Honour (14 page)

The arrival of Hermogenes, with a pair of assistants, heralded a split in the command but he turned out to be a man quite satisfied to be merely consulted. It was not deference; if he disagreed he said so. But that was an attitude rarely displayed and when Flavius
outlined his plan in private, the old bureaucrat readily assented, with a minor caveat that should the battle go badly some way must be found for the cavalry to screen and protect infantry retiring to the safety of the fortress, which received a caustic response from Flavius.

‘If it comes to that the only use we will have for horses is as food.’

Hermogenes took on the task of supply procurement, scouring the surrounding countryside until the fortress storerooms could hold no more, the double advantage of that being the denial of the same to the enemy. While Flavius concentrated on his training, three great trenches were being dug to his design, not in a line but with the central ditch set forward.

Infantry preparation was undertaken as well, but this was not about movement, more about how to stay steady under fire from horse archers as well as a ground attack. At the same time the scouts were out to give prior warning of the enemy. In fact it was Perozes, the Sassanids’ commander, who confirmed their approach; he sent Flavius a message ahead requesting that he prepare for him a bath.

‘He will bath in blood,’ Bouzes spat when this message was relayed to his officers by the recipient.

‘He will satisfy me if he retires unwashed and smelling of disgrace, but what I need now are numbers, so get those scouts doing what they should and counting.’

The replies that came back put the strength of Perozes very close to that of the Romans at some five thousand effectives, which his opponent knew was insufficient for the task the Sassanid general had been given. Apart from that there was no sign of siege equipment.

‘There must be more coming in his wake. Keep men out and watching for reinforcements.’

‘They may be caught and give your dispositions,’ Hermogenes mused.

‘The enemy will see my dispositions soon enough and I hope they will cause him to wonder. Right now we must get the army fed, blessed and rested.’

‘Battle on the morrow?’ Bouzes asked in a jovial voice, seeking to ingratiate himself.

‘Pray for that,’ Flavius replied, ‘and pray for Rome.’

They heard the flutes and drums of the Sassanids as the sun rose to reveal a landscape covered with a mass of movement, with Perozes to the fore under a red, blue and white Sassanid banner. When he stopped it was to direct the various contingents to their positions before riding forward to examine what he could see of the defence Flavius had set out to create. There had been no attempt to hide the ditches and, watching him, his opposite number hoped that he was confused by their layout.

Following that nothing happened; the only activity in the morning hours was Perozes redeploying some of his men to take account of what he had observed, but he had few options if he was to avoid a frontal assault on the Romans whom he would have to destroy if he were to take Dara by main force.

The hours went by with no activity other than the arrival of the supply carts and the feeding of the Romans, overseen by one of the aides Hermogenes had brought with him, a young fellow called Procopius, a fellow of slim build, high forehead and a somewhat intense manner, an advocate by training.

Then once more it was hiatus until Hermogenes said. ‘They want us hungry.’

This suggestion confused Flavius. Both were sat on a low mound, which gave them a clear view of the field before them, not that there was much to see and it was obvious that the younger man was at a loss to understand.

‘We feed our men before noon, the Persians take their sustenance later. If they wait till mid afternoon they will hope themselves stronger for having been late fed.’ The older man smiled. ‘If you read the reports of Trajan’s secretary this you would have seen.’

‘What do we do?’

‘Nothing. We have distributed our rations for the day.’

‘We could have waited.’

‘Allow me to advise you for once, Flavius Belisarius. Hold hard to habits, for to break them will upset large bodies of men more than you or I could imagine.’

It came to pass that the old bureaucrat was right; with the sun well past its zenith Perozes did sound the advance, pushing forward with his cavalry on his right wing. It had to be head on since he could not go around the Romans without presenting to them an opportunity to attack his flank, which had his horse archers riding forward to discharge their arrows from the other side of the ditch. This put them at the mercy of their Roman counterparts, on foot and concentrated as soon as the attack began to develop, able to send a hail of missiles so intense it drove them off.

Next came an advance by the Sassanid cataphracts, the layered armour covering both horse- and rider-proof against arrows. They thundered forward as if to take on the ditch, and in crossing it hit the lighter cavalry on the Roman left with force. Bouzes, in command, had begun to give way in order to minimise his losses from archery but, just as reinforcements were being assembled, the Sassanids declined
to seek advantage from that retirement. They withdrew, which had Flavius chewing his lower lip, wondering what that portended.

‘A gesture, no more,’ Hermogenes suggested. ‘The light is fading.’

‘If I die in the battle,’ Flavius responded with a sigh, ‘it could be of boredom.’

‘I think you may have a warmer day tomorrow.’

T
he old man was wrong; dawn brought the first movement of the day, a feint on the Roman right then another on the left as Perozes sought to get a sense of the Belisarius plan and some notion of how quickly he could shore up sections of his defence. Not that he saw anything; Flavius declined to move any of his units, content to wait until actual contact and some kind of pressed-home attack before he would react. Once more the morning passed without much further activity.

Nor did the Sassanid commander achieve his other purpose, which was to provoke an attack, to draw Flavius Belisarius into the chance of quick victory while the forces were evenly matched. Sat on the same hillock, with a good view of the gentle slope that trended away to the flat plain to the south, he had a better view of the Sassanid dispositions and movements than Perozes had of his, so he felt it safe to be passive.

The next event was an entertaining commonplace and came after the Sassanids had taken their afternoon nourishment; an unarmoured, well-built rider came forward to challenge Flavius Belisarius to personal combat without weapons, in order that battle could be avoided and the matter could be decided without an unnecessary effusion of blood.

Flavius sent forward his chosen champion to meet the one picked by Perozes, a Greek called Andreas, probably the strongest individual in his army and a noted wrestler who had never been known to lose a contest. Soon every man in either army was craning to see the outcome of the bout, one that lasted such a little time that it brought forth groans from the audience – the breaking of the neck by Andreas was too swift.

Perozes sent forth a second fellow, or maybe he had volunteered and he lasted even less time than the first, allowing the Greek to bare his arse to the Sassanids while simultaneously acknowledging the cheers of his comrades. Next came a well-accoutred rider with the Perozes banner and a letter to which Hermogenes, being the most literate, replied, declining the invitation to quit the battlefield and admit defeat, instead, in flowery terms suggesting Perozes, clearly at a loss to break the Roman resolve, take his army back to Nisibis.

‘His reinforcements must be close,’ Flavius said as he signed what the older man had dictated to Procopius.

‘Does Your Honour know how many?’ asked the writer.

‘More than he has now – double, maybe treble.’

‘Why not bring them all at once?’

‘You ask too many questions, Procopius.’

‘Not for me, Hermogenes. I wish some of the men I led would ask more.’

‘Would you answer them?’

That got a very wide grin. ‘Not always. I would avoid anything my enemy might want to know.’

‘And mine?’ said Procopius.

‘Perozes hoped I would seek to take advantage of his lack of strength. He wants that I take the initiative and launch an assault.’

‘Would that not serve?’

‘Possession of the field is not enough and we hold it. Perozes cannot take Dara unless he crushes us so comprehensively that the fortress is denied a defence. Even if we did attack and succeed he would be back here with twice the numbers in days and we would have bled men and horses for nothing.’

The scouts came in overnight to confirm what was suspected; a huge force was on the way to join Perozes, more than double his present strength. There would be no more feints once they were deployed; these were the anvil on which the Sassanids intended to wreck the Roman defence, a point he made to his assembled inferior commanders.

‘The last two days have been about our resolve. Perozes wasn’t sure if the dispositions we made were bluff or if we were determined to save Dara from without the walls and prevent a siege. Now he knows that is the case and his needs are obvious. We must be swept aside and he wants no pursuit to the city gates so he will seek to get behind us by breaking one of the flanks.’

‘We stand where we are,’ Hermogenes added, to shore up his own standing.

‘Now you must be told how we plan to thwart them,’ Flavius said with a gesture to include Hermogenes, which brought a wry grin to the man’s face: any plan to be followed was not his. That smile stayed with him as Belisarius outlined what each commander must do and what he wanted to achieve, concluding with a warning.

‘We must look to the point in the battle were Perozes has made a full commitment. Then I will know how to react, but each of you must be prepared to obey what I have just set out. Do not think to make decisions on your own that go counter to my instructions.’ Bouzes got a hard and meaningful look. ‘I have suffered one lost battle through
insubordination, I do not intend that I should lose this one to the same fault.’

‘Gentleman,’ Hermogenes added. ‘I suggest rest, ready for the exertions of tomorrow.’

Sleep being impossible Flavius once more went through the lines, with one eye cast towards the many more numerous fires now dotting the site of the Sassanid camp. This time he was greeted by men who had come to know him and an army that had been well catered for in both food and equipment, the credit belonging to Hermogenes and his able assistants, though Flavius took it anyway rather than seek to explain.

If some of the talk with the Huns and Heruls was stilted by dint of their indifferent Latin there was bond enough between cavalrymen to make for friendly exchanges. Promises of hard fighting went down well, for these men were mercenaries and they lived for combat. As the sky began to grey he passed through the lines of the mainly slumbering
bucellarii
, men who had served with him for years now so when he did exchange words with the sentinels it was like talking to old friends.

These were the fighters he was going to have to rely on, the body that he hoped would strike the killer blow that ended the Sassanid attempt on Dara; if they failed so would he. And before that what he had planned must come to pass, which even the dimmest soldier knew was not always the case. Back at his tent Solomon was waiting with bread and cheese laid out as well as a goblet of spiced wine.

‘I never thought to sense it again, having laid aside my weapons.’

‘Join me, Solomon, in asking that God grant us the chance to experience it many times in the future.’

Praying, Flavius had no idea of the supplications made by his
domesticus
. He was, as usual, invoking the memory of his father and
brothers, and while seeking repose for their souls, he also wished for their good opinion and that his thinking be guided by their celestial hand. Was it a response from God that the walls of the tent shook? If that were the case then it was a message sustained as the wind began to blow steadily and strongly from the north.

Dawn brought the sound of horns and daylight exposed the level of movement as well as the vastly superior numbers now deployed to attack. Mounted and back on his slight hillock he and Solomon were joined by Hermogenes and Procopius, who asked to be allowed to observe the battle from this vantage point.

‘By all means, and let us hope that when you come to write your letter to a certain person in Constantinople it is a joyful one.’

The man did not blush as he might, given Flavius was hinting he suspected Procopius to be an emissary from Justinian sent to observe and report privately on both he and Hermogenes. This was a supposition arrived at because, having watched him over weeks now, the man was too skilled and too sure of himself for the position he held.

The sound of hooves took his attention and he showed some irritation that Pharas, leader of the Heruls, had left his station between the infantry and the cavalry led by Bouzes. He was greeted with a frown, one that quickly evaporated when he made his quietly delivered suggestion of how and where his men could be better deployed.

‘It fits with your plan, Flavius Belisarius,’ he added softly, ‘but I hope improves it. If I have overstepped the line, I apologise.’

‘Move your men, Pharas.’ Flavius issued another order after only a moment’s consideration. ‘And tell Bouzes to extend his front to cover your absence.’

Realising he had not done Hermogenes the courtesy of inclusion –
the older man had not even heard the exchange – he turned to him looking apologetic, to receive in response an immediate and reassuring affirmation.

‘A tactical alteration, perhaps?’ Flavius nodded. ‘Such a decision falls within your competence, not mine.’

A gesture sent Pharas on his way, with Flavius moving his horse close to that of the Hermogenes to impart in the same quiet tone his exchange with the Herul. ‘They are hardy fighters and I trust Pharas to do as he has outlined.’

‘Meaning you would not trust another?’

‘I best speak with Bouzes.’

The
dux Phoenicia
was not happy about the extension of his line, given it thinned out the forces he needed to repel an assault by the Sassanid cataphracts. Tempted to include him in what Pharas intended, Flavius demurred. He would act more properly in ignorance.

‘You will do well, I am sure. Emulate your father, who would have relished to be here today.’ Flavius looked skywards. ‘His gaze will be upon you, I’m sure.’

‘My whole family will be looking down on me!’ came the crabbed response, which got a sharp rejoinder.

‘No doubt to ensure you act according to my orders.’

The sound of the enemy horns cut off any response and had Flavius spurring back to his position in time to see the Sassanid horse archers deploy against Bouzes. He hoped this was no diversion but an assault Perozes would push to its limit. Behind the archers came a whole host of running men, infantry with large shields and behind them even more carrying long lengths of freshly cut boards, wide enough for a horse and rider and slatted for purchase.

Yet more followed with the shovels which would be employed to
take out the leading edge of the ditch. Well to their rear sat the heavy cavalry, the sun glinting on their polished armour, waiting for the time when they could cross that obstacle and get at the enemy.

The archers were less effective than previously, given the strength of the opposing wind – it was blowing right into their faces – and this time they were clearly under instruction to press home and provide cover for the non-combatant diggers, all of whom had begun a furious assault on the soft and yielding earth that formed the outer bank of the ditch, their heads covered from counter arrow fire by a wall of held-aloft shields.

‘The horse archers are suffering so that the work of destruction can proceed,’ Flavius explained, when again Procopius asked for clarification. ‘They do not often stay to take casualties and also they are less fluid in the role they have been given. Once enough damage has been done to our works then they will withdraw. It will be time then for the heavy cavalry to join in the fight.’

‘Can our men not cross the ditch and drive the diggers off?’

‘No, Procopius, they can’t. They have orders to stay, for if they break their line it will never be put back together again.’

The Sassanids were making rapid progress, as the edge of the ditch turned from a wall into a slope. Perozes seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of horse archers for as one
numerus
dispersed, their quivers used up, another came to take its place. They were drawing so much counter fire that a message came to the hillock to tell Flavius his archers were running out of arrows.

‘Tell them to desist and save some for what is yet to come.’

Such a decision allowed the spade men to work with impunity and that sped their progress. They soon had what they wanted, a traversable incline the horsemen could use to get at Bouzes and his
men. Now the task was to get those wide boards forward to the other side and jammed into the rear wall and that required another level of protection.

‘Cataphracts,’ pointed out Hermogenes quietly as the armoured warriors, so numerous they must constitute the entire Sassanid force at the disposal of Kavadh, began to advance.

Flavius had seen the movement and he had also seen the spade men discard their tools and take up their boards, to then kneel behind a wall of shields and wait for their premium fighting men. At a command they opened ranks and the cataphracts set their horses at the slope, the first line slithering down the newly dug and loose surface to cross to the rear and engage the Romans, who were well above their heads.

It was admirable if troubling the way they created the gaps needed to get those wide gangways laid, just as it was to see how quickly a second line of horsemen took advantage of this to get to their enemies on even ground, clattering up the wooden boards and pressing forward using their horse and human armour to avoid being checked. So heavy was that linked metal it afforded few gaps by which an assailant could land a telling blow, even the faces and chests of the horses had a layer of metal, with only their eyes showing. Yet press as they did it seemed they made little progress.

‘He holds,’ said Procopius, admiration evident in his voice.

‘For now,’ came the toneless reply.

Bouzes would have struggled on the first day had the attack been pressed and now he had more of the line to protect. So when the cataphracts increased in numbers it came as no surprise that his front began to buckle. But it did not break and Bouzes was riding to the rear yelling and screaming, though he could not be heard on the hillock, clearly urging resistance before he dashed into the melee with his
personal
bucellarii
to shore up a weakness, which brought a feeling of reluctant admiration to his general.

‘Orders to Bouzes, Solomon. He is to allow the pressure to tell. Let him give ground but slowly and if he enquires why say to him we need him and his men whole for what is to come.’

In truth Bouzes was not going to be gifted with a choice; Flavius had sent the message to allow him to do that which was being forced upon him anyway, the sound reason that with permission to give ground he would keep his men intact as a fighting unit. The lighter cavalry he led were struggling to hold the heavier cataphracts and if they began to break up completely they would open a huge and irreparable gap in the Roman line and allow the enemy to begin an encirclement.