The nomads milled for a moment. Every eye was fixed on the standard above Naulobates. The King gave an order, and the banner with the running wolf inclined towards the Sassanids. Yip-yipping, the Heruli raced forward in no order a civilised soldier could discern.

Valens rode just behind Naulobates and his blood brothers.

When the distance between the armies had narrowed to about a hundred paces, bowstrings thrummed. Both sides loosed at the same time. The sky was so full of shafts that Valens saw some collide in the air. Then the first missiles began to fall, and all his attention was focused on dodging and guarding himself with his shield. The Romans had been given small, round nomad shields, which strapped to their arms. Valens wished he was wielding a big Roman cavalry shield. But that had to be held in the left hand, and made it difficult to use a bow.

Suddenly the Heruli wheeled around, with no more warning than a school of fish. Valens sawed on his reins, dragged his mount around after them. Now the Heruli were cantering away from the Sassanids. All the while they plied their bows over their horses’ rumps. Busy keeping close to Naulobates, managing his horse, and avoiding the Persian shafts from behind and those of the Heruli ahead, Valens had yet to draw his bow.

A nomad was transfixed by an arrow. Valens stared, fascinated by the bright feathers protruding from his back. The pony did not break stride, but the Herul slid from its back.

The Sassanid heavy horse came after the division of Naulobates, still at a walk. Some men and animals in their front rank had several arrows lodged in their armour. The steel and leather and horn was hard for any nomad shaft to penetrate. Valens saw that more Heruli were falling than clibanarii. The Persians were winning this fight.

A great roar came from both wings. The Sassanid horse archers had slung their bows over their shoulders, and unsheathed their swords. They spurred into an all-out charge. Outnumbering these savages by more than two to one, like their betters, they would settle this with cold steel.

The yip-yipping on the nomad flanks faltered, then gave way to shouts of alarm. The divisions of both Artemidorus and Andonnoballus were fleeing. They raced away to the north with howls of distress, not even turning to shoot at the pursuers close on their heels.

That was too much for the pride of the Sassanid nobles. The arrows had stopped coming from behind. Valens looked over his shoulder. The clibanarii had replaced their bows in their cases. Now they were unslinging the long lances from the loops over their shoulders.

Unnoticed by Valens, the Rosomoni had slacked their pace. Now he found himself out in front of Naulobates, leading the retreat. He was happy enough to ride in this place of comparative safety. The clouds had covered the sun, and the first spits of rain pattered his face.