by R. W. Peake
Dotarzes, seeing the same thing, essentially reached the same conclusion, but his reaction was radically different, as he gasped, “That dog! He surrendered!”
Alarmed, Sherh turned to Dotarzes and exclaimed, “You don’t know that! None of us do! We need to wait until Darius tells us what to do!”
“You may obey that dog,” Dotarzes snarled, “but I’ve taken my last order from him!” Ignoring Sherh, he twisted in his saddle, roaring to his men, “Prepare to move! These minions,” he made a contemptuous gesture at the archers behind the pair, “may be willing to live like slaves, but not me! Cataphractoi, forward at the walk!”
And just that quickly, the last remnant of the might of the Parthian army obeyed Dotarzes, but despite his shock, Sherh could also see that a sizable number of the heavily armored horsemen, while they were obeying and putting their mount in motion, were clearly reluctant. They want to live as much as the rest of us, Sherh thought, but aside from this, he was at a loss what to do. Which was precisely what Darius had expected.
Darius was just ascending the hill when he sensed the movement to his right, and he turned to see that there was a slight but noticeable separation with the cataphractoi, who Darius could see were all mounted while, of the archers, only Sherh was astride his horse. So, he thought with grim satisfaction, he is really going to do it, the stupid, stupid man. He shook his head, regretting the waste, mainly of the horseflesh; although cataphractoi mounts weren’t practical for use by mounted archers, all Parthians appreciated quality mounts, and those horses were among the best in the world. None of this could be read in his face as he approached the entrenchments, but when he got close enough to do so, he gave Cyrus a nod, which in turn prompted the thin wail of the Parthian horn. Obeying immediately, although Darius could see that the men were confused, the archers who had been assigned to man the trench along with the spearmen began scrambling uphill at a run. Glancing over at the ridge, Darius saw that Dotarzes and his cataphractoi were now clearly separated from the archers, although they had all mounted and were beginning to mill about as the riders’ tension was transmitted through their bodies into their mounts. If one didn’t know the intent of the cataphractoi, they could simply be on the march, moving at a plodding gait, but Darius knew that Dotarzes was simply conserving the energy of the mounts who would propel the nobleman to glory, or so he believed. Once more Darius had to navigate around the end of the trench, so that when he came around the bulge of the hill, he saw that most of Cyrus’ men had reached their horses, leaping into the saddle then removing their bows from their quivers, and by the time he reached Cyrus, the rest had done so as well.
“He’s doing exactly what you thought he would,” Cyrus remarked, then in a lower voice asked, “And? What is our fate to be, Darius?”
Rather than give a direct answer, Darius gave his friend one of his most winning smiles, saying only, “I’ll let you know shortly, Cyrus.” Before Cyrus could respond, Darius’ smile vanished and he returned his attention to where Dotarzes was reaching the point where he knew the Romans would be able to see the cataphractoi. Darius’ eyes never left Dotarzes as he confessed somberly to Cyrus, “And much depends on how Caesar reacts once this fool is spotted.”
Despite the circumstances, Cyrus’ curiosity was so overwhelming that he asked Darius, “What is he like?”
Caught by surprise, Darius glanced over at Cyrus with a raised eyebrow. “Who? Caesar?” Darius laughed and said chidingly, “That can wait, Cyrus. First,” the smile left again as he returned his gaze to Dotarzes and his men, gauging the distance, “we have to provide Caesar with a demonstration that we can be trusted.”
“Do you really think this is going to work?” Cyrus had made no secret that he harbored doubts about the wisdom of Darius’ plan, when he had broached it just as the sun was coming up. “Aren’t you worried that Caesar will view it as we are betraying our own men?”
Darius didn’t answer Cyrus directly, choosing instead to look back at his friend and ask quietly, “Are those men really our own, Cyrus?”
Darius was surprised when Cyrus answered immediately, “Of course they are, Darius. They are Parthian, not Roman, and they are men under your command,”
Cutting Cyrus off, Darius replied coldly, “Men who are disobeying their commander. You know what the penalty is for that, Cyrus, as well as I do.”
This was something Cyrus couldn’t argue, so he didn’t try; besides, the Romans had just spotted the force of cataphractoi, prompting a flurry of movement, not with Caesar and his group, who had remained in the same spot where Darius had met them, but to the rear of the line of Legions that formed the upper part of the square. Too far away to make out any real detail, Darius didn’t need that to know what it meant.
“That’s the Roman cavalry,” Darius said, then he turned to Cyrus and said quickly, “It’s time, Cyrus.”
“They’re still too far away,” Cyrus protested, but Darius shook his head, and pointing at the movement, he countered, “We don’t have any choice.”
Cyrus didn’t argue the point, but when he was about to turn to his horn player, he immediately saw there was no need, and he turned back and gave Darius a nod.
“Follow me!” Darius shouted this even as he was turning his horse. “Those motherless dogs are betraying me by violating my orders! They are betraying you by threatening the agreement I’ve reached with Caesar! We must stop them!”
And, without waiting for a response, Darius put his horse to the gallop, knowing that he would be followed by these men; these men he could trust, because he was one of them.
From Titus Pullus’ perspective, what took place had a surreal quality to it, almost as if he had been sitting in the Circus watching the kind of performance that Caesar had arranged after his triumphs, where prisoners had been forced to battle each other to the death for the amusement of the crowds of Rome. The excitement had begun when, from the Fourth Cohort, which was the Cohort closest to the hill, the Cornicen had sounded the notes that signaled that enemy had been sighted. Because of their vantage point, the men of the Fourth saw the approaching force of cataphractoi first, but soon they came into view from around the shoulder of the ridge that towered over the western side of the small valley that was serving as the scene for this drama.
What became apparent very quickly was that their numbers were laughably small, to the point that Pullus’ Aquilifer Paterculus speculated, “Maybe it’s that Darius bastard’s personal bodyguard.”
Surprised, Pullus actually considered for a moment, then dismissed this by pointing to where he had last seen Darius, near the top of the hill. “Not likely, Paterculus. If they are, why’s he nowhere to be seen?” Suddenly, Pullus felt a stirring of unease, and he asked aloud, “Speaking of that bastard, where did he go? He was just there.”
The cornu signal had been relayed, and not surprisingly, it caused a stir, especially with the 3rd, directly across from Pullus, since these Parthians were approaching from a vulnerable quarter, but aside from turning to face in that direction, Spurius hadn’t given any orders to array themselves in a manner that would allow them to meet this seeming threat. Pullus’ estimate was that there weren’t more than a hundred men in the group, so the damage they could do to any of the Legions would be laughingly light. Although, he thought with a morbid amusement, unless you’re one of the unlucky bastards who get stuck with one of those lances. Suddenly, the thought came to Pullus what the real intent of this force might be.
“I think they’re going to try to get to Caesar,” he said to Paterculus, and his head turned to look over at where Caesar and his group were still sitting their horses, calmly waiting.
He relaxed slightly when he saw Gundomir and the other bodyguards maneuver their mounts to align themselves in front and around Caesar, essentially placing him in a box for his protection, which Pullus knew Caesar would hate.
“Primus Pilus! Look!”
Jerking his attention away from Caesar, Pullus looked where Paterculus was p
ointing; appearing over the shoulder of the hill came a large force of Parthians, these all obviously mounted archers, moving at the gallop downhill.
“All right, you dozy bastards!” Pullus roared. “Get your shields up and ready but wait for my command! I don’t think they’re going to get all the way over here, but you know how tricky these cunni are!”
Across from him, Pullus could see by the sudden rush of movement that Spurius had given the same order, but as they and the rest of the Roman army learned, they weren’t the target of this sudden attack. Pullus could see the Parthian commanding the cataphractoi, apparently alerted by one of the men in the rear of his formation, turn his head to see what by rights should have been comrades coming to support the attack. Clearly, he understood their real intent, because the heavy cavalry mounts suddenly broke into what could only be charitably called a canter. It was a futile gesture, as the faster, nimbler archers’ horses went galloping past, and as the Romans watched in astonishment, began launching their missiles at the lumbering cataphractoi. Fairly quickly, it became almost impossible to see because of the dust, but the Romans had seen enough to at least understand what was happening, if not why.
“They’re attacking their own men!” Paterculus gasped in shock, which Pullus shared, although he hid it better. Turning to Pullus, Paterculus asked, “Why would they do that, Primus Pilus?”
“I suppose,” Pullus replied, “whoever was leading those cataphractoi didn’t like the idea of whatever that Darius bastard agreed to.”
Paterculus’ reply reminded Pullus that just because a man might not have had any formal education, it didn’t mean they weren’t intelligent, because the Aquilifer pointed out, respectfully of course, “That’s not very likely, Primus Pilus. They were way over there, back behind that ridge where we couldn’t see them, and we both saw Darius go straight up that hill. How could whoever that is know what Darius did or didn’t agree to?”
“I’m not a fucking seer,” Pullus snapped, amused and irritated in equal measure, knowing that Paterculus was right, and Pullus should have thought of it himself. “Maybe,” he wasn’t being serious, but he actually came close to the truth, “they just hate each other more than they hate us.”
Quickly resigning himself to not learning about the cause and nature of this extraordinary event until later, Pullus became a spectator, just like the rest of the men, although as battles went, it wasn’t much. After moving at the gallop around the cataphractoi, who never got past a canter, and circulating around the shrinking force, leaving writhing animals and men strewn in its wake, the archers gradually slowed, then came to a stop, in a circle where every man was facing inward. Once the dust settled enough, Pullus and the other Romans were greeted by the sight of no more than a dozen men, half of them still mounted, although even as the scene became clear, one of the horses collapsed onto its knees, blood gushing from its mouth as its rider managed to land on both feet next to it. So arresting a sight was it that, as had been the case for most of the morning, the only sounds were the wind, but this time, it was the screaming horses and men in agony that mingled with it, and as hardened as he was, Pullus still grimaced at the sight and thought of animals suffering when they had no choice in their fate. It was a sensitivity that very, very few men knew about, although even if they had, they would have never mocked it to Pullus’ face. None of this was reflected in his demeanor, and in fact, the fate of the animals was quickly made secondary as it became clear that there was something of a standoff between the surviving cataphractoi and the victorious archers, who from what Pullus could see, hadn’t suffered the loss of a single man. Every single one of the cataphractoi had at least one arrow protruding from some part of their bodies, but Pullus had learned that the lamellar armor the Parthians wore was actually quite effective at blocking the iron heads of arrows to the point that, even if they did penetrate, it wasn’t likely to produce a fatal wound. Now, as Pullus could see by the dozens of bodies strewn along what appeared to be no more than four hundred paces before the cataphractoi could go no farther, one arrow wouldn’t likely to be fatal, but when a man is pierced by a dozen or more, there is no armor that can protect a man from that.
While Pullus had no way of knowing, he suspected that this pause in the action was by design, and if he had to guess, it was to allow the dust to settle sufficiently for Caesar, who was actually closer to the action than Pullus, to have a good view. There was some movement among the archers directly across from the surviving cataphractoi, who Pullus had noticed were doing some moving of their own, although it was quite subtle. When a man dismounted then walked a few steps away from the crowd of horses and men, only then did Pullus recognize that it was Darius himself, although he had returned his headband to its normal purpose. He was holding a sword of the Parthian style, and despite the distance, Pullus appraised him as only one of the best swordsmen in the Roman Legions could, and he grudgingly acknowledged that, unlike most archers he had seen, this Darius seemed to know what he was doing with it. He was also too far away to hear what was said, although he heard the sound well enough, but it was the manner in which Darius and one cataphractoi were behaving that told him more than their words would have communicated, even if he had understood them. And, for the first time, the cataphractoi seemed to see what Pullus had noticed a moment before, that the other ten men who were still on their feet had separated themselves from this man in a clear signal of repudiation. That this was so became obvious when Darius pointed over the other man’s shoulder with his sword, prompting the cataphractoi to risk a glance over his shoulder; the sudden slumping of the man’s shoulders was telling in itself. Not that it was enough to forestall what was about to happen.
As Darius planned, Caesar was in a position to not only see, but to hear the final part of a plan that, despite it only being a couple of Roman watches old, had worked better than Darius could have dreamed. Thundering down onto the flat, as Pullus had seen, one of his men shouted a warning to Dotarzes, but not only were cataphractoi horses slower at the gallop than archers’ mounts, they took longer to get up speed of any sort, so the warning was wasted. After that, the one surprise for Darius was seeing that Sherh hadn’t remained behind for long, and when he arrived within range of Dotarzes and his men, his missiles had mingled with those of Darius’ force. Circling around the cataphractoi in the same manner a pack of wolves will harry and guide a lumbering herd of cattle, Darius actually steered Dotarzes towards the spot where Caesar was still waiting, although he had been surrounded by a ring of bodyguards and the other officers of his group. Their first targets were the animals, although it took several missiles before they could be slowed, but very quickly, their riders were pierced with arrows as well. The result was a trail of carnage for almost a quarter mile before, finally, Dotarzes’ mount collapsed onto its knees, and there were a dozen men left, all of them with arrows protruding from some part of their bodies, and some of them dying on their feet. Slowing from the gallop down to a canter, then finally drawing up in front of Dotarzes, Darius slid off his horse, while Cyrus extended a sheathed sword to him hilt first. Drawing it one smooth motion, Darius was careful to move to a spot where he could face Dotarzes while giving Caesar an unimpeded view.
The two men faced each other, and Darius could see that Dotarzes was suffering from a serious wound to his lower side, but he didn’t feel the slightest flicker of pity as he said coldly, “You disobeyed your commander, Dotarzes.”
“Commander?” Dotarzes spat, and Darius could see that it appeared to be completely blood, leaving a scarlet stain on the ground, joining the other droplets dripping from the man. “You’re not a commander! You’re a peasant! You’re…”
“I’m the man who is going to put you down like the traitorous dog you are,” Darius replied calmly, and as he knew it would, this enraged Dotarzes.
“Traitor?” he repeated incredulously, and now Darius heard a wheezing sound that told him his, and Dotarzes’, time was running out. “You dare call me a traitor?” F
or the first time, Dotarzes acknowledged there were others besides the two Parthians, pointing his sword in Caesar’s direction as he demanded, “And what bargain did you make with this…Roman?” His face twisted with a hatred that was made more virulent because of its impotence. “You gave away the honor of Parthia for your life?”
“‘The honor of Parthia’.” Darius laughed mockingly. “The honor of Parthia isn’t with you and the men of your class Dotarzes. It never was. The honor of Parthia rests on the backs of men like me. And now,” Darius had more he wanted to say, but he knew Dotarzes wouldn’t be standing much longer, let alone able to move in a manner that made it seem as if he had a chance, “as your commander, I sentence you to death.”
Just as he had with the man he slew to take control, Darius moved faster than Dotarzes could react, although Darius did withhold his killing stroke long enough to allow Dotarzes to make one lunging attack. An ineffective one, and within a half-dozen heartbeats, Dotarzes’ head went spinning into the air, spraying blood, with the rest of his body collapsing in a heap. Only then did Darius turn to face the other cataphractoi, two of whom had already collapsed, dead or dying.
“You men have a choice,” he called out. Pointing down at Dotarzes’ corpse, still twitching, he said, “You can join him if you feel that your honor calls for it. Or,” at this, he turned and pointed to where Caesar, much like Pullus, was sitting watching as an interested observer, “you can join me and the rest of your comrades and join Caesar.” He paused for a moment, then in a quieter tone he added, “I know that none of you were with us at Susa, so you haven’t seen what Rome can do, but we,” he turned to indicate the mounted archers surrounding him, “have.” Shaking his head, Darius didn’t have to feign the sadness in his voice as he finished simply, “They cannot be beaten. The Parthia we knew is no more, and each of you must decide what is more important. Living to be part of what comes next for our country? Or,” he shrugged, “upholding your honor by dying here, like this dog?”
