‘Sixty thousand of the world’s best soldiers and all we can do with them is run away from the foe. History will not look kindly on our campaign,’ lamented Spartacus.

  ‘Very well, Spartacus,’ I shouted, causing Gallia and Diana to jump. ‘You can have your battle. We will wait here until the enemy appears and then you can cover yourself in glory. But, as ever, it will be the common soldiery who will pay the price.’

  The next day I rode with Talib, Chrestus, Kewab, Karys, Lucius and Gallia to see for myself the obstacle that blocked our way. It was another hot day and the army welcomed the opportunity to have a day’s rest, to say nothing of the civilian muleteers, cameleers and wagon drivers who lacked the stamina and resolution of the soldiers they served. As my chief scout had reported, the wooden wall and rampart blocked a wide, largely flat and featureless valley, the hills on either side of which had steep, grassy slopes. But beyond them in the distance were more steeply sided, higher inclines showing limestone outcrops.

  The road ran straight through the middle of the valley, the wall, rampart and ditch bisecting it at right angles around a mile distant. I estimated the length of the wall itself to be around half a mile. We trotted towards it in silence, the sun glinting off the helmets of soldiers patrolling its ramparts. As we neared the wall, Talib pointed out what he and his men had discovered.

  ‘In front of the ditch are rectangular pits filled with sharpened stakes. Further out are small, round pits containing a single stake with a fire-hardened point.’

  ‘The enemy made no attempt to interrupt your scouting?’ asked Kewab.

  ‘They did not bother shooting at a few riders at a range of over two hundred paces, lord,’ Talib told him. ‘They seemed content to allow us to examine their defences.’

  When we trotted closer to the wall, which comprised horizontal tree trunks arranged in a curious zigzag fashion, the enemy slingers and archers took shots at us, lead pellets thudding into the ground before we reached the first row of circular holes cut in the earth. Arrows arched into the sky to land harmlessly well ahead of where we had halted.

  ‘They were content to allow our scouts to see the extent of their works,’ commented Kewab, ‘but now they deny us any further examination of their defences.’

  ‘The question is,’ I said, ‘how many soldiers defend that wall? A legion, more?’

  Kewab discounted the idea. ‘I doubt if King Amyntas can call on a full legion, majesty. Rome would not trust a client king with the use of its best soldiers, not in a war against the finest that Parthia can offer, anyway.’

  ‘Perhaps the governor of Syria has joined our enemies,’ said Karys.

  I discounted the notion. ‘Byrd would have alerted me if his friend the governor was sending any soldiers north.’

  ‘Most likely,’ theorised Lucius, ‘there are two or three cohorts of Romans, supported by slingers and archers from the garrison of Corum. Enough to man the barrier we see before us and delay our journey long enough.’

  ‘For what?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘The main enemy army, majesty,’ he replied.

  But the enemy army did not appear and so thousands of Immortals, Durans and Exiles spent two days chopping down trees in the area, thereafter fashioning the branches and trunks into scaling ladders and platforms to span the ditch in front of the enemy wall and climb the wall itself. Other parties were sent forward to mark the exact location of the potholes and trenches in front of the ditch, a risky business as the groups attracted the attention of enemy archers and slingers. To provide them with cover, Chrestus deployed Dura’s scorpions to rake the rampart with iron-tipped bolts. It became a desultory, albeit deadly, exchange of missiles that cost us over a hundred dead.

  As our horse archers provided security for the tree-felling parties, I sent Talib and his men to search for a route around the wall that the army might use. They found numerous tracks that circumvented the valley, but they were narrow and winding and impossible for wagons to negotiate. Our only option was to overcome the wall. Normally, such an assault would be costly in the extreme, which must have crossed Gafarn’s mind as we watched the cohorts of the Durans and Exiles, plus the battalions of the Immortals, deploying into position prior to their attack. Overhead the sky was devoid of any clouds and the sun roasted everything below. The air was already warm, the earth dry and flies were irritating the horses and camels. The mules had been left in camp a couple of miles to the north of our position, the wall around five hundred paces to our front and hills on our flanks.

  Gafarn pointed at the wall. ‘I am mindful of Rhegium where we lost many good men.’

  ‘What a terrible night that was,’ said Diana.

  ‘The night when Burebista fell, though he did not die. We left him to be enslaved by Rome once more,’ I lamented.

  Gallia reached over to grip my hand. ‘It was not your fault, my love, and we did rescue him from slavery in the end.’

  Spartacus, who had heard the story of the slave army’s breakout from Rhegium a hundred times, rolled his eyes. He was clearly bored and made no attempt to disguise it. The prospect of a time-consuming assault on a defensive position did nothing to raise his spirits. He was still brooding over what he saw as a lost opportunity to engage the enemy at Sinope, and his avoidance of any polite conversation with me since indicated he held me responsible. His two sons flanking him also had morose expressions, and the unseemly Shamshir always looked glum.

  At least the swarthy Spadines was absent, though no sooner had that happy thought crossed my mind than the Aorsi leader appeared at the head of a party of his scruffy Sarmatians, pulling up his horse in front of Spartacus.

  ‘The enemy is here, lord,’ he said loudly.

  Spartacus frowned in annoyance. Any fool could see that hostile forces manned the wall. Spadines cast a glance at the rampart and shook his head.

  ‘Not here, lord, to the north. Enemy horsemen are approaching.’

  All our ears pricked up.

  ‘What horsemen?’ I demanded to know.

  Spadines gave me a triumphant leer.

  ‘The horsemen of Pontus, Cappadocia and Galatia, lord. My men were looking for supplies.’

  ‘Looting, you mean,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘As you will, lord,’ shrugged Spadines, ‘but they saw a great mass of horsemen to the north.’

  He looked at Spartacus. ‘Atrax is with them. My men report seeing a black banner emblazoned with a white dragon.’

  His words were enough for the King of Gordyene. Atrax was the last remaining male link to a time when Media had treated Gordyene as a land of inferiors, to be plundered and abused at will. Atrax, whose invasion of a Media now ruled by his eldest son had led directly to the death of his beloved Rasha. Spartacus turned in the saddle to address Hovik, his trusted general.

  ‘Ride to Motofi and give him my compliments. Instruct him to march the Immortals north to support our horse soldiers who will be engaging the enemy.’

  Hovik hesitated for a second before bowing his head and wheeling his horse away. The general was above all a professional and knew that to divide an army in the presence of the enemy could lead to a disaster. But he was also loyal, loyal to his king, the king’s family, and to his homeland. And he would never diminish his lord’s authority by questioning his decisions in front of foreign kings and queens.

  ‘How many horsemen?’ Spartacus questioned Spadines.

  ‘A few thousand, lord,’ came the vague reply.

  ‘We should wait until we have ascertained the strength of the enemy force approaching from the north,’ I advised.

  ‘Pacorus is right, son,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘There are no foot soldiers with the enemy horsemen, lord,’ reported Spadines.

  Spartacus smiled.

  ‘We have enough soldiers, father.’

  As he commanded a third of the army, he was unworried about the numerical strength of the force approaching from the north. And he knew, as did I, that the army of Gordyene was a formidable force, easily capable of defeating a numerically superior opponent.

  ‘Time to avenge your mother,’ he said to his sons.

  He looked at Malik, who thus far had remained silent, his black-robed warriors grouped in a compact mass a hundred paces to the rear. The Agraci king nodded, drew his sword and wheeled it around to join his brother-in-law.

  Malik’s Agraci, Gordyene’s Vipers, lancers, horse archers and King’s Guard followed their ruler as he cantered north back towards camp, while to our front Immortal signallers sounded their trumpets to turn ten thousand men around and march them away from the wall. They left hundreds of scaling ladders and wooden platforms dumped on the ground. Their departure prompted the arrival of Chrestus, my general sweating as he halted his horse before me.

  ‘What the hell is going on? I’ve just lost half of my foot soldiers.’

  He peered past me to see the rumps of thousands of Gordyene’s horses.

  ‘Enemy horsemen have appeared to the north. The King of Gordyene marches to meet them,’ I told him.

  Concern showed on his face. ‘Bad idea to split the army, majesty. We should join him.’

  ‘What of our assault on the wall?’ queried Gafarn.

  ‘It will be there tomorrow, majesty,’ said Chrestus.

  ‘Chrestus is right, Pacorus,’ said Gallia, ‘we cannot sit here while Spartacus fights the enemy.’

  ‘We must help him,’ agreed Diana.

  ‘Very well,’ I conceded, ‘give the order to about-face and retire.’

  Chrestus saluted and rode back to his waiting legionaries. As he departed Kewab and Karys arrived, having left their horsemen who were deployed behind the foot soldiers to provide missile support if needed. I briefed them on the new situation we found ourselves in.

  ‘It will take time to withdraw in an orderly fashion,’ stated Kewab.

  The valley was half a mile wide, which for small bodies of soldiers was ample room for manoeuvre. But for sixty thousand troops, their horses and Farid’s camel train to the rear of the army, plus the ammunition trains of Hatra and Gordyene, it was a small space that could become congested very easily. Like a mighty warship on the sea, it would take time for the army to turn around.

  Which is precisely what the enemy had reckoned on.

  Kewab stayed with the abandoned scorpions and camel trains, there being no room to accommodate thousands of the humped beasts as we cantered north with Dura’s and Hatra’s professional horse archers and the cataphracts of those kingdoms, riding through the Immortals as they tramped after their king and passing the western entrance to our camp. Spartacus was a mile or so ahead of them, a great red banner emblazoned with a silver lion showing his exact position.

  Not only to us but also to the enemy.

  Gordyene’s horsemen and their Agraci allies barred my view of the enemy horsemen but I could make out a dozen or more banners, one of them black, marking the presence of Atrax. A blast of horns from among the Gordyene riders signalled the beginning of their charge, followed by a roar of hurrahs as Spartacus’ horsemen screamed their war cries and their horses broke into a gallop. The gap between them and us was around a mile, increasing by the second as Gordyene’s soldiers hurtled towards the enemy horsemen. When suddenly the hills on either side of the valley were filled with figures running down the slopes to enter the valley floor. Behind Spartacus’ horsemen! Tens of thousands of them. The majority were equipped with spears and shields only, though among them were also men wearing leather armour, bronze breastplates, mail and even scale armour. These individuals also wore cone-like helmets with a long, straight plate to protect the neck, and decorated with a variety of feathers, bird wings or horse tails.

  ‘Gauls,’ sneered Gallia, as she and all of us pulled up our horses as the great mass in front of us grew bigger and thicker.

  And separated us from the horsemen of Gordyene.

  ‘We must break through them,’ shouted an alarmed Diana, who instantly realised her son and grandsons were in great danger.

  Already foot archers beyond the mass of warriors were shooting arrows at the mounted troops of Gordyene, who now faced a battle to their front and rear. My apprehension grew as I continued to see arrows being shot at Gordyene’s horsemen and the line in front of us solidify to present a dense phalanx of spears and shields across the breadth of the valley. There must have been over fifty thousand warriors facing us, though I could see no missile troops among them. The Gauls were in the front ranks, their long shields resting on the ground, the ends of their spears thrust into the earth and the points pointed directly at us. The rear ranks had hoisted their shields above their heads to present a makeshift roof of wood and hide that extended to the rear of the phalanx. Clearly Amyntas and Archelaus had been taking lessons from their Roman overlords.

  ‘Shoot them to pieces,’ shouted Gallia, Sporaces saluting and wheeling away to order his companies to attack. The commander of Hatra’s horse archers was already marshalling his men, who now rode forward in lines to shoot at the inviting target.

  A tightly packed testudo could withstand volleys of arrows, as long as its members kept their shields locked and maintained their discipline. Even so, being under volleys of arrows for sustained periods is not only an assault on the body; it is also an attack on the nerves. And these men were not professional soldiers but farmers, villagers and townsfolk. To compound their difficulties, their shields were a mixture of oval, square and hexagonal shapes. A Roman legionary and his Duran and Gordyene equivalents carries a shield that is identical to those equipping his comrades, which means when locked together they present an unbroken wall. Not so the shields of the Galatians.

  Ten thousand horse archers, plus the Amazons, began shooting at the dense phalanx, individuals finding gaps in between shields to hit faces, flesh and bone. Each archer was shooting up to seven arrows a minute, though because of the restricted space we were fighting in, only three hundred and fifty horse archers could shoot their bows at the enemy at any one time. But it still equated to nearly two and half thousand arrows a minute being directed at the front ranks of the phalanx – nearly five thousand after two minutes. To add to the deluge of missiles being directed at them, the rear ranks of horse archers were shooting arrows at high angles over the front ranks, to drop vertically on the rear ranks of the phalanx – an additional thirty-five thousand arrows a minute.

  It took less than five minutes to reduce the phalanx to a bloody, shattered pile of dead and dying, after which Azad and Herneus led forward the cataphracts of Dura and Hatra. The commanders of the horse archers commanded their signallers to sound ‘company column’ and instantly ten thousand horsemen deployed into files to allow the cataphracts to pass through them. It was a marvel to behold and testament to the professionalism of our soldiers.

  The cataphracts attacked in a series of wedges, each one a company in strength – one hundred men – in two ranks, though as with the horse archers there was insufficient room for all twenty-five companies to attack at once. But the result was satisfying enough: kontus points driving through shields and torsos with ease, leaving dead Gauls standing upright, the long lances driven through their bodies sticking in the earth at an angle of forty-five degrees to pinion them in place.

  The warriors were running now, fleeing from the armoured horsemen who were slashing left and right with their swords, the ukku blades of Dura’s cataphracts splitting heads covered by helmets and cleaving torsos. I saw an unclothed Gaul – what my wife’s people call ‘naked swords’ – charge at a cataphract, gripping a longsword with both hands and screaming at the top of his voice. He stumbled and tripped over the dead, arrow-pierced bodies between him and the horsemen, his face contorted in rage. He raised up his sword on his right side, ready to deliver a downward cut to the cataphract’s armour-clad left leg, when another horseman closing on him from behind took his head clean off with a swing of his ukku blade.

  Company after company of cataphracts surged forward, but now the piles of dead and dying Gauls presented more of an obstacle than living enemy warriors, horsemen having to steer their mounts through the fresh carrion.

  Those warriors still living were fleeing to the hills to reach the tracks and trails they had presumably used to spring their surprise. Amyntas obviously knew his realm well and had used his geographic knowledge to move thousands of warriors unseen into positions that allowed them to appear seemingly out of thin air when they attacked. But the price in blood had been exorbitant. A carpet of dead measuring half a mile wide and around four hundred yards in depth lay before me – thousands of men shot down by our horse archers and cut down by cataphracts. In terms of numbers we had won a spectacular victory.

  But the aftermath of the bloodletting would reveal we had suffered a crushing defeat.

  Chapter 14

  Diana was inconsolable when the dreadful news reached her that Spartacus was dead. In the furious battle he and his horsemen and women fought against first the enemy horsemen and then the slingers, archers and Laodice’s Pontic hill men that swarmed in on their flanks and rear, during which a lance had penetrated beneath his cuirass to pierce his stomach. Like the lion he was, he carried on fighting; the King’s Guard and Vipers becoming enraged when they heard their king had been wounded. Despite being under a hailstorm of slingshots and arrows, they cut down thousands of hill men, slingers and archers. Hovik told me later that Atrax was the first to turn tail and run, leaving the horsemen of Pontus, Galatia and Cappadocia heavily outnumbered. Spartacus, dismissing his belly wound as a mere scratch, sent Hovik, Spadines and his two sons to chase after the now-fleeing enemy horsemen with Gordyene’s medium horseman and half the horse archers, while his King’s Guard, Vipers, balance of horse archers and Malik’s Agraci dealt with the enemy foot soldiers. The two princes, not knowing their father had been mortally wounded, relished the task and pursued the enemy for miles, the Aorsi excelling in cutting off and slaughtering isolated groups of enemy horsemen. They returned with boasts of decorating the landscape with enemy dead. But their father was no longer alive to hear their tale of glory. And neither were eighteen hundred men and women who had ridden with Spartacus to attack the enemy horsemen – nearly one in six of the riders from Gordyene and their Sarmatian allies.