As we halted and the horse archers formed into their companies behind us the land to the north of our position was filled with hill men being led by groups of horse archers. Directly ahead of us my father’s horsemen had driven deep into the enemy ranks and were now scything down the hill men around them. My father and Gafarn led over eleven thousand men against these heathens, but were vastly outnumbered by an enemy that now seemed certain to overwhelm them. Looking left and right I estimated that each formation of enemy horsemen numbered around a thousand men, and behind them came more than that number of hill men on foot.
Either side of my father’s army I counted ten such groups of horsemen – twenty thousand horse archers – not counting the ones that the Hatrans were fighting. If each one was accompanied by three times that number of hill men then there were at least eighty thousand enemy troops heading our way!
I turned to Surena. ‘We must aid my father else he will be surrounded.’
‘Yes, lord.’
He gave the command to his officers to prepare to charge as I passed word to the Babylonians to move forward as my father’s horsemen disappeared among an ocean of hill men. The enemy now surrounded them. Something caught my eye on the right and I saw two enemy groups peeling off to head towards Surena’s camp.
‘Surena,’ I called, pointing towards his camp, ‘who is still in your camp?’
‘Farriers, grooms, veterinaries, the wounded; four hundred or so.’
The enemy, who would butcher all those inside, would soon overrun his camp. Surena’s camel train and its drivers were located behind us, along with the camels of Hatra and Dura. The only chance of saving those inside the camp was to evacuate them via the western entrance and get them inside Dura’s camp, whose ramparts were manned by squires armed with bows.
‘Send a thousand of your men to intercept those soldiers heading for your camp,’ I ordered him, forgetting he was a king, ‘otherwise they will be slaughtered.’
He nodded and called forward one of his officers who then rode back to his men. Within minutes a thousand riders were galloping to intercept the enemy before they reached the camp.
‘Gallia,’ I shouted, ‘get the camel trains back to our camp. Take the Babylonians with you.’
She pointed her bow ahead. ‘I would rather fight that horde.’
‘Do as you are told,’ I shouted. ‘The battle hangs in the balance and I don’t have time to argue with you.’
She did not respond but tugged savagely on Epona’s reins to wheel her away, followed by the Amazons. I nodded at Surena who dug his knees into his horse to urge it forward. Behind us seven thousand horse archers from Gordyene galloped forward to save my father.
The air was thick with arrows as we charged among the enemy masses. The enemy horse archers broke left and right to avoid our arrowhead formation but the hill men were not so lucky. As we galloped forward the front ranks shot arrows in quick succession at those men on foot before us. The hill men had little discipline and fought as part of a rabble, relying on weight of numbers to overwhelm an opponent. Against disciplined soldiers in formation they were easy meat. Most tried to get out of our way, scattering left and right, though others attempted to make a stand and formed a ragged shield wall in front of our charge. Loosing up to seven arrows a minute we shot their flimsy defences to pieces before we reached them, and then we were through them to reach the Hatrans.
Surena rode off to order his men to deploy left and right behind my father’s troops to create a corridor of horsemen along which the Hatrans could withdraw.
I rode forward past companies of Hatran horse archers who were darting at the hill men with their swords drawn, obviously out of arrows. The enemy horse archers deployed behind the seething mass of hill men still had ammunition, however, and were thinning Hatran numbers with their accurate shooting. Fortunately this ceased abruptly when Surena’s companies began to shoot back at them, forcing them to retire.
I rode on to where a group of my father’s bodyguard was standing, my father’s banner being held by a dismounted cataphract next to them. I felt a knot in my stomach and knew something was terribly wrong. Other members of my father’s bodyguard faced outwards on their horses to form a cordon around this group, and beyond them the rest of my father’s heavy horsemen were keeping the enemy at bay with their swords, maces and axes, launching short, disciplined charges against the hill men, riding among them to split heads and pierce unarmoured bodies, before withdrawing to reform.
I rode up to the group of men on foot and slid off Remus’ back. They recognised me and parted, bowing their heads as they stepped aside, and then my knees nearly gave way. Lying on the ground in front of me, being cradled by Gafarn, was the bloodstained body of my father. I fell to my knees beside him and looked in despair at the ashen-faced Gafarn.
‘He was pulled from his horse and injured,’ my brother said quietly.
I looked at the blood seeping through the bandages near his left shoulder and realised that his attacker must have delivered the strike under the arm.
My father opened his eyes. ‘Ah, Pacorus.’
His voice was very weak.
I held his right hand, the tears coming to my eyes.
‘I am here, father.’
‘You are king now, my son.’
I felt grief grip my insides. ‘Nonsense. We will get you back to camp, father, to tend to your wound.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Take care of your mother and tell her that I have loved her always and will wait for her.’
He looked at Gafarn, who stared unblinking at our father. ‘You must take care of your brother, my son, for he is apt to get himself into trouble.’
‘I shall, father,’ Gafarn replied, tears running down his cheeks.
‘All will be well,’ my father’s voice was very faint, ‘Shamash be with you.’
My father’s eyes remained open but they were lifeless as they stared into the blue sky. As tears blurred my sight I closed his eyes with my hand and kissed his forehead. I had been unaware of Vistaspa’s presence but now I saw him standing at my father’s feet holding his head in his hands, sobbing like a small child. Thus died Varaz, King of Hatra, and son of Sames. The others around us stood with their heads bowed in stunned silence as Gafarn gently laid my father on the ground and covered his body with his cloak.
With difficulty I rose to my feet and took a few paces to be by Gafarn’s side. I took his arm and raised it aloft.
‘The king is dead. Long live the king, Gafarn, King of Hatra.’
As one they shouted. ‘Hail King Gafarn.’
Gafarn looked at me with tears still coursing down his cheeks. ‘What madness is this?’
‘No madness, brother. I relinquish my claim to Hatra’s throne. You are now its king. Rule long and wisely.’
An arrow slammed into the ground at our feet and I became aware once more of the sounds of battles raging all around us.
‘Our grief will have to wait, Gafarn. We must get out of this death trap.’
Hatra’s cataphracts, largely immune from the enemy’s arrows, were tiring under the relentless onslaught of the hill men, their dead piled high around the ring of Hatran steel. A stretcher was fashioned from lengths of broken kontus shafts and then four of my father’s bodyguard carried their king’s body back to my camp. His heavy cavalry formed a rear guard as Surena’s horse archers poured withering volleys into the enemy mass. Mercifully the enemy horse archers had stopped their shooting, having expended their own supply of arrows, thus enabling us to escape relatively unscathed.
I rode in the rear guard alongside Vistaspa, who in his grief seemed determined to get himself killed. As companies of heavy horsemen formed into arrowhead formation and charged at groups of hill men, riding among them, slashing at them with swords and maces, moving at all times to prevent the exposed legs of their horses being cut by enemy blades, before turning and withdrawing, Vistaspa rode at an enemy group on his own.
There were a dozen of them,
great hairy brutes stripped to the waist and carrying two-handed axes that they swung as though they were feathers. He rode straight at them, initially scattering them and then splitting one of their skulls with a back slash of his sword as he passed. But they chased after him and when he attempted to turn around when another group barred his way, a heathen in the first group grabbed the reins of his horse. Vistaspa severed the man’s hand with a downward cut of his sword but another axe man swung his weapon into his leg armour, denting the metal and causing Vistaspa to scream in agony and drop his sword. At that moment Surena released his bowstring and shot the man who had tried to sever Vistaspa’s leg, then killed another standing beside him and kept on shooting arrows at his assailants as I rode towards him.
Half of them were dead by the time I reached his side.
‘Lord Vistaspa, I order you to fall back.’ I looked at his dented leg armour that was now covered in blood.
‘Move!’
He nodded and rode away as a crazed hill man, all hair and muscles, ran at me with his giant axe held over his head. I charged and swung my sword at him, lopping off his head with a single stroke. As half a dozen cataphracts rode in front to give me cover, my would-be killer’s headless body lay twitching on the ground.
The enemy halted their attacks and withdrew sharply when Orodes appeared with his companies, having ridden to assist us when word reached him about what had happened. The fighting ceased abruptly as a great column of his men rode north to form a screen to allow the battered soldiers of Hatra to escort their dead king in peace. I dismounted and walked beside his body as it was carried back to camp, Gafarn beside me but saying nothing as we trudged disconsolately along. We were joined by Orodes who was likewise grief stricken.
We walked across ground that was strewn with dead: men, horses and camels, their bodies either ripped open by metal blades or pierced by arrows. Orodes answered the questions that were going through my mind.
‘The hill men sacked Surena’s camp after those inside had been evacuated. Gallia also managed to get many of the camels carrying spare arrows back to your camp, Pacorus, but not all. I am afraid to say that the Hatran, Median and Babylonian camps were also overrun before we forced the enemy back.’
‘There is room in my camp for everyone,’ I said without emotion.
As the long column of horsemen and their exhausted mounts walked to the eastern entrance to the Duran camp the sun began to set in the west, a great yellow ball of fire set against an orange background. I closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would welcome my father into heaven and that he would be granted a place of honour at His table, for such a great and wise king deserved it. I opened my eyes as the sound of kettledrums once more sounded in the south.
Chapter 18
They hit us at twilight, when the last vestiges of light were disappearing from the world, a demented rush of feral men who hurled themselves against all four sides of the camp. Having flooded Surena’s camp and destroyed the tents of the Medians, Babylonians and Hatrans, the hill men now concentrated their fury against my own camp, thinking that it too would easily succumb to their savage attacks. But they had reckoned without the skills of Marcus Sutonius.
The squires and civilians had originally erected the camp but Marcus had subsequently strengthened it further. The surrounding ditch was eight feet deep on all sides, having a width of four feet at the bottom and twelve feet at the top due to its sloping sides, and the bottom of the ditch was lined with blocks of wood fitted with iron spikes to impale anyone who fell on them. Behind the ditch stood an eight-foot-high earth rampart surmounted by a wall of stakes, with additional stakes set in the rampart pointing outwards at an angle of forty-five degrees to make it difficult to scale.
As the last horsemen rode into camp and the eastern entrance was barred with wagons and logs covered with many long iron spikes positioned in front of them, the Zagros tribes gathered in their war bands and then charged our defences. The ramparts were initially defended by squires before the horse archers dismounted and sprinted to reinforce them, Domitus also assigning legionaries to use their shields as a barrier against the hail of light axes, javelins and arrows that was being hurled against those standing behind the stakes. Fortunately there was a distance of one hundred paces between the tenting area and the perimeter rampart all round the inside of the camp, but even so missiles still landed among tents and animals to inflict wounds, some fatal.
I ran to the northern wall where the attack was heaviest, the air filled with screams and shouts as I neared the rampart. I had ordered Gallia to stay with Domitus, who with Kronos was organising reserves of legionaries to be deployed all round the inside of the perimeter, to the rear of the rampart, in case the enemy broke through. She ignored my order and led her Amazons behind me as I ran up the bank of earth to join those fighting on its summit. The area beyond the ditch was heaving with the enemy, many of whom had been felled by arrows before they reached the ditch. The latter was now choked with the twisted bodies of the dead and dying as archers around me poured volley after volley into the seemingly endless mass of hill men that stretched far into the distance.
Legionaries were holding their shields above the stakes on the rampart as the enemy archers on their stationary horses shot at us from a range of around four hundred paces. As more and more of our own horse archers came onto the wall parties of squires were ordered to fall back to bring more ammunition to the rampart.
I dumped my quiver on the floor and stood beside a legionary whose shield had been struck by two arrows. A squire beside me released his bowstring and then beamed with delight when he saw me.
‘We are holding them, majesty.’
‘You are doing well,’ I told him.
I bent down to pull an arrow from my quiver and heard a dull thud and then a groan, and turned to see an axe imbedded in the squire’s skull. He collapsed on the ground, dead.
Despite their furious efforts the enemy could not breach our defences because the ditch was too wide and they had no scaling ladders to climb up our wall of earth, so they brought forward those carrying light javelins and throwing axes and launched them at us, reinforced by the arrows of horse archers positioned to the rear. I gave the order for everyone on the wall to kneel to present a smaller target to the enemy as we had already lost too many squires, who wore no armour on their bodies or heads. More legionaries came to the wall and formed an unbroken wall of shields along its top, behind which we could shoot our own arrows at the enemy below. The hill men had suffered enormous casualties by now and their bloodlust was starting to abate, especially when the archers on the walls poured volley after volley against the javelin throwers standing just to the rear of the ditch. The latter, half-naked, were slaughtered and so the rest of the hill men withdrew into the night, leaving their dead behind them. The assault against the northern wall had failed.
I heard my name being called and saw Domitus standing behind the rampart with Kronos and Marcus. I slapped the shoulder of the legionary whose shield had protected us both and then walked down the earth slope.
‘The southern wall is being assaulted,’ said Domitus.
‘More hill men?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘These are professionals and they have killed quite a few of our men.’
‘They are standing behind shields the height of man,’ added Kronos, ‘and wear scale armour, helmets and mail face masks.’
‘Royal foot archers,’ I said. ‘How many?’
‘About two thousand,’ said Domitus. ‘Do you want me to send out some cohorts against them?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘Marcus, this is a task for your shield piercers, I think.’
He nodded and scurried off.
‘I will get some of my men to assist him,’ said Kronos, saluting and then following Marcus.
‘Pull as many men off the wall as is safe,’ I called after him. ‘Don’t give them any easy victories.’
Gallia joined us as the bodies of two horse arc
hers were carried from the wall.
‘I heard about your father,’ said Domitus. ‘I grieve for you.’
Gallia embraced me. ‘He was a great man, Pacorus. We will miss him.’
I had no time for grief, though, not with what was left of the army penned in camp and surrounded on all sides.
‘Where are the kings?’ I asked.
‘With their men,’ replied Domitus.
‘Go and see that the threat against the southern wall is dealt with. I will gather the kings so we can decide our plan for tomorrow.’
I pointed at Gallia.
‘You are with me.’
Domitus paced away as I began to walk towards the command tent. My father’s body had been placed in the tent that usually housed the griffin standard, which had been temporarily relocated to stand beside the Exiles’ lion.
‘Surena warned us about this,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘That we were walking into trap. Narses has out-foxed us once again.’
‘What will you do now?’
I shrugged. ‘That will be for Orodes to decide.’
‘And how are you, Pacorus?’
I stopped and faced her. ‘My father is dead, our army is half-beaten and the enemy appears as strong as when we first engaged them yesterday. I cannot believe it has come to this.’
Her expression hardened. ‘You must remain strong. We can still achieve victory.’
‘You really think so?’
‘I have never doubted it.’
Fortified by my wife’s certainty that we would emerge victorious I decided to conduct a tour of the camp before I met the kings, which unfortunately served only to dampen my spirits once more. In the hospital Alcaeus and his medical staff were working tirelessly to stitch wounds, bind broken limbs and extract arrows from flesh. Gallia went among the wounded and tried to comfort them with soft words. We came across one of the injured, a squire lying in a cot, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped round his stomach.
‘Javelin in the stomach,’ remarked Alcaeus. ‘He won’t see the dawn.’
Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles) Page 63
