Fall of Empires

Chapter 42

The Persian host seemed to fill the whole sweep of the horizon. Everywhere the low sun sparkled on armour as they came on purposefully, kicking up a swirling dust cloud in their wake. From the first sighting of Rhazates’ army, which must have marched through the night to catch up with the emperor’s forces, Theophanes and Isaac had been swept up in a blur of activity, riding from one end of the line to the other as the Romans formed up on the plain to confront the advancing Persians.

‘This is where we stand, Romans!’ Heraclius bellowed as he addressed the massed cavalry of the Roman centre. Only the jingle of harnesses and the snorting of horses broke the silence as every man strained to hear their emperor’s words.  ‘God has brought you here. Every man of you does God’s work this day. Today the infidel fire-worshippers shall be humbled. They shall be scattered into the desert and the crows shall make a feast of them.’

The soldiers cheered at that, lances were raised in the air and the grizzled veterans of the Optimates beat their shields in thunderous approval.

Heraclius indeed looked as though he were God’s own warrior this day. The sunlight danced upon the polished scales of his armour and his purple cloak billowed behind him as the breeze caught it. The emperor was bare-headed, so that he might be seen and recognised in the thick of the battle. His expression betrayed no uncertainty. He looked like a man who had already seen his destiny and was eager to embrace it.

‘Any man who falls this day wins everlasting glory, for with victory this day we shall win back all that has been lost. Christ’s own city of Jerusalem shall be restored to His people. Today we shed our blood to make it so.’

The cheer was less resounding as men contemplated the prospect of leaving their bones upon this desolate and wind-swept plain. Eternal glory not-withstanding, few doubted that the crows would feast just as greedily upon the bodies of God’s warriors as upon those of the infidels.

Heraclius sternly took in the massed ranks of his soldiers, all of them earnestly willing him to end on a rousing note.

‘You have nothing to fear from these men.’ The emperor swept his arm dismissively across the horizon behind him, where the approaching Persians with the rising sun behind them now filled every man’s field of view. ‘You have already left Khusrow’s best soldiers dead in the mud. The western armies have turned their backs upon the usurper Kavad. This rabble of old men and beardless boys are all that remains to him. Let us slaughter them like sheep. Let us take back what is ours and let us then go home in peace and in victory.’

The army erupted in a cacophony of sound as men took up the emperor’s last word and chanted it to the echo.

‘Victory, victory, victory!’

The Persians were closer now. Their own battle cries could be heard. Their standards fluttered in the morning breeze and the sun glinted from a forest of spear tips.

‘They don’t look like old men and boys,’ Isaac murmured.

The two armies were separated now by a distance of a few bowshots. The Persian force seemed to consist almost entirely of horsemen, drawn up in three great wedges, each pointed like a lance tip at the Roman lines.

The two sides regarded each other as the sun climbed into the sky behind the Persians. A group of armoured men whom Theophanes took  to be Rhazates and his officers advanced a short distance ahead of their lines to get a better view of the Romans. Heraclius regarded his opponent with interest, shielding his eyes and squinting towards the shining figure in a high-plumed conical helmet seated upon a fine black horse.

‘He rides well,’ the emperor admitted grudgingly, as Rhazates suddenly spurred his horse towards the Roman lines. One of the emperor’s bodyguards put an arrow to his bow string but Heraclius stilled him with a hand gesture. ‘What is he playing at?’
Rhazates had ridden to well within bowshot and he galloped along the Roman lines with no sign of fear. Theophanes saw that he was a younger man than Shahrbaraz with a thin beard and an arrogant gaze. The Persian commander raised his lance and shouted out a challenge as he passed the gaggle of officers clustered around the emperor.
Reaching the end of the Roman centre, Rhazates turned his mount smartly and galloped back along the line again, still shouting out his challenge.