by Ben Kane
It was an immensely intimidating sight for the exhausted Roman soldiers. Sunburnt faces went pale and oaths were spat. More than one mercenary looked west to the Euphrates and safety.
'Jupiter's balls!' swore Brennus. 'No infantry at all?'
'I told you there would be none,' replied Tarquinius.
There was a short silence. The Gaul visibly braced himself. 'We 'll cope,' he said simply. 'We 'll have to.'
The Etruscan's dark eyes were calm. 'It will all be clear by nightfall.'
They nodded grimly. With a battle to fight, there was little point entertaining fearful thoughts. It was courage and Roman gladii that they needed now.
'What are those?' Romulus pointed at tall humped creatures with long necks and legs, standing behind the enemy lines.
'Camels. The Parthians use them as mules,' explained Tarquinius. 'And they'll be carrying spare arrows, so those bastard archers don't run out. With that many of them, each man will have hundreds of shafts. Real trouble.'
'Because our damn shields are practically useless,' said Brennus, thumping his scutum.
The Etruscan nodded. 'The warriors train with those composite bows every day, my friend. Remember what they did yesterday.'
'But we are free men now.' Brennus clapped Romulus on the shoulder. 'If the gods will it, we shall die together – with our swords in our hands and the sun on our faces. Better than in the arena for that bastard Memor.'
'True.' Romulus met the Gaul's gaze squarely. Mention of the lanista made him remember Cotta's lessons. 'Spartacus wouldn't have worried about facing the Parthians,' he said. 'He always had plenty of horsemen.'
'That Thracian had far more ability than Crassus,' agreed Tarquinius. 'He only got beaten because Crixus, his second-in-command, wouldn't leave Italy. Spartacus would never have led his men into a mess like this.'
Romulus sank into a reverie, imagining himself in charge of the army, Tarquinius and Brennus by his side. Keeping the cavalry on the wings would be the most urgent task, to prevent the legions being outflanked while they formed up. Then the centre could make a tactical withdrawal as the Parthians attacked, allowing the cavalry to enfold the enemy. It was how Hannibal had won so many of his battles against Rome.
Tarquinius regarded him keenly. 'Crassus will not think of trying Carthaginian tactics. The fool thinks all we have to do is advance and the Parthians will flee.'
Romulus was stunned. 'Men like you two should be in charge,' he blurted.
Tarquinius inclined his head. 'And you, Romulus.'
He flushed with delight.
'We 'd do a better job than Crassus,' chuckled Brennus.
'That would not be difficult.' Tarquinius squinted at the Parthians, counting under his breath.
Bassius ordered his men to take up a defensive position on the ridge. One cohort could do little but wait for the rest of the army to catch up. Not a man moved from the Parthian force. Their trap sprung, the enemy was content to let the Romans take up battle formation.
'Shows how confident their leader is. They could be riding in and showering us with arrows.'
'Maybe he wants to fight Crassus in single combat!' joked the Gaul. 'We could put our feet up and watch.'
'It'll be common soldiers bleeding today,' said Tarquinius. 'Not leaders.'
Reconciling himself to his fate, Brennus shrugged his massive shoulders. 'Lanistae. Generals. Whoever. They give the orders. Men like us die.'
Keeping the Etruscan's reassuring words uppermost in his mind, Romulus prayed to Jupiter, his guide since childhood.
You did not need to be a soothsayer to know that thousands would die in the forthcoming battle.
And possibly one of them.
'Where is Ariamnes?' Crassus sat bolt upright in the saddle, his face pinched with anger.
Nobody answered.
There had been no sign of the Nabataeans since dawn. With the full Parthian army in sight, it was obvious that the Romans' erstwhile ally would not be returning.
Ariamnes was a traitor.
'Son of a whore! I will have him disembowelled. Then crucified.'
Longinus tactfully cleared his throat. 'What are your orders, sir?'
Crassus glared at him, but, unwilling to acknowledge any mistakes, his eyes dropped away. 'Cavalry on the wings. Cohorts in one square formation,' the general blustered, picking the boldest tactic he could think of. 'That rabble will take one look at us and flee.'
The grizzled legate gasped. 'And leave gaps between the units?'
'Those are my orders. Is that clear?' said Crassus, bunching his jaw. Although he could immediately see what Longinus meant, his monumental pride was still smarting at the exposure of Ariamnes' treachery. 'This way their greater numbers of horse cannot flank us.'
'Yes, but it also allows those bastards to ride between us,' replied Longinus, expecting his fellow officers to voice their support. None was forthcoming. The legate glared at them, then continued undeterred. 'Sir, solid lines would be better. Then only a small number of men could be attacked at one time.'
Crassus' eyes bulged. 'Are you questioning my orders again?'
'Merely offering advice.'
'Insubordination!' Crassus cried. The black cloak he had donned that morning clung to his back, soaked in sweat. The legionaries on guard nearby eyed it uneasily. Black was the colour of death. 'Get into position, Legate, before I have you whipped.'
Longinus' jaw clenched. Few people would dare speak to a senior officer in such a manner. 'You are making a big mistake, sir,' he said insolently. The general needed him too much to follow through on the threat. 'Solid lines would be best.'
Crassus glanced at the others. 'Anyone care to agree?'
There was silence. His subordinates had been well picked.
'Consider your career finished,' said Crassus. 'If you survive the battle!'
'See what the Senate says about this back in Rome. They still have some power.' Longinus snorted with contempt and rode away, swallowing his anger. Crassus' arrogance would not stop them smashing the Parthians. He would sort out his problems with the general later. Longinus tried to put the bull's heart, the reversed eagle standard and the black cloak out of his mind.
'What are you all waiting for?' Spittle flew from Crassus' lips. 'Get out of my sight!'
The legates hastened to obey.
There was a battle to win.
Chapter XXIV:
Publius and Surena
It took nearly half the afternoon for every legion to reach the plain. The desert horsemen sat in the shimmering haze, waiting patiently. Drums and bells kept up a relentless din. The outlandish sound was mindful of wild animals' roars intermingled with the sound of thunder.
It was terrifying.
Having waited the longest, the mercenaries were worst affected by the melting temperatures. Few had any water left and again men began to collapse from dehydration and heat exhaustion. The stronger soldiers did what they could for their comrades before battle commenced. Bassius stalked up and down, cajoling and threatening by turn. His sheer drive helped rally spirits that had fallen to a new low.
With Crassus' army finally in place, a staccato series of notes sounded from the bucinae. The waiting was over.
'You heard!' screamed the centurions. 'Get into position!'
Following routines that had been practised many times, the legions fanned out across the plain in a massive four-sided formation. Simultaneously each cohort formed into another hollow square, three men deep, forty in length and breadth. A hundred paces separated each from its neighbours in front and behind. Crassus, his officers and two veteran cohorts took their position in the empty middle along with the baggage train while the Gaulish and Iberian cavalry moved to sit on the wings. It was a most unusual formation for the start of a battle.
'What is he doing?' Romulus frowned. It was clear what would happen as soon as the attack began.
'Crassus thinks we might be completely outflanked,' said Brennus. 'This prevents it.'
'He is a fool!' Tarquinius peered round angrily. 'Those archers will simply ride between the cohorts and pick us off with ease.'
It was unsettling that they could all see what would happen but Crassus could not. Any respect for authority Romulus had left was disappearing fast.
The Parthian leader was still in no hurry to attack. He waited until the Roman army had stopped manoeuvring.
At an unseen signal, the drums began pounding a heavy, rhythmic beat, different from before. The bells also changed tempo, their volume making even speech impossible. The noise went on and on, intimidating with its sheer energy. Exhausted by sunstroke and the incredible temperature, the dazed soldiers could only stare at the enemy, unsure what to do.
Suddenly, the clamour stopped.
A large group of horsemen in the Parthian centre separated from the rest. Slowly they moved forward to within a few hundred paces of the Roman front ranks, halting in unison.
Romulus peered into the haze. 'Who are they?'
'The cataphracts.' There was respect in Tarquinius' voice. 'Their elite heavy cavalry.'
'Long spears like Greek hoplites carry would soon sort them out,' said Romulus fiercely. 'If we had any.'
'Or a defensive ditch,' added the Gaul.
Tarquinius nodded approvingly.
The weary Romans stared miserably at the enemy, unable to do more than bake in the intense heat. It was almost a relief when the instruments started up again. With a flourish, the Parthian riders whipped off their cloaks, revealing chain mail from neck to mid-thigh. In each soldier's right hand was a heavy lance. The horses were also covered in armour, creating an immense wall of metal. Sunlight bounced off thousands of iron rings, reflecting towards the Romans in waves of blinding light.
Crassus' soldiers found it impossible to look directly at the cataphracts and the dazzling light wasn't the only reason. Fear was creeping into men's hearts.
'Amazing.' Tarquinius pointed excitedly. 'The andabatae in the arena were a mockery of the real thing.'
Romulus had only heard of the mounted gladiators who wore helmets with no eyeholes.
'Roman savages,' said the Gaul. 'Sending blind men into the arena to fight.'
'These riders are a different proposition,' pronounced the Etruscan.
Romulus was amazed by the mail rippling down the horses' flanks. He had never seen anything like it.
The cataphracts waited, maximising their terrifying effect. The drums kept up their dreadful din, deepening the sense of impending doom. Mercenaries and legionaries shifted uneasily from foot to foot. The unease in Crassus' army was becoming palpable, spreading to every man. Normally it was the Romans who scared their enemies by standing in silence before battle.
'Might have a decent fight today.' Brennus hefted his spear impatiently, eager to end their wait. 'Those bastards actually look dangerous.'
Tarquinius smiled humourlessly.
Wishing the battle would just start, Romulus checked his sword was loose in its scabbard, his pilum head securely attached to the shaft. Stay calm, he thought.
For what seemed an eternity, the two armies faced each other, soaking up the intense heat. The tension was unbearable.
And then the noise stopped. Immediately the horse archers moved forward while the heavy cavalry remained where they were.
'Prepare for an enemy charge,' ordered Bassius. 'Close order!'
The mercenaries had been well trained. Quickly the men readied their pila and spears and moved closer, standing shoulder to shoulder. Like tiny cogs in a big machine, thousands of soldiers across the battlefield did the same. Their shields overlapping, the formations presented the Parthians with dozens of armoured squares.
The enemy urged their mounts to a trot, followed by a gallop. The earth shook with the thunder of hooves and Romulus felt his stomach clench. The previous day's attacks would be as nothing compared to this.
Just as Tarquinius had predicted, the horsemen split smoothly into columns, aiming at gaps between the cohorts. Fear grew palpable in the ranks, men sweated heavily and hands grew clammy on javelin shafts. Behind him Romulus heard a man vomiting. He ignored the sound, lifting his scutum higher, squinting at the approaching riders.
Battle was about to commence.
The Parthians rode closer and closer. Soon they could see horses' nostrils flaring, the archers' faces tense as they drew back bowstrings.
Romulus' remaining pilum felt burning hot.
'Ready javelins!' There was no trace of fear in Bassius' voice. 'Wait till my command!'
Every man's right arm went back, ready for the order to release.
Before it could come, the Parthians fired a volley. It was from much closer range than the day before. Until that moment, the mercenaries had no idea just how powerful the enemy's composite bows were. Waves of arrows swept through the air, punching through Roman scuta like paper. The front rank dissolved, cut down to a man.
Miraculously, Bassius alone remained standing, shield peppered with arrows. 'Aim short! Loose!' he screamed.
With a heave, Romulus and the men of the second two ranks swung forward, launching their pila in low curving arcs. They fell in a flurry of wood and metal, finding targets at last. From such a short distance, Roman javelins were also lethal. Horses fell screaming to the sand, throwing their riders. Dozens of warriors were hit, but the force of the charge was such that they were carried past to safety.
Another brutal volley scythed into the side of the cohort before Bassius had time to respond. And then the Parthians were gone, galloping off to attack another square. The noise of hooves died away, to be replaced by screams.
At least eighty men lay strewn across the hot sand.
Romulus gaped at the sight. Scores of soldiers had been killed outright by arrows which had passed through shield and chain mail, ripping into soft flesh beneath. Scuta lay pinned to prone bodies all around and a dense network of wooden shafts peppered the ground. So many had been injured that Romulus looked himself over in disbelief. He had not suffered so much as a scratch. Neither had his friends.
'They can do that all day,' Tarquinius said calmly.
His face grim, Brennus muttered and cursed.
Through clouds of dust, other cohorts were now being subjected to the same attacks as the archers swept around the Roman formations. For the moment, Bassius' depleted unit was an island of calm in the midst of chaos.
'Romulus! Get over here.'
Bassius was waving to him, his face knotted in pain. An arrow-riddled scutum hung from his left arm.
'What can I do, sir?'
'Cut out this damn thing!' The senior centurion swung out his wounded arm. A barbed head was protruding just below the elbow.
Romulus winced.
'Came clean through the shield.' Bassius shook his head. 'Thirty years of war, and I have never seen a bow as powerful.'
