by Peter Darman
I urged Remus forward and we rode through the gardens towards the palace. Nergal’s men filled the trees, bows at the ready, looking for any enemy soldiers that might be in the foliage. We emerged from rows of ancient cypress trees to reach the mud-brick palace walls covered in plaster that had been painted white. There was a well-tended cobbled road that led from the gardens to the palace gates, which were shut. Arrows flew at us from archers standing on the walls either side of the gates.
‘Back into the trees,’ I yelled.
There was no point in sitting on our horses shooting at men standing behind a wall, so we retreated back to the trees and there waited for Domitus and his men to arrive. I ordered a rider to fetch Marcus and to tell him to bring a means of breaching the gates. Some of the dismounted men were standing at the edge of the trees, losing their arrows at the enemy but I ordered them to desist. There was no point in wasting arrows. I too dismounted and walked to the last row of trees to look at the palace, rising up behind the walls; a great whitewashed two-storey stone building with a wide frontage. It appeared to be set back some distance from the walls that protected it, no doubt with a great square before it. No doubt the square where Narses and Chosroes had planned to put me to death.
Byrd and Malik appeared and informed me that there was another set of gates into the royal compound on the other side of the palace.
‘They too are guarded,’ reported Byrd.
‘Will you storm the palace, Pacorus?’ asked Malik.
‘Yes,’ I replied.
Domitus arrived a few minutes later, his men halting among the trees. Guards were posted and the rest took off their helmets, stacked their shields and then lay in the shade. Domitus joined us as we studied the palace walls.
‘I have ordered Marcus to bring some of his engines so we can gain entry via the gates,’ I said.
‘How many men are on those walls?’ asked Domitus.
‘Hard to tell,’ I replied, ‘but they are the palace guard and they will put up a fight.’
Domitus took off his helmet and wiped his brow. ‘It doesn’t matter, we’ll kill them easily enough.’
It took Marcus an hour to arrive with the means to get into the palace, a great battering ram that was loaded on to half a dozen wagons. It took him and his men another hour to assemble it, during which time there was no activity on the walls. A strange silence descended over the area as the Duran Legion rested and Marcus and his men assembled the battering ram. I asked Byrd and Malik to ride over to the western side of the city and report back on what was happening at the White Temple, and they took all the Agraci warriors as an escort just in case there were any roving bands of enemy soldiers still at large. I prayed to Shamash that Gallia and her Amazons were safe.
The battering ram was truly a wondrous thing, a huge tree trunk suspended by chains from a thick overhead beam that formed the top of its arched frame. The beam and the ram itself were under protective screens laid over the frame, the screens being composed of wooden boards overlaid with iron plates with clay underneath and then an inner layer of thick hide. No enemy arrow would be able to pierce that thick roof of iron, while the clay formed a fireproof barrier. The whole ram was mounted on four great wooden wheels so it could be pushed forwards and backwards. The ram itself had rope handles at regular intervals along its length. This was to enable those manning it each side to pull it back and then hurl it forward against the target. And on the point was a massive iron head cast in the shape of a snarling ram, complete with horns.
‘I like your ram, Marcus,’ I said, stroking the massive iron head.
‘Yes, sir, it cost Crassus a great deal of money.’
I smiled. ‘I have no doubt. He is a man who likes quality in all things.’
A mischievous grin spread across Domitus’ face. ‘Tell him what your men have nicknamed it, Marcus.’
Marcus cleared his throat and looked sheepish. ‘I don’t think the king would be interested in such trivial gossip.’
‘Nonsense,’ replied Domitus.
‘Yes,’ I added, ‘please tell, Marcus.’ I looked at the snarling image; they probably called it Crassus. I smiled to myself.
‘Pacorus, sir, begging your pardon.’
‘What?’ I said.
Marcus avoided my eyes. ‘They nicknamed it Pacorus.’
Domitus and Nergal thought it hilarious.
‘It looks like you,’ said Domitus.
‘The mirror image,’ added Nergal, creasing up with laughter.
Marcus was blushing while my two senior commanders were giggling like young girls. I decided to maintain my dignity. I laid a hand on Marcus’ shoulder.
‘It is quite all right. When these two have finished with their childishness we will put my namesake to work.’
The smaller ballista had also been loaded on to carts and driven to the royal gardens where they were re-assembled by their crews. Once in position they began sweeping the walls with bolts and iron balls, just as they had done before the city gates. After a few enemy heads had been caved in, the palace walls were soon empty of archers, allowing the ram to be pushed forward. I insisted on being a member of the party that grabbed the beams inside the ram’s protective cover and hauled it forward. Domitus and a century of his men followed immediately behind the ram, the legionaries’ shields held above them and on their sides as a defence against enemy missiles.
There were twenty of us pushing the ram, including Marcus, and even with all our efforts it was slow to move so heavy a beast. I began sweating heavily as I pushed on one of the beams, the iron-headed ram swaying slightly with every forward effort. Iron plates mounted at the front of the ram provided additional protection for those manning it, but also added more weight to the machine. Marcus coordinated our efforts, telling us when to push forward, but it was painfully slow progress. I heard the crack of the ballista balls and bolts hitting the walls, though the sounds gradually died away, presumably because there were no targets to aim at. Occasionally there was a dull thud on the ram’s roof as an enemy archer diced with death and shot at us, followed by more cracks as ballista missiles flew at him and struck the walls.
Domitus was directly behind the ram and delighted in making fun of our efforts.
‘Come on, push it. We want to get into the palace before dark. Perhaps I should knock on the gates and ask to be let in.’
We had no energy to reply, all our strength being used to push the ram forward. My heart was pounding in my chest and sweat ran into my eyes as I heaved it forward. The others, veins bulging in their muscled arms, groaned as they threw their weight behind each effort, with the voice of Marcus constantly in our ears.
‘Heave; heave; heave.’
Then, finally, we were at the gates. We shoved the ram’s roof right up against the gates just in case the enemy above decided to throw rocks or burning oil down upon us. Each man grabbed one of the rope handles that had been nailed to the trunk and pulled it backwards, then on Marcus’ command we hurled it forward. The great iron head smashed into the gates, splintering the wood. Again we pulled it back and then sent it hurtling into the gates once more. More cracking and splintering as the ram’s head fractured the gates and wrenched them from their hinges, forcing them back. Again and again we propelled the iron head into the wood until one of the gates lay twisted on the ground and the other had been smashed in two.
‘Grab the ram, pull it back,’ shouted Domitus to the men behind him as he picked up one of the ropes fastened to the rear of the ram for just such a purpose. Then we were pushing the ram back so it no longer blocked the broken gates. Domitus drew his sword and ran past the battering ram and through broken gates into the palace grounds, his men following. They barely had time to form a wall of shields before being attacked by Chosroes’ palace guards.
These men were well armed and no doubt knew their craft. They wore bronze helmets, red tunics covered with bronze scales and carried large round shields that had bronze facings sporting a black viper motif. The
y were armed with spears that had leaf-shaped blades, which they used to thrust at the legionaries, keeping the shields tucked tightly into their left sides. They advanced in a compact line with several ranks behind, not charging wildly but moving as a disciplined body. Their front rank tried to thrust their spears into the bellies of my men, jabbing the points forward. Our line of shields held in the press but my men could not make any headway against them. Worse, they were actually being forced back towards the gates and the walls. Domitus and his legionaries tried to thrust their swords over the top rim of their shields, into the faces and necks of their opponents, but the enemy’s spears kept them out of reach. More legionaries were flooding into the palace, but this only resulted in a great crush of men in and around the gates as the palace guards began herding the legionaries back. I was going to order a retreat when I saw archers on the walls. For a moment a feeling of nausea swept through me, believing them to be Chosroes’ men. But then I realised that they were Nergal’s archers. He had ordered his men to ride up to the walls, stand on their saddles and then haul themselves up onto the walls. The latter were no more than twice the height of a man so it was easy enough. Those who reached the top of the walls first then hoisted up the others, until there were dozens of archers either side of the gates. They then began pouring a withering fire into the enemy ranks, their arrows striking faces and necks.
The advance of the palace guards faltered and then stopped as they were hit by the arrow storm, men instinctively raising their shields to deflect the missiles being shot at them from the walls. But in doing so they lost the initiative, and a blast of trumpets preceded a charge by the Durans. The front ranks rushed forward into the now stationary palace guards and hacked their first line to pieces. Nergal’s archers were shooting arrows like men possessed until their quivers were empty, but their efforts were enough to tip the scales of the bloody melee below. Disorganised, their rear ranks thinned by arrows and their first two lines now destroyed, the guards began to fall back while the legionaries cried ‘Dura, Dura’ as they cut their way into the enemy. Back the guards went, towards the palace where archers were filing out from the building to form a phalanx at the top of the stone steps.
The legionaries pressed on, stabbing at their opponents, but then a volley of arrows brought their advance to a halt as the front ranks closed their shields together and those behind hoisted their shields above the heads of those in front to form a testudo. The arrows slammed harmlessly into leather and wood as the command was given to retreat and trumpet calls rang out across the palace square. The royal guards also fell back and regrouped at the foot of the stone steps, covered by the archers behind them. These men were good soldiers, that much was true, but they faced certain death if they continued fighting.
A temporary lull descended over the battle as the legionaries held their shields in place and the Mesenians took no further action. Of Chosroes there was no sign.
Domitus came trotting back to where I was standing just inside the broken palace gates, and where Nergal joined us a few moments later. Domitus embraced him.
‘I knew your horse boys would come in handy one day,’ he grinned.
‘I never thought they would fight as well as they did,’ remarked Nergal, looking at the royal guards. ‘What now?’
Around us more legionaries were flooding into the compound and taking up position on the flanks of the first men who had fought their way into the palace grounds. Fresh javelins were ferried to the men facing the palace guards. Soon there would be nearly five thousand men facing what I estimated to be under a thousand palace guards and around two hundred archers.
Nergal looked towards the palace steps. ‘They must know that they are going to die.’
Domitus spat on the ground. ‘They know, but they are good soldiers and are prepared to die for their lord.’
‘And where is their lord?’ I asked.
‘Skulking inside his palace no doubt,’ replied Nergal.
‘Let’s get it over with, then,’ said Domitus.
‘No, go and tell Marcus to bring his smaller ballista inside the palace grounds,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to lose any more men than we have to.’
Domitus nodded and ran back to where the engineers stood with their machines. He took a hundred men with him, who helped the Romans carry their ballista into the square and position them around three hundred paces from the royal guards arrayed at the foot of the palace steps. They loaded spears with long iron heads into the machines as I tied a white rag to the end of my sword and walked forward with it held aloft.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Domitus called after me.
I turned and smiled at him. ‘Is that any way to speak to your king?’
I walked to where the legionaries were standing in their ranks, shields still hoisted above their heads. They parted as I made my way to the front and then strolled beyond the front rank to face the enemy, their shields forming a wall of bronze to my front, the spears of the front ranks levelled towards me. Behind me Marcus’ men dragged forward the ballista as the legionaries shuffled their tightly packed centuries sideways to create gaps for the ballista to shoot from. I raised my sword so all could see the white rag tied to its point. I carried on walking towards the enemy until I was around a hundred paces from them.
‘That’s far enough,’ called out one in the front rank, their commander I assumed.
I lowered my spatha and untied the white rag.
‘I would ask that you lay down your weapons. I guarantee your lives will be spared.’
I slid my blade back in its sheath. There was no answer from the Mesenian ranks.
‘You have done all that honour requires,’ I said to them. ‘It is senseless to die for no purpose.’
Silence greeted my plea. I tried once more.
‘I ask you once more to lay down your weapons. I will not do so again.’
The enemy stood like stone statues before me.
‘Go back to your blonde whore,’ shouted one.
I turned and walked briskly back to my Durans and then to where Domitus, Nergal and Marcus stood near the gates. I pointed at Marcus.
‘Kill them all.’
He saluted and then rushed off to begin his work.
‘One day,’ said Domitus, ‘you will get an arrow through your heart or a spear in your guts while you stand in front of the enemy trying to sweet-talk them. If they didn’t want to fight any more they would have run away or thrown down their weapons already.’
I nodded. ‘You are right, it was a waste of time.’
Seconds later a score of ballista began shredding the enemy ranks. The first volley of iron-tipped missiles cut down the front rank with ease, slicing through shields, armour and flesh. Men were not only hit but also thrown back by the force of the blow, knocking those behind off their feet. Half the ballista fired solid iron balls the size of a fist at the archers at the top of the steps, smashing skulls and bodies with ease.
As the balls careered through the enemy’s ranks the archers loosed one volley against us, the arrows slamming harmlessly into the locked shields of the Duran ranks, but that was the only volley they shot. Seeing their comrades’ skulls being caved in and the spearmen of the royal guard being skewered by iron-tipped bolts, the archers ran. They suddenly disappeared into the palace. Domitus was standing beside me as we watched the archers melt away. I heard Marcus bark some orders and all the ballista were then directed against the spearmen, who to their credit were still standing in their ranks. But the missile fire was mercilessly thinning those ranks.
‘Finish them,’ I said to Domitus.
He walked forward to a group of his officers, who sprinted to the trumpeters standing behind the cohorts. The instruments blasted and Marcus turned to look at me. He raised his hand at the signal and then shouted at his men to cease their shooting. The testudo formations broke up as legionaries brought their shields down to cover the front of their bodies. Another trumpet blast signalled the advance. The cohort that ha
d forced its way into the palace grounds faced the royal guard now and began to advance. Just as they had done a hundred times on the training ground, the men trotted forward to within thirty paces of the enemy and then hurled their javelins. The missiles flew through the air and lodged in the shields of the enemy, the soft metal bending after impact to make it impossible for its user to pull it out. After throwing their javelins the legionaries drew their swords and charge headlong into the royal guard. As the two lines clashed the rearmost ranks in each century also hurled their javelins into the enemy. This time the Mesenian formation buckled. Already weakened by the fight at the gates and being cut to pieces by ballista missiles, they were at first pushed back as the Durans used their swords to stab with frenzy. On their flanks more centuries cut into the guardsmen so that in no time they were being assaulted on three sides. Incredibly they did not fall back but stood and died in their ranks. It did not take long, more legionaries sweeping up the steps and then assaulting them from the rear. The piercing screams of the dying cut the air as the guardsmen were scythed down by hundreds of gladius blades. No quarter was asked for or given, and then there was only a pile of dead men where the best of Chosroes’ soldiers had once stood.
The Durans then poured into the palace. I walked with Domitus and Nergal in the wake of the slaughter. My soldiers were disciplined, but they had earned this victory and I was in no mood to prevent their excesses as bloodlust gripped them. We walked up the palace steps, skirting the piles of dead that were scattered all around. Already Marcus’ men were walking among the corpses looking for ballista missiles that could be retrieved. We had a century as an escort as we made our way through the stone columns at the top of the palace steps and then went into the building itself. Ahead I could hear shouts, screams and whoops as the Durans vented their wrath upon anyone who still resisted. A total of three cohorts had entered the palace, which I soon regretted.
