‘The legions will deploy side-by-side in two lines, not three. In this way we can present as broad a front as possible in the centre of our line.’
I looked at Nergal. ‘Your horse archers will be with me on the right wing, interspersed between the cataphracts, just as we did at Dura last year, but you yourself will be on the left wing leading the lords and their men.’
This would give Nergal ten thousand men to command, a massive number to deploy on one wing.
‘No reserve?’ queried Domitus.
‘A small reserve,’ I replied. ‘I will come to that. Nergal, you must extend your line as far as possible, so the Romans will have to place troops in front of you. Hopefully this will dissipate their strength in the centre.’
‘What about me and my men?’ asked Orodes.
I smiled at him. ‘I would consider it an honour if you joined me on the right, Orodes.’
‘Or you could stand beside me,’ said Domitus, ‘see a bit of real fighting for a change instead of galloping around waving your sword in the air like Pacorus does.’
They all laughed and Nergal slapped Orodes on the back. Even facing great odds their morale was unshakable.
‘Have no fear, Orodes,’ said Gallia, ‘I and my Amazons will be riding beside you.’
‘I had hoped, my love,’ I said tentatively, ‘that the Amazons might form a reserve behind Domitus’ men.’
‘Well, you thought wrong.’
More laughter as Gallia stood before me, unbending. I held up my hand. ‘Very well. May Shamash protect us all and give us victory this day.’
They gave a hearty cheer and then we departed for our commands. Though it was early morning it was already warm; it would be a hot day. The legionaries were marching across the plain and deploying opposite the enemy, while on the wings the horse was also forming up. Each lord led his own followers, which meant that there were twenty blocks of horse archers, each numbering around five hundred men. They looked imposing and were spread over a great distance, but these horsemen lacked the discipline of my cataphracts and Nergal’s horse archers. They were essentially hardy farmers who could ride and were expert in using a bow in the saddle. Their only advantage was their numbers. On the right wing it was very different. Here we only had seventeen hundred men, plus Gallia’s Amazons, a further one hundred, but these men were, I liked to think, the best-trained horsemen in the empire. We would first deal with the Roman cavalry we faced by placing horse archers among the cataphracts. The archers would ride beside the heavy cavalry, shooting their bows as the two lines closed. Even if the Romans matched our tactics their bows did not have the range of our recurve type. When it came to the melee, those enemy horsemen who still lived would stand no chance against my armoured horsemen. And then we would reform and wheel left to attack the exposed left flank of the Roman foot.
It took two hours to get the army into its battle positions, and shortly afterwards the enemy came into view. No, that is incorrect — we heard them first, a great rumbling noise that came from the horizon. Straining my eyes to peer at the distant haze at first I saw nothing. Then, as if by magic, the horizon was filled with a long black line. It shimmered in the heat and seemed to just stand still, not getting larger or smaller. But the noise increased, a loud rasping sound as thousands of sandal-clad feet tramped towards us. And then the black line dissolved to become rows of shields and a forest of javelins, the sun glinting off their points. It was a seemingly unending line of legionaries marching towards us, cohort after cohort moving in perfect unison.
Directly opposite us was the cavalry of their left wing, spearmen with oval shields protecting their left sides. And beside them was a remorseless tide of wood, leather and steel, red banners dotted along the line and trumpet calls rending the hot air. I nudged Remus forward so that I moved ahead of the first line of our horsemen, most of whom had their helmets pushed up on their heads. Dura’s cataphracts were a ferocious sight in their full-face helmets, but for the wearer it could become unbearably hot very quickly.
Then the Romans halted and there was silence, an oppressive silence as thousands of men stared at each other across the thin strip of ground, no wider than four hundred paces, that separated the two armies. Horses scraped at the earth and chomped on bits, others flicked their tails to rid themselves of the flies that buzzed around them. Some legionaries were standing ahead of the front ranks beside their scorpion bolt throwers, while the vast majority of their comrades rested their shields on the ground as they waited for the killing to begin. I had seen scorpions in Italy and how effective they were. In appearance the scorpion looked like a large bow lying parallel to the ground on a wooden bolt carrier, the whole on a wooden stand. Just under the height of a man’s chest, the scorpion was a complex piece of equipment, the two arms that fired the two-foot-long bolt being pushed through ropes made of animal sinews, which are then twisted to create hugely powerful tension devices that push each arm forwards. The arms are then pulled back by means of a bowstring, the bolt is placed on the carrier and then the bowstring is released. The bolt has a range of around five hundred feet and can inflict terrible damage on the densely packed ranks of an enemy.
And then, behind me, I heard horn blasts and drums. I looked round and saw no movement in my ranks, aside from others peering behind them. Then the sounds from behind us grew louder and suddenly to our right, from the desert vastness, came similar sounds. Suddenly I saw a rider, and then another and another, until the horizon was filled with horsemen. And I saw banners flying and windsocks. Then I caught sight of a banner I had not seen in a long time. A great scarlet square embossed with a white horse’s head — the standard of my father. The army of Hatra had come.
As rank upon rank of cataphracts formed up to swell and extend our right wing, my father and Vistaspa galloped to where I was sitting, halting their horses beside me. They were accompanied by wild cheering from Dura’s army as the news of their salvation spread through its ranks.
Vistaspa bowed his head to me and then wheeled his horse away to oversee the proper deployment of his companies.
‘Well, Pacorus,’ said my father, gazing at the Roman masses opposite, ‘you know how to pick a fight, I give you that.’
For a moment I was speechless, hardly believing what I was seeing was real. And then other riders came from the desert, and I knew that Shamash had performed a miracle for me. Gotarzes trotted over to halt before me, and behind him came Vardan of Babylon and Atrax of Media, brave Atrax who never stopped grinning. And the line of horsemen on my right was extending ever further into the distance as the soldiers of the kings of the empire filled the desert.
‘I don’t understand,’ I stuttered, ‘how?’
‘How?’ replied my father. ‘It is quite simple. The water level of the Euphrates drops considerably this time of year, so it was relatively easy for horsemen to ford.’
‘I did not mean that.’
He laughed. ‘I know. Do you think that I would allow my son to stand alone against his enemies?’
‘But Phraates has given Dura to the Romans.’
‘Poor Phraates. He is so deceived by his own family members that he has lost all sense of reason, I think.’
‘You risk banishment for aiding me, father.’
He laughed out loud. ‘Look around you, Pacorus. You can see horsemen from Babylon, Elymais, Hatra, Media and Atropaiene. If Phraates wants to make war on all of us, so be it.’
‘Aschek is here?’ I was most surprised to hear that the King of Atropaiene had come to assist me, seeing as all the fight had seemingly been knocked out of him.
‘Musa and Khosrou persuaded him. They have formed an alliance with him, which has given him back his courage somewhat. By the way, Khosrou sent a thousand of his wild horsemen as well, said they were a gift for Gallia. Where is she?’