Avenger of Rome gvv-3

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘Why don’t they come?’ Hanno demanded. ‘It would be the work of a moment to sweep us aside.’

  Valerius nodded silently. Such a horde could turn the sky black with arrows and force the Romans into the tortoise formation — the testudo — that made them invulnerable to missile attack, but, conversely, would leave them open to a charge by the heavy armoured cavalry that were somewhere out there in that great mass. The answer came to him. His ruse had worked better than he had believed possible.

  ‘It is because they think we are a full Roman legion. Through his spies, Vologases will know that Corbulo has marched, if not exactly where. Perhaps he has informed his generals, perhaps not. But the tribal chiefs who lead those warrior bands have been told that Armenia is already won and they are but an escort to see Vologases to his throne. This was to be a progression. They might expect some opposition from roving bands of Armenian rebels, but not this. Whoever commands the vanguard will look at our shields and see the prospect of all-out war with Rome. He dare not make his move without consulting Vologases himself, and Vologases dare not move without gauging the strength which opposes him.’

  ‘Then we have won?’

  ‘If Corbulo comes.’

  But the sun reached its zenith and still Corbulo did not come. Valerius ordered the last of the water distributed amongst the men behind the curved red shields and it was like nectar in their dust-caked throats. By now the cavalrymen were reeling on their feet and he wondered if they were even capable of meeting a Parthian charge, never mind repelling it. Yet when he marched along the ranks to inspect their dispositions they cheered him as if they had won a victory. He remembered Paulinus, the man he had to thank, for better or worse, for being here, and the stirring speech the then governor of Britain had made before Boudicca’s last battle. Valerius fervently wished he had the same words to say to his soldiers, but somehow they would not come. Not that it mattered. They knew the situation as well as he did. If Corbulo didn’t come, they were all dead.

  Still Corbulo didn’t come. But the King of Kings did.

  An ominous ripple ran through the ranks of the great army facing the Roman line and every man tensed to meet the attack. Valerius mounted Khamsin and took his place in the rear with Hanno and Serpentius at his side. From the centre of the Parthian horde a single figure emerged holding not a lance or a bow, but a branch of green leaves.

  ‘It seems the King of Kings wishes to talk,’ Hanno murmured.

  ‘Then let us not disappoint him.’ Valerius nudged his horse between the ranks and on to the plain, where he waited until Hanno joined him with an escort of mounted spearmen. Together they rode to greet the Parthian emissary.

  They met midway between the two mismatched forces and Hanno spoke to the Parthian in his own tongue.

  ‘He says that Sasan, spear carrier to Vologases, King of Kings, overlord of Armenia, conqueror of Elam, protector of the Medes, and lord of Babylon, Sagartia and Margiania wishes to discuss the terms of your surrender.’

  ‘Tell him that we came here to fight, not to talk, but if this Sasan speaks with the authority of the King of Kings we are willing to hear what he has to say.’

  Hanno spat out the translation and the warrior nodded. At a hidden signal the Parthian ranks opened and a dozen mounted men emerged at the trot, led by an astonishing figure who glittered with gold from the top of his helmeted head to the fringe of the chain mail trapper that covered his mount’s head, back and chest and extended to its knees. The rider was an enormous man wearing a long tunic of fish-scale armour, complemented by metal armlets and leggings. His gleaming helmet was topped by a plume of red horsehair and a mail curtain hung from the rear to protect his neck. This Parthian warlord had a face the gods had designed to project hatred. Dark eyes glared out from beneath beetle brows and the narrow, bitter mouth was topped by an enormous hooked nose and twisted in what might have been a smile or a sneer. Sasan wore his beard clubbed and plaited with brightly coloured ribbons and his broad moustaches fell below his cheeks. His escort carried spears twice the height of a man, but their commander’s only arms were a long sword hanging from a loop at his wrist and the curved dagger in his belt. Beside him rode a figure in an ornately embroidered tunic with a large drum hanging from either side of his saddle. Valerius remembered what he thought had been thunder earlier in the day and realized that the drums were the equivalent of the Roman trumpets which could carry signals across the noisiest battlefield. Vologases would know the outcome of the discussions before he and Hanno returned to the Roman lines. If they lived that long.

  The leader’s horse stood a head taller than Khamsin, and Valerius studied his enemy carefully as Sasan brought the beasts nose to nose, making the Akhal-Teke quiver and shift. Tall, savage and as pitiless as the harsh landscape that surrounded them, the Parthian returned his stare with contempt.

  ‘For myself, I would cut off the arms and legs of every Roman who insults my people with their presence and impale them alive as examples of what awaits the next invader who passes this way, but the King of Kings graciously accepts your surrender.’ The words were in precise Greek-accented Latin and uttered in a tone of bored irritation. ‘He will allow you to leave this place unharmed and unmolested with your arms and your standards on condition that you go immediately and do not stop until you are beyond the Euphrates.’

  Valerius frowned as if he was considering the offer.

  ‘Did I hear an ass bray, or was it the sound of an elephant farting?’ He directed the question at Hanno, but he noticed a glint of mild amusement in the Parthian’s eye. ‘We have travelled a long way and this legion is only one of many. They are weary and need rest. It would take several hours, perhaps days, to organize the march, so I must decline your king’s generous offer. Besides, the only invaders I see are the ones before me.’

  Sasan sniffed and spat in Valerius’s general direction.

  ‘Do not think your pathetic little army frightens me, Roman. When I destroyed the legions of General Paetus at Rhandea I learned to read their strength by their standards. I see beyond your tricks. A wall of legionary shields with auxiliaries shitting themselves behind them. But it does not matter. The King of Kings could destroy you with a snap of his fingers. The only thing that prevents him is a desire for peaceful progress. What you see is but a fraction of the multitude which escorts the King of Kings to inspect his brother’s dominions. Do you deny him that right? You are like a mouse beneath a buffalo’s hooves. If you will not go, then move aside lest it squash you into the dust.’ His eyes noticed the walnut fist. ‘You have been careless, it seems. It would be unfortunate were you to lose any further extremities. Will they replace thy head with a wooden one when I take it for a trophy?’

  ‘My head will remain on my shoulders while your bones moulder in the dust, Parthian.’ Valerius matched the other man’s tone. ‘We are here at King Tiridates’ invitation and here we stay. Tell your King of Kings to go back the way he came and no harm will come to him. Tell him that if he attacks me, he attacks General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, and if he attacks Corbulo he attacks Rome. Rome does not forget her enemies, but she remembers her friends. If your king is wise he will remain Rome’s friend.’

  ‘So the mouse squeaks defiance?’ Sasan laughed. ‘Good. It has been many a month since my spear tasted blood. I told Vologases he should have unleashed his hounds the moment our scouts reported you were blocking the valley. The next time you look at the sun, you will not see it for arrows. The next time you look at my face you will be screaming for mercy. Those who fight will be slaughtered. Those who yield will become beasts of burden carrying shit to my farmers’ fields. I will take your skull for a drinking bowl, your wooden hand for my dogs to chew and the fingers of the other to make a necklace for my wife.’ He turned his horse away. ‘You talk well, Roman. Now let us see how you fight.’

  As they rode back to the Roman position Valerius exchanged glances with Hanno. ‘That went better than I expected.’

  ‘Aye,’ th
e Syrian said. ‘I suppose they might have cut our throats then and there instead of making us wait.’

  ‘How do you kill a man like Sasan?’

  ‘First you kill his horse.’

  ‘All I saw of his horse was its eyes and its hooves.’

  Hanno nodded. ‘Fortunately, Sasan is one in ten thousand. The king’s spear carrier holds a high position in his court, almost a king in his own right. No ordinary man could afford such armour for warrior and horse. Most of the Parthian cataphracts wear body armour, but their horses are unprotected. It means the man is hard to kill, but the horse is not. But it is not the cataphracts we must fear. It is their archers who will kill us.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘An hour, perhaps less.’

  ‘Then pray that Corbulo comes soon.’

  XXXVII

  The attack would be in overwhelming strength. Vologases would mass his archers and savage the Roman ranks with endless showers of arrows that would turn the sky black. Shields or no shields, Valerius knew his men would suffer casualties. In an hour, perhaps less, a thousand of these men would be dead or injured. Perhaps he would be dead himself. And when the Roman line was holed and leaking blood, the King of Kings would send in his Invincibles, the armoured cavalry led by mighty warriors like Sasan. It was a battle which could have only one ending.

  But it takes time to position tens of thousands of archers, and time to organize the metal-clad spearmen who would follow them. Too much time.

  Because a blast of horns announced that Corbulo had come.

  ‘Legate Traianus sends his compliments and where would you like us, sir?’

  Valerius turned to find a breathless Tiberius at his shoulder, grinning like a boy presented with his first toga. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder.

  ‘Your ugly face has never been more welcome, tribune. Tell Traianus I suggest he places the Tenth Fretensis in front of the auxiliary line. Cohort formation, with his flanks anchored against the valley walls. The cohorts of the Fifteenth and the auxiliary infantry will form the second line.’

  The young man ran off and Valerius watched with Serpentius as, to the sound of the familiar trumpet calls, the legionary heavy infantry streamed through the gaps in the pit line and along the front of the relieved auxiliaries, effortlessly moving from column to cohort. The legion was formed of ten cohorts, the tactical fighting unit of the Roman army, nine of them made up of four hundred and eighty men organized into six centuries of eighty legionaries each, plus the elite first cohort, almost double that strength with eight hundred men. The first included the legion’s aquilifer, who carried the eagle standard and took his place behind the line beside his legate. The cavalrymen began cheering and Hanno opened his mouth to stop them, but Valerius interrupted him.

  ‘Leave them be. Ten minutes ago they thought they were dead. Let them celebrate.’

  ‘If they had any sense they’d attack us now.’ Serpentius pointed to where the enemy archers wheeled and circled in apparent confusion.

  Valerius nodded. Even with reinforcements pouring into the valley the Roman position would never be more vulnerable than now, with the defensive line half formed and the men weary from the long march. But half a mile away Vologases waited — and did nothing.

  ‘That’s the trouble with having an enormous army.’ The clatter of hooves announced Corbulo’s arrival, along with his aides and signallers. ‘It takes a long time for commands to be distributed. Any of Vologases’ generals who acted without orders would face the strangling rope, even if his actions resulted in victory.’

  Valerius studied him for any sign of irony, but clearly Corbulo didn’t equate his own position with that of a Parthian general.

  ‘What is your estimate of enemy numbers?’

  ‘Anything between sixty and seventy thousand, plus the usual slaves, stockmen and baggage carriers…’

  ‘… and King Vologases’ harem.’ Corbulo frowned at Hanno’s intervention and Valerius could swear the Syrian blushed under his dark skin. ‘He is said to have three hundred wives,’ Hanno stumbled on, ‘and will certainly have brought at least half with him.’

  ‘Then you must be sure not to inconvenience them, Valerius.’ Hanno looked mystified and Corbulo continued, ‘Seventy thousand? Similar odds to those faced by my old friend Suetonius against your rebel queen.’

  ‘Similar odds and a similar position,’ Valerius confirmed. Suetonius Paulinus had lured Boudicca to the field of his choice. A long shallow slope bounded by trees and hills to left and right to ensure he wouldn’t be outflanked. And on that slope the flower of Boudicca’s army died. ‘But not a similar enemy. Boudicca’s warriors were brave, but they weren’t organized. They knew how to fight as individuals and they died as individuals. Vologases’ army knows how to kill Romans and they enjoy doing it.’ He thought he might have gone too far, but Corbulo only nodded distractedly.

  ‘Then we must ensure the same outcome despite that uncomfortable fact.’

  Valerius didn’t mention the other similarity in the position of the two armies. Suetonius had left himself nowhere to retreat. If the Roman line had been broken the legionaries would have been slaughtered to the last man.

  ‘Withdraw your troops when the Tenth is in position,’ the general said. ‘Make sure they are rested, fed and watered. You’ve done well, Valerius. You have given us a chance. But there is more work to do. I’ll give you two hours, and then you must be in the saddle. Leave me one cohort of light cavalry to keep King Vologases amused.’

  Valerius saluted and left Hanno to organize his men. On the way back to the horses he and Serpentius met Tiberius as the tribune hurried back to his general.

  Valerius hailed the young soldier. ‘Fortuna be with you, Tiberius. I said you would have your chance to become a hero. Well, this is it.’

  Tiberius’s eyes darkened. ‘I had hoped to fight at your side.’

  Valerius smiled. ‘There will be other times, Tiberius.’

  ‘What…?’

  ‘You know better than to ask. A good soldier obeys orders and keeps his mouth shut. For Rome.’

  The younger man looked incredibly vulnerable as he returned the salute. ‘For Rome.’

  Serpentius commented, ‘The Parthians will eat him alive.’

  ‘No.’ Valerius studied the retreating back. ‘I don’t think they will.’

  His unit commanders were waiting at the mouth of the valley, and he quizzed them on the readiness of each cohort until Hanno arrived. When he finally revealed their mission a few of them shook their heads in disbelief, but no one questioned the plan and they dispersed to alert their troops.

  Two hours later Valerius rode north at the head of Corbulo’s cavalry, leaving to their fate the two legions who would soon be facing the combined might of Vologases’ archers and cataphracts. He could feel the confusion and disappointment in his men. They were soldiers, and conditioned to obey orders without question, but that didn’t stop them wondering why they were riding away from a battle. Well, they would find out soon enough. In an hour he would turn east towards the mountains of ancient Mazandaran and the Great Sea; a land that had defeated even Alexander. Auxiliary units arriving with the rearguard of Corbulo’s force stared unhappily as their cavalry deserted them. There were a few shouts of derision, but Valerius and his men ignored them. The squeak of wheels alerted him to the arrival of a line of heavily laden carts. He remembered his puzzlement when he had noticed them in the baggage train at Zeugma. Now he saw again the massed ranks of Parthian warriors packed into the valley and thought he understood. So that was what the old fox intended?

  With a last look back to where Corbulo awaited the first Parthian attack, he urged Khamsin forward.

  To whatever fate would bring.

  At first the going was easy on the dry flatlands north of the mountains. Valerius was able to deploy his regiments three abreast across the plain and minimize the dust cloud by keeping them to a walk. Only when they were well away from the valley did he ha
ve his signaller sound the trot. At first, the entire force was contained within a square mile of grassland, but, gradually, the country became more broken and the troopers were forced back into column. Even riding eight abreast Valerius was dismayed to realize his force stretched back almost five miles. Petronius, the engineer who had accompanied Corbulo’s expeditions, rode at Valerius’s side, occasionally consulting one of his scrolls and studying his surroundings with fierce concentration.

  ‘This is it,’ he said when they reached a path leading up a valley identical to a dozen others they had passed.

  Valerius thought he sensed doubt. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Certain.’

  ‘How many times have you been this way?’

  ‘Once. Eight years ago.’

  ‘Once?’

  Petronius nodded. ‘Once.’ He saw the look in Valerius’s eye. ‘But I’m certain.’

  The ground rose gradually and the path became less distinct. To their front lay what appeared to be an impenetrable mountain range, but for now Valerius kept his concerns to himself. He and Petronius rode ahead of the column until they reached a small plateau. When Valerius looked back he felt his spirits quail. By now it was almost dusk. In the golden haze the dust raised by the line of cavalrymen stretched far into the distance, snaking along a track that was now only wide enough to accommodate two horses at a time. The men at the tail would still be far out on the plain. It was impossible.