In the centre the Thracians charged at the Romans with their swords and a vicious close-quarters melee ensued, men stabbing with the points of their swords at those opposite, trying to find exposed thighs, groins and bellies with their blades. A few men got careless and had their guts torn open, but the majority remembered their training and kept their shields close to their bodies. In this part of the line there was much pushing and shoving and stabbing but very few casualties, occasionally a wounded man being hauled to the rear by his comrades, his place being instantly filed by a replacement. After half an hour or more of this work both sides, as if by mutual consent, withdrew a few yards to rest and regroup. The day was hot and men wearing mail shirts and steel helmets were soaked in sweat and dehydrated. The centuries and cohorts of the second line moved forward to replace those of the first line, while the walking wounded limped to the rear to be treated and those more seriously injured were put on stretchers and carried back. Those who had been fighting and were now relieved drank greedily from water bottles that were passed to them by non-combatants, women and those too young to fight but fleet of foot.
On the left flank Afranius became impatient and ordered four centuries armed with axes, which he had organized before the battle, to charged forward through the front ranks and attempt to cut a path through the field of stakes. The result was that he lost two hundred men in two minutes, cut down by throwing axes, spears and a hail of arrows and lead pellets. He did not make a second attempt. My archers posted behind his second line moved forward and commenced a withering fire against the Gauls, which exacted a steady toll on their massed ranks. But they stayed stubbornly behind their stakes and we could make no impression upon them, save those we could pierce with arrows. And we did not have an inexhaustible supply of missiles, and so after an hour the archers were instructed to limit their rate of fire to two arrows every minute.
It was a similar story on the right flank where Castus was ever mindful of the Gauls who outflanked him by at least half a mile. He did not even attempt to close with the enemy but merely let my archers pour volleys of arrows into them, until they too were ordered to reduce their rate of fire. The Thracians in the centre, now with fresh soldiers in their front line, again attempted to break through the Romans opposite them, but it was the same story as before. The front ranks threw their javelins and charged with swords drawn, stabbing them into the legionaries to their front, grinding their way into the enemy’s formations. At first it appeared that the enemy would break as dead and wounded men fell backwards and Thracians stepped forward into the gaps, stabbing left, right and to the front with their swords. The Roman line buckled, but then their accursed Scorpions opened fire and soon Thracians were being hit by iron darts that went through shields and mail with ease. Gaps appeared in our front ranks, but it was only when Spartacus diverted some of my archers from the wings and had them shoot at the crews of the Scorpions that the deadly storm of iron bolts was brought to an end, as the Romans withdrew their artillery to a safe distance. But they had succeeded in halting our attack, and once again both sides withdrew to lick their wounds and prepare for another struggle for possession of the churned-up, blood- and piss-stained ground between the two armies, a strip of land that was now littered with dead.
Thousands of sandal-clad feet and tens of thousands of hooves had kicked up a great cloud of dust that chocked man and beast alike. As the day wore on this cloud thickened over the whole battlefield.
The dust was just another thing to cope with on this day of slaughter. It was hot in my leather cuirass and helmet, and soon small streams of sweat were coursing down my face and neck and soaking my silk vest and tunic. It must have been an hour at least after the battle had commenced when Spartacus rode over to where my cavalry were positioned. Most of the men were lounging on the ground with their helmets lying beside them, though one in every five companies was mounted and deployed to our front and on our right flank, in case we were attacked. As the battle wore on, vigilance became more important as the wretched dust continued to reduce visibility.
‘That proconsul in command of the Roman army is a clever bastard. We can’t shift them.’ Spartacus gulped down the contents of the waterskin I had passed him.
I shrugged. ‘We could break off the engagement. My horse can cover the retreat.’
‘No. If we retreat the Romans will be back twice as strong. Besides, it will be bad for morale if we run away from two legions and a few Gauls.’
A short time later Castus ran up to inform me that he had shifted four cohorts to the extreme right of his line and deployed them so they were at right angles to the rest of his men who were facing the Gauls.
‘Spartacus, forgive me, I did not realise that you were here. Are you hurt?’
‘No. What has happened?’
‘The Gauls are taking down their stakes where they outflank us. I think they are going to attack. Pacorus, we may need your cavalry to stiffen our line.’
I signalled for Burebista to attend me.
Spartacus gazed over to where Castus had ridden. ‘So, the Gauls have grown bored with standing idly by while their fellow warriors have all the glory.’ He smiled. ‘The gods may have just given us a sign. How many horse have you, Pacorus?’
‘Fifteen hundred, lord.’
‘Good.’ He slapped Castus on the shoulder. ‘Get back to your men and make sure they hold. Remember, the Gauls won’t come at you like the Romans do. They will charge in a wild, screaming mass. But they will break on your wall of shields.’
Castus looked alarmed. ‘But they may sweep around us and get behind the army.’
Spartacus shook his head. ‘Extend your line by taking men from your second line. Use Pacorus’ archers to shoot them down. There may be a lot of them but they are not disciplined, and it’s discipline that wins battles. Now go.’
Castus saluted and departed in haste. Spartacus turned to me, his eyes wild with excitement. ‘Pacorus, your horse is the key that will unlock their defence. Take your men and ride parallel to the enemy’s left flank, then sweep around behind them. The dust should cover your movement.’
Riding along the enemy’s front for more than half a mile would deprive the army of its reserve, and if the Gauls broke through our right flank then thousands of their warriors would be free to butcher the wounded and loot the baggage camp. That said, Castus could probably hold them, at least long enough for my horse to get behind them. It might just work.
‘It is a gamble, lord.’
He grasped my shoulders. ‘Your horse are the best trained and led cavalry outside Parthia.’ He knew how to flatter. ‘You have never let us down before, nor will you today.’
I felt a surge of pride go through me. I turned to Burebista. ‘Get your men mounted, we are going to kill some Gauls.’
‘Yes, lord,’ he beamed, and began to order his company commanders to assemble their men. Soon the air was filled with horns calling men to assemble.
Spartacus jumped back on his horse. ‘Get behind them, Pacorus, and do as much damage as you can. Good luck.’
Then he was gone. I walked to where Gafarn was holding Remus and his own horse. I took Remus’ reins. Around us men and horses were forming into columns, lance points glinting in the dusty haze.
‘Well, Gafarn, we are going to see how well Gauls fight.’
‘With swords and spears, no doubt. They all seem to look like Crixus.’