suffered horrendous losses. Most had been hit and either killed or wounded by the first two volleys, but my men kept on firing until the survivors fled. Two horn blasts signalled that the enemy was now running. I turned and gave the order to sound the advance. Now it was our turn to move forward.
The plan was for those on foot to stay where they were as the horsemen counterattacked. We drew our swords and moved forward, cantering through the trees. The enemy spearmen had been left alone while their archers had been dealt with, but now my archers began directing their arrows at them. Ahead I could see the spearmen, their ranks being thinned by arrow fire, then I signalled the charge. Horns blasted and we screamed our war cries as we galloped at the enemy. Gaps had already appeared in their ranks where dead spearman lay on the ground, and in any case among the trees it was difficult to form an unbroken shield wall. A few threw their spears at the onrushing horsemen and one or two found their target, but many had already turned tail before we made contact. And then we hit them like a thunderbolt.
Had they stood firmed in solid blocks we would not have been able to defeat them, but these men were auxiliaries, not legionaries. They were not trained to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with shields locked facing the enemy, to withstand arrow fire and spear storms and the charge of enemy horsemen. And the rout of their archers and slingers had shaken their morale. I slashed left and right at heads and torsos, taking care to avoid spear points, for neither our horses nor we wore armour. On we rode, hacking and thrusting, splitting thin shields with swings of our swords. Many of the enemy had thrown away their spears and shields and were running as fast as they could to escape us. We pursued them to the edge of the forest and beyond, catching some as they fell to the ground and began retching due to their exertions. They just had time to look up before a swing of a sword blade ended their life. Dozens fled back to the safety of the cohorts deployed on the steppe, which were now advancing towards the forest. I chased after one man who still carried his shield. I held my sword arm straight as I closed on him, then brought it up as I rode past him and slashed down, knocking him off his feet as my blade bit deep into the left side of his skull. I slowed Remus and then wheeled him right, then heard a hiss as a javelin flew past me. In concentrating on my quarry I had ridden dangerously close to a Roman cohort that was closing on me. I yelled at Remus and urged him forward, out of javelin range.
‘Sound recall,’ I shouted, as some of my riders got too close to the enemy and were felled by javelins.
I rode back to the edge of the forest, to be joined by Orodes and Atrax. As the men reformed either side of the royal standards I saw Surena riding up and down in front of the Roman front line, loosing arrows at them.
‘Stay here,’ I shouted to Orodes and Atrax, then rode back towards the advancing enemy. I halted when I was within shouting distance of Surena.
‘Get back, you young idiot. Obey orders for once or I will shoot you myself.’
I turned and galloped back to the men, followed by Surena. His eyes were wild with the excitement of battle.
‘Listen for the horns next time,’ I said. ‘I was nearly killed because I got too close to them.’
In front of us five cohorts of legionaries were getting ready to attack. We had won one relatively bloodless victory; the next fight would be much harder.
‘Back into the trees,’ I said, ‘same tactics as before.’
Except this was not the same as before. These Romans were obviously veterans, because they seamlessly advanced into the forest and then deployed into their centuries, shields locked to the front, overhead and sides.
They moved slowly to maintain their formations and our arrows could make no impression on them. Eventually I gave the order for those on foot to get back to camp as quickly as possible while those of us on horseback maintained a steady fire against the Romans. We did manage to inflict some losses on the Romans when some of them fell into the traps that we had dug, men screaming as they were impaled on stakes in the pits. Their testudo formations were momentarily broken, allowing us to shoot at exposed bodies, but then the Romans would lock shields once more and continue to advance. As they were doing so the rest of the men were evacuating the camp via the other side. Thus ended our fight with the garrison of Vanadzor.
We lost fifty men killed in the action and a further forty wounded, and had shot a great many arrows. We carried on moving east through the forest until we came to a vast expanse of grassland. It was now nearly dusk, but we rode across the plain for another two hours until it was dark and then made camp. We kept the horses saddled in case we had to make a quick escape, for I did not know if there were other Roman garrisons in the area. Fortunately we were not pursued, and so the next day we moved further east once more and pitched a new camp in another great forest that bordered Lake Urmia.
We stayed in Gordyene for six months, operating around Vanadzor and Lake Urmia, launching raids against the Romans and fending off the parties of
horsemen they sent against us. After a while we split into three groups, Orodes leading one, Atrax the other and myself the third, riding far and wide to attack isolated Roman outposts and sometimes putting their small garrisons to the sword, at other times being beaten off or unable to storm the wooden towers that had sprung up all over Gordyene. We ambushed supply columns, taking any food the wagons carried. We killed the guards and drivers and torched the wagons, but when the snows came the tracks became impassable and there was no traffic on the roads. As it grew colder we were forced to build huts in the forest to house men and horses and rarely ventured out. We became unshaven, lice infested and filthy. My helmet lost its feathers and rusted, our boots were holed, but we kept our bows and arrows dry and our swords clean and sharp. During the winter we forgot about the Romans and concentrated on keeping our horses and ourselves alive. At the turn of the year Byrd and Malik actually travelled to a small town and purchased fodder from a corrupt Roman official, no questions asked.
When spring came the Romans once again sent out cavalry patrols to hunt us down, so we moved further east out of Gordyene and into northern Atropaiene. The Romans followed us. We were down to six hundred men by this time and were woefully short of arrows. We had eaten all of our mules and many of the men had sores on their faces and bodies due to the cold that we had endured during the winter. Occasionally we laid an ambush for our pursuers, killing a score or more before riding away. But such minor victories only reduced our numbers and ammunition still further. In truth we had become nothing but a group of bandits trying to stay one step ahead of our hunters. My plan to wear down the Romans had turned out to be a flight of fancy — it was we who were being ground down. As we moved further east we reached the shores of the great Caspian Sea, part of the northern frontier of the Parthian Empire. We continued our retreat, striking southeast but still pursued by the Romans.
To save the horses’ strength we were forced to spend days walking them instead of riding, the lack of good fodder having weakened them considerably. Most of them, including Remus, had become skin and bone. Only the horse of Byrd remained unchanged as it had always been a scrawny, thin beast. One day, as we were resting in a canyon by a shallow stream under a warm sun, Byrd and Malik rode into camp. Many of the men had stripped off and were washing or lying in the cool water, their first soak in weeks.
