‘I can’t see how this gentle slope is going to make it any easier for us to beat them?’
His legatus turned and looked back to the cloud of dust that indicated the Parthian host’s progress, already visibly closer.
‘It looks just right to me.’
Julius raised an interrogatory eyebrow, and the younger man’s lips twitched into a smile.
‘I know you can’t see it, but trust me, this is dangerous ground for an army that depends on horse archers and heavy cavalry.’ He pointed to the approaching enemy, now less than five miles away. ‘That said, perhaps we’d be wise to put a legion between ourselves and those Parthians?’
The Parthian kings rode out before their men to see the Roman position for themselves, each of the three men escorted by a hundred of their respective household bodyguards, the knights surrounding them glorious in their shining magnificence.
‘At least this time someone has had the sense to find some ground that does not insult us.’
The other two men regarded King Osroes of Media, the most senior of them by dint of the size of both his kingdom and his army, in an appropriately respectful silence.
‘A good deployment too.’
He stared up the shallow slope with a keen gaze. A long line of infantry stretched along a half-mile of the ridge, their position apparently chosen with an eye to defence against cavalry.
‘See how both ends of the line are anchored on breaks in the ridge line? We won’t be able to take them in the flanks, and if we try to attack their rear I suspect we’ll find the ground too difficult for our horses. Someone’s been reading the histories.’
The young king of Hatra, barely a man and less experienced than the other two, stared up at the Romans with wide eyes.
‘What will we do then, Osroes? How will we defeat them?’
The oldest man of the three, a black bearded thug of a man clad in black armour, in whose kingdom the Romans had chosen to make their statement of domination over the King of Kings’ throne decades before by seizing his fortress city of Nisibis, growled the answer before the Median had a chance to answer.
‘In the same way our ancestors dealt with them at Carrhae, Wolgash. With the flail of our archers to weaken their line until blood flows down that hill like water. And then …’
He slapped a heavy gold and silver decorated mace into his palm.
‘Our knights will tear through them with the righteous rage of the Sun God’s true followers! We will deal out the same fate to these men that we visited upon their brothers not far from here. And once they are scattered, Nisibis will surely fall to us.’
Osroes raised an eyebrow at his older cousin.
‘But first, Narsai, given their numbers, we will exercise a little diplomacy.’
‘Diplomacy! While their boots sully the earth on which my kingdom is founded?’
The Median smiled tolerantly.
‘Our brother Narsai wishes to bathe in Roman blood once more, and paint himself from head to toe with the gore that will reaffirm his claim on the city.’
The king of Adiabene nodded his agreement.
‘I do! And only their abject surrender will cure me of that need to put my foot on Rome’s throat!’
‘And yet …’
‘And yet what?’
‘And yet, Narsai, there may be a way to send them away, defeated and humiliated, without having to lose good Parthian warriors to their defence. It would be remiss of us not to enquire of them as to whether they would rather die in agony or live to recross the border with their skins intact.’
The older man snorted derisively.
‘As you wish, Osroes. Perhaps your father’s abject defeat at their hands has made you overly wary of these … children.’
The Median smiled slowly.
‘Or perhaps you, Narsai, king of half a kingdom, are braver with my men at your back than you might be with only the force you can muster from your own land?’
His question was posed in the same light tone with which he had appraised the waiting Romans, but one hand had moved to rest on the handle of his own mace in its place at his belt.
‘Whatever might be the truth, never forget that my father, his long life be blessed, sowed his seed in the most evil tempered of his wives to beget me. The patience he has bequeathed me wars with her implacable urge to cause damage during my every waking moment, and just once I might be tempted to unleash that darker side.’
Osroes met the older man’s eyes and widened his own in challenge, the household knights around them fidgeting nervously at the threat of internecine bloodshed. He smiled suddenly, prompting an unconscious copy of the expression to break out across the younger king of Hatra’s face in simple relief.
‘And trust me, Narsai, one quick conversation with the leader of those walking dead men ought to suffice. He will surely realise that they will never be able to stand against five thousand of the finest archers in the world.’
‘They seem to want to negotiate.’
Scaurus looked down at the party of knights approaching the legion’s line up the hillside under a flag of truce, watching as the heavy horses’ feet slipped and slid in the loose soil.
‘Negotiate? The only thing they’ll want to negotiate over is whether we get to keep our weapons, once we’ve marched under the yoke. And I’m not surprised. Someone down there has come to the unhappy realisation that this fight isn’t one that he wants to risk, so he’s willing to spend a few minutes finding out if we’d be good enough to abandon this rather impressive defensive position and slink off with our tails between our legs. And that’s before he sees the surprises we have in store for them.’
He turned to Julius.
‘The Parthians, First Spear, are well known for their habit of violating truces in order to win battles. Crassus was still more than likely to get away from Carrhae with most of his army intact until he was unwise enough to ride out to negotiate, and got himself decapitated. So, given I’m quite interested in what those men down there have to say for themselves, I’ll take a century of your biggest, ugliest men with me, if you’ll whistle up an appropriate escort?’
The black-bearded senior centurion nodded, turning away and bellowing an order at the legion arrayed across the hillside.
‘Dubnus! I’ll have your Tenth Century down here!
Scaurus watched with an amused smile as the recently promoted first spear led his axe men forward, bulling their way through the legion’s line and reforming before the command group with impressive speed and precision. The Briton took his place before them and saluted with unexpected vigour, shouldering his massive axe.
‘First Spear! The Tenth Century is at your command!’
‘You can stop shouting, thank you, Dubnus.’
Scaurus stepped forward, looking the massive Briton up and down.
‘Perfect. You and your men will do very nicely, Centurion, just as long as you can keep your temper in check.
Dubnus snapped to attention, and behind him his men followed suit.
‘So gentlemen, you’re going to escort me down to meet those horsemen. You are going to make sure nothing untoward happens to me, but you are not going to go starting any unwanted fights. There will be no hand gestures, no dirty looks and no fingering your weapons when I’m not looking. Is that understood, First Spear Dubnus?’
‘Yes Legatus!’
‘If any of you as much as twitches a muscle at these men, you most likely will be responsible for my death. And I won’t be the happiest of men under that circumstance. Is that understood, First Spear Dubnus?’