‘Take it away,’ Gallia said to Surena, ‘it’s disgusting.’
Surena grinned. ‘Your wish is my command, lady. I shall go and show Crassus what has happened to his son.’
He gave a whoop of victory and then turned his horse around and galloped away with his men following.
As dusk was fast approaching Vagises began withdrawing his men plus those of Gordyene. The Roman Army still existed but it had been severely battered and had there been but two more hours of light left we might have shot it to pieces, just as we had done with the troops of Publius Crassus. As it was we withdrew from the field, taking as many of our dead as we could, leaving behind only those who were within javelin range of the enemy.
Byrd and Malik and their scouts stayed on the field until well after darkness had enveloped the land to ensure that the Romans did not send out any parties of horsemen to raid us, but they returned after we had made camp three miles to the east with news that the enemy remained immobile in their square. The last of our number to leave the battlefield was Surena and his bodyguard, the King of Gordyene riding up and down in front of the Romans, taunting them with the head of Publius Crassus and shouting insults at them, demanding that they send a champion from their ranks to fight him in single combat. He shouted for Crassus himself to come forward to avenge his son’s death but the Romans remained stationary and silent in their ranks and eventually Surena tired of their lack of response and left them to endure a night without shelter, food and water. It had been a day that had exceeded all expectations and I was forced to rethink my strategy.
‘Crassus is finished,’ said Surena, sitting on a stool after having planted the spear on which the head of Crassus’ son was impaled next to his tent before joining us round a fire.
‘I am apt to agree with Surena,’ said Vagises, chewing on a piece of cured meat.
The squires, who had taken no part in the battle, now stood sentry over the camp as the horse archers of Dura and Gordyene and my cataphracts rested their weary bodies under the stars.
‘You have won a great victory, lord,’ continued Surena.
‘I have won nothing,’ I contradicted him. ‘The Roman Army still exists and tomorrow will attempt to reach the safety of the walls of Carrhae, ten miles to the north. Only after we have prevented it from doing so can we claim victory.’
Surena would have none of it. ‘You did not see the damage inflicted on the Romans by our arrows. Men were being shot down where they stood and pulled back into the square, and on all four sides bodies were being pierced with ease.’
‘I have to agree,’ added Vagises. ‘Arsam’s arrows proved their worth today.’
‘And do not forget the Romans that were killed on the hillock, lord, and at the hands of your own cataphracts,’ continued Surena.
‘We must have killed upwards of six or seven thousand,’ suggested Vagises, ‘plus the ones killed or wounded in the square.’
‘That still leaves over forty thousand men to our less than ten,’ I reminded them. ‘We will wait until the morning before becoming too triumphant.’
I spent most of the night walking around the camp, talking to those who also could not sleep and congratulating them on their conduct during the battle. The morale of the men was high, especially among the cataphracts who had defeated their Roman opponents, and everyone was talking about the new swords and how their blades had sliced through Roman steel with ease. I also took the opportunity to view the five hundred Roman prisoners who had been corralled in a small gully near the camp. They had been given dates to eat but no water since we could spare none. They would have to wait for the dawn when they would be escorted to the Balikh to slake their thirsts. They looked tired, demoralised and frightened by their predicament, and many carried battle wounds. Two companies of bowmen guarded them but I doubted any would attempt to escape, unlike their comrades to the west on the Plain of Carrhae.
The only person who was not happy, and appeared close to despair, was Spartacus. When I returned to my tent I found him pacing up and down and muttering to himself.
‘They say that talking to oneself is either a sign of madness or proof that one who does so has the ear of the gods,’ I said.
He stopped pacing and muttering and looked at me, his unhappy face cast in a red glow by the fire nearby.
‘I certainly do not have the ear of the gods,’ he fumed.
I pointed to a stool and sat on another.
‘Sit down, you will wear out your boots with all that pacing.’
He sat beside me, mumbling under his breath.
‘What’s the matter?’
He suddenly looked totally forlorn. ‘I will never be with Rasha now.’
‘Ah, I see. You think that your chance of taking an eagle has eluded you?’
‘Yes.’
‘The battle is not over, Spartacus, far from it. Tomorrow is another day. You must have faith.’
I was beginning to sound like Dobbai, much to my consternation.
‘Surena says that that Romans are finished and will flee back to Carrhae.’
‘He is right that they will make for Carrhae,’ I said, ‘but they are far from finished. They are only ten miles from safety. This battle is not over.’
Chapter 18
The new day dawned bright and sunny and the army was in the saddle early, three companies of Surena’s horse archers having been left behind to guard the prisoners who would be transported west to the Balikh River after we had determined where Crassus and his army were. That was solved when we rode back on to the battlefield to discover it had gone, leaving behind hundreds of wounded men occupying the area where a day earlier the great square of legionaries had stood. Byrd and Malik had ridden out of camp before dawn and now they returned with news that the main force of Romans was strung out on the road to Carrhae.
‘We ride very close but they make no moves against us,’ reported Byrd.
‘How far away?’ I asked.
‘Three miles,’ answered Malik.
I waved forward Vagises.
‘Take your horse archers and kill as many as you can but do not get too close to Carrhae. There are no doubt horsemen among the garrison.’
He saluted and gestured to his waiting officers to attend him.
‘And Vagises,’ I said, ‘take care of yourself. No heroics.’
He smiled and then went to brief his commanders, and within minutes nearly three thousand horse archers were cantering north to harry the Roman retreat.
Most of the casualties we had suffered the day before had been among Surena’s men — six hundred killed and another three hundred wounded — and so four hundred of his men remained in camp to care for the injured, in addition to those who were guarding the prisoners. But he still retained just under four and half thousand men and now those horsemen deployed around the groups of standing, lying or sitting Roman wounded. What a pitiful sight they were: cut and bleeding men with broken bones, listless faces and torn tunics, waiting in dumb silence as we decided their fate.
‘What do you wish to do with them, lord?’ asked Surena, who had thankfully left his gruesome trophy in camp.
Gallia looked at me in expectation that I would give the order to kill them. We did not have enough medicines to treat their wounds and no wagons to transport them to the nearest town, which in any case was occupied by the Romans. In truth I was reluctant to order their murder because they were unarmed and helpless and I liked to think of myself as a soldier not a butcher. As I heard the laughter of Dobbai in my mind I saw one of Surena’s men dismount and offer a waterskin to a Roman whose left arm was in a sling. The Roman reached out to take the leather container when he saw a horse archer nearby pulling back the string on his bow to test the tension. Thinking an arrow was nocked in it the Roman drew his dagger and stabbed the Parthian in front of him, who collapsed to the ground clutching his stomach. Surena saw it too.