After ten minutes or so, Nergal signalled that the men were ready. I rode to the head of the wedge and he joined me.
‘You will charge, highness?’
‘Of course, I can’t expect men to obey me if I skulk behind them. Shamash keep you, Nergal.’ I drew my sword and dug my knees into Remus’ flanks. My bow was in its case and so I grabbed his reins in my left hand as he began to move followed at a canter. The air was thick with arrows hissing towards the Roman line as I screamed the charge and Remus broke into a gallop. The Roman line was approaching me fast and I could see that it was ragged. There were perhaps a six hundred horsemen in three ranks charging at the Romans, with another six hundred horse archers tucked in behind them, while on our flanks more archers were firing at the spot where we would hit the enemy line. That line was now dissolving as legionaries were felled by arrows, others limped wounded to the rear, while a few threw down their shields and tried to run. For their courage had deserted them as I aimed Remus towards a small gap that had appeared either side of a dead Roman lying on the ground. He galloped through the gap and I slashed at the head of a legionary on my right as he did so, then started to hack left and right at a sea of Roman helmets that surrounded me. But I was not alone, and soon those helmets were falling left and right as lances thrust through shields and mail shirts. Men were crushed under the hooves of horses as they attempted to turn and flee, some were speared and others were killed by sword cuts. All semblance of order among the Roman ranks had now disappeared as hundreds of horsemen created a massive gap in their line, and then swept right and left behind them. What was left of what had been the Roman third line now dissolved into chaos. Some centurions, professional to the last, formed their centuries for all-round defence, but my archers merely halted their steeds out of pilum range and proceeded to shoot the shield blocks to pieces. The legionaries locked their shields over their heads and to the front, sides and rear, but there were still small gaps between shields held vertically and horizontally, and those gaps were an invitation to a skilled archer. Arrows hit eye sockets and necks, and soon those blocks were piles of dead and writhing legionaries, the centurions being sought-after targets, whose bodies were often hit by many arrows. Some Romans threw down their arms and tried to surrender, only to be killed on the spot. There was no mercy in the faces of my men on this day.
As the last of the third line was scattered and killed, I found a somewhat battered Nergal, his mail shirt torn and his helmet dented, and ordered him to form a new line.
‘We have to aid Castus and his men, therefore assemble as many men as you can into a line and advance them to behind the Roman line ahead.’
He brought his sword up to his face in salute and rode away. His horse, like Remus, was tired and so he walked it to a group of my officers, who slowly began to form a new battle line. Ahead the sounds of men killing each other filled the air, and I wondered how Castus and his men were faring. It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually my men formed into a new line and walked their mounts towards the rear of what was the Roman second line. We halted and again we began to fire at the rear ranks of the enemy. We had halted about two hundred feet from the Romans, who had no missile weapons with which to reply. But they did not even bother to about-face and form a shield wall. Then I saw why — the Germans were pushing them back and every legionary was needed to steady the line. But that line was crumbling, aided to some extent by our arrows which were felling enemy soldiers along the whole line. Then the Germans were through, just the odd century or two here and there, but then a cohort and then two, and suddenly in front of us were hundreds of fleeing Romans throwing down their shields and weapons in an effort to escape German swords. But in their blind panic they were running straight at us, and soon the earth was carpeted with dead and dying Romans as we fired arrow after arrow into individuals running towards us until our quivers were empty. It was like some macabre competition to see who could shoot as many enemy soldiers in the quickest time. My instincts took over, pulling arrows from my quiver, stringing them and firing without thinking, always hitting a man and sending him spinning to the ground. This was murder, not war. My quiver was empty, so I drew my sword and began slashing at figures as they raced past me. Some Romans were running towards the riverbank, but they had to run a gauntlet of archers to reach the relative safety of the river a few hundred yards away, and hundreds were cut down before they saw any water.
I do not know how much time had elapsed, but I looked into the blue sky and saw that the sun was high in the sky. It must have been mid-afternoon now. The Roman army was no more. It had become a fleeing mob of terrified individuals, who were slowly and methodically being butchered by my horsemen and Castus’ Germans. My officers kept their men under a tight leash, moving them about the battlefield in companies to reduce any remaining pockets of Roman resistance, which in truth were few. In front of me, German centuries were being marshalled by exhausted centurions into a new battle line. But there was no need, there was no Roman army left to fight. I walked a tired Remus towards the German lines and saw Castus striding towards me. I dismounted and we embraced. There was blood all over him. He saw my look of concern.
‘Not mine, my friend. Are you hurt?’
I looked at my dust-covered tunic. ‘Not a scratch.’
‘You did it Pacorus,’
‘We did it,’ I said.
I suddenly realised that the air was no longer filled with screams and curses and that a hush had descended on this field of slaughter. Men were suddenly collapsing on the ground as their reserves of adrenalin and energy evaporated. I myself was suddenly gripped by a raging thirst, so I unhooked my waterskin from Remus’ saddle and drank with gusto. I passed it to a thankful Castus and then poured the remainder into Remus’ mouth. He had a small gash on his right thigh but was otherwise unharmed.
As I stood with Castus among the dead and the dying, I saw to my right a slumped rider in the saddle of a grey horse that was riding towards the river. The man, a Roman officer by the look of his cloak and cuirass, was clearly wounded. Helmetless, his light hair seemed familiar, but perhaps my battle-drunk mind was playing tricks on me. Then I realised who it was. He was only a couple of hundred feet away, an easy target. I ran to Remus and pulled my bow from its case. Lucius Furius was about to die at my hand, finally. I reached into to my quiver. Empty! I turned and screamed at anyone who was listening.
‘Stop that rider!’ pointing frantically as Furius’ horse slowed to a walk and then stopped. I was running towards it, gesturing to all and sundry that they should converge on the now stationary horse. I saw Nergal riding in my direction, followed by a score of his men, while behind me a panting Castus was trying to keep up as Lucius Furius dropped from his saddle onto the ground. I knelt beside him and felt at his neck for a pulse. He was still alive. Castus stood beside me, breathing heavily.
‘Is he dead?’
‘No,’ I said, seeing that he had been wounded in the side of his belly, ‘he lives.’
Nergal then appeared with his men.
‘Keep him under guard. Get someone to look at his wound and stitch him up if necessary. And see to it that he isn’t harmed. If anyone is to kill him, it will be me.’