Centurion

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

'Not much longer until first light,' Centurion Parmenion muttered. He stretched up and took a last look round their position. The broken ground with its deep gullies spread out on either side. Towards the north they became steadily more shallow until they gave out on to the flat desert. A mile or so beyond that the ground crumbled again, forming a similar set of rough channels and jumbles of rocks. Behind Cato the men of the Second Illyrian and another two cohorts of auxiliaries lay concealed at the bottom of the gully that wound roughly north across the landscape. On the other side of the open ground, Macro lay hidden with his cohort, Balthus and his men, and another auxiliary cohort. The rest of the army was retreating along the trade route, steadily marching towards Palmyra, a dark mass crawling across the loom of the sand. Cato watched it for a moment, with a growing sense of unease. It was vital that Longinus did not march the men too swiftly so that they cleared the chokepoint before the Parthians caught up with them and forced the battle. He stared back into the open desert behind the army. By now the Parthian scouts must have seen the abandoned camp and picked up the trail of Longinus and his army. They would have raced back to their commander and told him that the Romans were trying to steal a march. If, as Cato hoped, the Parthian leader was as much of a glory-hunter as Longinus, then he would break camp at once and come after the retreating Romans. Even now, his advance troops must be close at hand, probing forward as they searched for the exhausted legions.

'Better keep your head down then,' Cato responded. 'Don't want to risk giving the position away.'

Parmenion nodded and lowered himself until his eyes were just level with the lip of the gully. Both officers had removed their helmets with the familiar, and conspicuous transverse horsehair crests. It had been a cold night and with the coming of dawn Cato was sitting hugging his knees against his chest as his teeth chattered and his muscles trembled from time to time. Parmenion looked at him with sympathy. The veteran was more generously covered with flesh, and long years of service in far colder climates had gone some way to inuring him to the present discomfort. He reached into his sling and pulled out a strip of dried mutton, and tore a strip off.

'Sir, have some of this.'

Cato stirred from his thoughts and looked at the dark fibrous meat and shook his head. His stomach was knotted with anxiety over the details of his plan and he felt more sick than hungry.

'Be a good idea,' Parmenion persisted. 'It will take your mind off the cold and you'll need food in your belly for when the fighting starts.'

Cato hesitated for a moment and realised that this was an opportunity to make himself look calm and unconcerned in the face of battle. He took the offering. 'Thanks.'

The dried meat had the consistency of wood until it had been gnawed at and chewed for a while, when it gradually became as pliable, and about as desirable, as boot leather. Still, Cato mused as his jaws worked, the smoked flavour became fairly pleasant to a man with an empty stomach.

And, as Parmenion had said, the vigorous effort expended in eating the dried mutton made him forget the cold for a moment.

'It's good,' he mumbled between mouthfuls.

Parmenion nodded.'I have it done to a recipe I got from an old Alexandrian merchant I knew once. The trick to the flavouring is to marinade it in garum before it's hung to dry.'

'Garum?' Cato was not a heavy consumer of the sauce made from rotten fish guts, though Macro tended to dash it over everything whenever he got hold of a flask. 'Well, it works well enough. Tasty.'

Parmenion smiled, pleased to have given his superior some small comfort as they waited for the enemy to appear. They ate for a little longer in silence, watching as the first faint hues of dawn spread across the eastern horizon.

'If we get out of this in one piece,' Parmenion transferred a wad of chewed meat to his cheek as he spoke, 'what do you think will happen to the general?'

Cato thought for a moment before he responded bitterly, 'Nothing. If this goes as well as I hope then you can be sure he will claim the credit and be revered back in Rome as the man who beat the Parthians. Yesterday's little fuck-up will be quickly forgotten. I imagine some lickspittle in the Senate will stand up and recommend Longinus for an ovation.'

'Not a triumph?'

Cato turned to him in surprise before he reflected that Parmenion was not Roman by birth, and probably had never been to Rome, so had no reason to be conversant with the ritual celebrations that Rome conferred on her successful generals. When a triumph, or the lesser ovation, was awarded, the Sacred Way, the ancient street that passed through the heart of the great city, would be packed with jubilant citizens, freedmen and even slaves, cheering their hearts out as their heroes paraded in full military regalia at the head of the soldiers who carried aloft the spoils of their conquests.

'Triumphs are reserved for members of the imperial family these days.Wouldn't do for a senator like Longinus to have one. Might just turn his head and encourage just a little bit more ambition than is good for the Empire. So he'll have to settle for an ovation instead, and our reward will be that he gets given a different command as far from Syria as possible.'

Parmenion laughed. 'The lads will be glad to see the back of that one all right! Can't say that I've been very impressed with many of the generals or legates that I've served under. Most have just used their appointments to mark their tablets on the course of honour. Bunch of amateurs really.'

'Some of them know their stuff,' Cato reflected. 'Macro and I had a good commander in Britain. Vespasian. You heard of him?'

'Vespasian? No, can't say that I have.'

'Well, you will one day, if I'm any judge of character.'

Parmenion suddenly stiffened and stared intently over the lip of the gully. 'They're coming.'

Cato swallowed the ball of pulped meat in his mouth and tucked the rest of the strip into his sling as he gazed to the east. The rearguard of the army, now under the command of another of Legate Amatius' officers, was just passing into the open ground between the tangles of gully and jumbled rocks. Just over a mile behind them, on the very fringe of the slowly settling haze kicked up by the Roman boots, small clusters of horsemen were trotting forward. As the light grew, Cato could see more and more of them, spread out across the desert as they moved forward to subject the legionaries and auxiliaries to another day of torment. Towards the rear of their host marched a long column of men: Prince Artaxes and his rebels. Cato concentrated his attention on them for a moment. The trap would be sprung the moment Artaxes stepped into it.

Cato lowered his head. 'Right then, pass the word. Enemy in sight. None of our men is to move a muscle. Last thing we want is some curious squaddie putting his head up for a quick look and having the sun glint off his equipment.'

'They understand well enough, sir.'

'Tell them again, anyway.'

'Yes, sir.' Parmenion saluted and then crept slowly down the side of the gully, taking care not to disturb too much of the sand and dust that could give them away just as easily as a reflection.

Cato watched him trot along the bed of the gully towards the silent ranks of men squatting a hundred paces away. Cato knew that they would be tired. This was their second night without sleep, and they had marched an entire day under frequent barrages of arrows. If all went well, however, they would soon have a chance to wreak their revenge on the enemy, and Cato knew that at that moment they would discover a fearsome reserve of strength in themselves that would carry them through the fight. He had often seen it before, even in himself, and it always surprised him just how much a man could endure when the need arose. As it did now.

The men of the rearguard must have seen the enemy as well, through the dust haze in their wake, and began to pick up their pace. Cato frowned. They had strict orders not to speed up. But then again, he realised, it was only human nature to step out that little bit faster when enemies like the Parthians were breathing down your neck. Besides, it would look natural enough to the enemy, and enhance the deception.

With a sudden increase in their own pace, the nearest groups of Parthians urged their mounts forward and closed in on the rearguard, shooting arrows into the air that looked like tiny splinters from this distance, although the distant figures of their victims tumbling to the sand were all too real. Cato turned his attention to the front of the Roman column. As yet it was still heading west and Cato had a moment's anxiety as it occurred to him that Longinus might change his mind once again, abandon the plan and make directly for Palmyra leaving Cato, Macro and the others to their fate. Then, a moment later, Cato breathed with relief as he saw the column halt and begin to deploy across the line of march. Unlike the day before their flanks would be covered by the broken ground on either side and the Parthians would only be able to attack them from the front. The rearguard would take the brunt of the enemy's early attacks, and they would endure heavy casualties. Cato hardened his heart to their plight. They would be buying their comrades time to set the trap and if it worked they would not have suffered in vain.

As soon as the line was complete the remaining Roman units on the track stepped out and hurried through the gap left for them. Dense masses of horsemen harried the flanks and rear of the end of the column, being drawn steadily further and further into the strip of open ground between the gullies and rocks on either side. At last, the camel train carrying the spare arrows and Artaxes' rebel column marched past Cato's position and he turned towards Parmenion and swept his hand round in a low horizontal swoop towards the enemy, the signal they had agreed earlier.

Parmenion turned to the first century of the Second Illyrian and ordered them up on to their feet. The auxiliaries were keyed up for action and snatched up spears, the light javelins they had been issued for the coming fight, and shields, then stood ready to move. Further down the line were the men carrying the baskets loaded with four-pronged iron spikes drawn from the army's stoves. Speed was vital, since Cato had realised that they were bound to kick up enough dust for the enemy to spot the danger even before they emerged from the gullies on either side.

He carefully clambered down to the floor of the gully, put on his helmet and tied the straps securely as Parmenion led the cohort forward. Cato snatched up his shield and fell in alongside the standard as the auxiliaries reached him.

'Second Illyrian! At the double… advance!'

They trotted along the floor of the gully, following its course towards the open ground, nearly a mile away, far enough for the enemy to have missed their presence as they pursued Longinus. Somewhere on the other side of the open ground Macro would be leading his force forward, converging with Cato's. If speed was one vital component of the plan, then timing was the other, and Cato trusted that his friend would have started his advance at roughly the same moment.

Cato ran on, forcing his tired legs forward as his heart pounded and his breathing came in ragged gasps. He tried to keep to an even pace which he knew he could maintain for long enough to get the cohort in position.The rumbling crunch of the auxiliaries' boots sounded unnaturally loud in the confined space. But at least the rising sun's rays had not yet appeared over the lip of the gully to add glare and heat to their discomfort.

The gully began to slope up gently and the sides began to fall away as they reached the open ground. Cato glanced to his left. The rear of the rebel column was just visible through a dust haze half a mile away. Beyond that, the Parthian horse was packed into a flat space between the two expanses of broken ground. They stood their ground, releasing a torrent of arrows on Longinus' battle line: damage the front rank of legionaries would have to soak up until Cato and Macro were in position. Then Longinus would give the order to advance and the Parthians would turn their mounts to retire to a safe distance to resume shooting their bows. Then they would see the new danger and realise the trap they had been lured into. Cato smiled as he anticipated their surprise. It would not endure, of course. They would see the thin line and know that they could charge through it without too much difficulty. Except that they would not reckon with one other aspect of Cato's plan.

'There's Balthus!' Parmenion called out and Cato turned to look ahead.The small band of horse-archers had emerged from a gully and were galloping towards Cato, ready to take up position behind the infantry line. Behind them came Macro, distinguishable by his transverse scarlet crest. The column of legionaries with their curved oblong shields came after him, spilling out on to the open ground. So intent were the enemy on destroying the army in front of them that they did not react until the two arms of the trap had linked up to their rear.Then Cato saw faces in the rebel column turn to look back, then wave their arms to attract the attention of their comrades.

'Not much time before they hit us,' Cato gasped to Parmenion. 'Form the line.'

Parmenion nodded, drew a deep breath and bellowed, 'Halt!… Left face!'

The Second Illyrian stood in a long line, two deep, with a pace between files. The men's chests heaved with the exertion of their run to get into position. The other auxiliary cohorts formed up on their left, covering the ground back to the gully. To Cato's right he heard Macro shouting orders for his men to complete the line. Cato felt a moment's elation that they had managed to close the trap without the enemy realising. There was one final detail.

'Caltrops!' Cato called down the line and the other officers relayed the order.

The men carrying the baskets moved through the line, advanced thirty paces and quickly began to scatter a belt of caltrops across the front of the formation. The iron spikes had been designed so that they could be thrown to the ground and always land resting on three of the spikes while the fourth stood proud, ready to impale the foot, or hoof, of any unwary enemy charging over them.

'Well, didn't take them long to wise up.' Parmenion pointed and Cato saw that the rearmost Parthian horse-archers had wheeled round and were moving towards them at an easy gallop. He cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, 'Get busy with those caltrops, before those bastards are on us!'

The men with the baskets glanced up quickly and then hurried along, casting out the contents like farmers sowing seeds. As soon as they had emptied their baskets they dropped them and ran back towards the Roman line and snatched up their weapons.

'Slingers!' Cato shouted. 'Prepare!'

Those who had been issued with slings lowered their spears and shields and stepped ahead of the line as they took the leather cords and pouches from round their shoulders and reached into their haversacks for a lead shot to fit to the weapon.

All the time Cato's men had been hurrying their preparations to receive the enemy attack, the Parthians had been closing on them. Now they were so close that Cato could see the nearest of them fitting arrows to their bows.

'Shoot at will!'

The first whirring sounds filled the air as the auxiliaries swung the cords overhead, took aim and then released their missiles.The deadly lead shot zipped out in a low trajectory towards the oncoming horsemen. A moment later one of the Parthian mounts was struck square on the head and it tumbled forward, pitching its rider into the dust. More hits were scored and several of the enemy were knocked down, or were thrown by their crippled horses. But all the time more and more of them were riding up and even though that made the target even easier for the slingers Cato knew that the balance was about to shift in the Parthians' favour.

'Slingers! Withdraw!'

The last of the sling shots whipped out towards the dense mass of the enemy and the auxiliaries looped the cords over their shoulders and hurried back to join the main line.

'Prepare to receive arrows! Take cover!'

All along the line the order was repeated and the Roman soldiers knelt down behind their grounded shields and angled them slightly back to make the most of the sparse shelter they offered. In the distance, beyond the pounding hooves of the Parthian mounts, Cato could hear the strident blasts of bucinas as the main Roman line charged forward.

'Not long now, boys!' Cato called out. 'We just have to hold them until Longinus takes them from the rear.'

'Bloody general always was a toga-lifter!' a voice called out and the men roared with laughter until Parmenion screamed, 'Who said that? Which insubordinate fuck said that? You! Calpurnius! It was you… When this is over you can have a drink on me!'

The men cheered and Cato smiled at Parmenion's little act of spirit-raising. It was just what the men needed. The kind of thing that Macro would say, and that Cato felt too self-conscious to attempt.

'Arrows!' a voice cried out and the cheers died in men's throats as they hunched down. The dark shafts whistled through the air an instant before they cracked into shields and shicked into the desert sand. Cato kept his head down and tried to tighten his slim frame as far as possible into the shelter of his shield. Twisting his head to each side he saw that none of his men was injured yet. The open spacing of the line and the angled shields were serving their purpose well – well enough for the Parthians to become impatient with their lack of success, especially with the main body of the Roman army quickly closing in on their rear.There was a lull in the arrow barrage and Cato risked a glimpse round the shield rim and saw that the Parthians were urging their mounts on so that they could close the range and shoot the Romans down far more accurately, before charging home and shattering the line.

Cato watched fixedly as they galloped closer, faces wild and exultant as they anticipated an easy kill. Then the foremost riders hit the belt of caltrops. Cato knew that there was bound to be a handful of Parthians fortunate enough to negotiate the caltrops without spiking a hoof. But many, perhaps most, would not be so lucky and those behind them would be wary about crossing the belt of spikes.They would make fine targets for Balthus and his men.

The pounding of hooves was suddenly pierced by the shrill whinnies of injured horses and the surprised cries of their riders. In front of him Cato saw several horses go down. One man made it through and hearing the chaos behind him he reined in and turned to look. Cato pointed him out to the auxiliary squatting nearest to him.'That man, take him down!'

The auxiliary nodded, snatching up his light javelin. He rose, drawing his throwing arm back, sighted the Parthian and threw the javelin with an explosive grunt. It was well aimed, and the target was not moving, and the point caught the horse-archer in the back, piercing his heart. The impact made the man arch his back and throw his arms out before he fell from his saddle, dead before he hit the ground.

'Fine throw!' Cato grinned at the auxiliary. 'Get down!'

Along the line a number of other riders had made it through the caltrops, but they were isolated and caught by surprise and quickly finished off by auxiliaries using javelins or slings. On the other side of the caltrops the Parthians were densely packed and struggling to find enough space to draw their bows and pick a target. Cato turned and called out over his shoulder.

'Balthus! Now!'

This was the moment the prince and his men had been waiting for and they urged their mounts forward as they notched the first arrows to their bows. As soon as they were within range of the Parthians they reined in and loosed their arrows as swiftly as they could. Almost every one told as it struck man or horse and the enemy's confusion deepened so that only a handful of them still managed to shoot at the Roman line.

'Slings and javelins!' Cato shouted out, his voice straining above the din from the other side of the caltrops. 'Slings and javelins!'

With a throaty roar the auxiliaries rose up and the air between the two sides was filled with the whirr and zip of sling shot and the dark streaks of the javelins. More men and horses crashed down and already a line of bodies, some writhing, some inert, was heaping up along the edge of the belt of caltrops. Beyond, Cato could see that the Parthians were wavering and the less brave spirits were already falling back. He turned to his men.

'They're breaking! They're breaking! Pour it on!'

Cato bent down, snatched up a small rock and hurled it towards the enemy. Some of his men, their javelins spent, followed his example, for what little added effect it was worth. The frantic barrage of arrows, sling shot, javelins and rocks proved too much for the Parthians and suddenly they were recoiling all along the line, desperately struggling to turn their horses round and escape. A pall of dust hung in the air, kicked up by thousands of horses, and it billowed all along the front as the fleeing Parthians disappeared into the gloom and the rumbling thunder of hooves slowly receded.

But there was no escape for them, Cato knew. Behind them lay Longinus and the solid ranks of his legions.To the rear of the Roman line rode the cavalry, waiting for the moment when the enemy was utterly broken and they would be unleashed to begin the pursuit. Cato dropped the rock he was holding and waved his arm overhead to attract his men's attention.

'Cease shooting! Back into line!'

The slingers put the cords back round their necks and retrieved their shields and spears. In a few moments the men were back in position and the line was ready to react to any new threat. The sound of hooves continued to fade and the cries and groans of the enemy wounded called out of the gradually dispersing haze. Cato stepped back from the line and glanced to either side. Several Roman soldiers lay sprawled on the ground amid the angled shafts of arrows, and a handful of others had been injured and had been helped to the rear where they were being tended to by medical orderlies.

A new sound carried through the dust, the thunderous clatter of thousands of swords on the sides of shields as the Roman army bore down on the Parthians. Then the sound dissolved into the general din of battle. The clang of weapons, the war cries of men, the rise and fall of cheering from entire units and the blasts of bucinas, clash of Parthian cymbals and deep beat of their large drums all blended together in a dreadful cacophony.

Macro's voice carried down the line from Cato's right. 'Heads up! Enemy infantry to the front!'

Cato strained his eyes but could see nothing clearly through the dust as yet. A fluke waft of air must have provided Macro with a better view. Cato drew a breath.

'Second Illyrian! Close ranks! Form battle line on me!'

The long line quickly contracted as the men shuffled together and alternate sections dropped back and to the side to form up in centuries four lines deep. Then they turned and doubled up towards Cato and the cohort's standard. Looking to his right Cato saw that Macro was doing the same with his legionaries and a gap opened between the two units.When both cohorts were still Cato heard the faint shuffling rumble of the approaching enemy and realised it must be Artaxes and his rebels, making an attempt to break out of the trap. The sounds came from Cato's right as the enemy column made for Macro's legionaries. Then he saw them emerge from the dust, picking their way through the bodies of the Parthians carpeting the desert floor. Artaxes had placed some of his regular soldiers at the head of the column and their armour gleamed in the muted sunlight. They stopped as soon as they saw the belt of caltrops and an officer immediately shouted orders to the nearest men, who bent down and began to clear a path. It would be the work of a few moments to clear a gap wide enough for the column to pass through and then Macro's four hundred would have to hold off thousands.

Cato looked at the dust haze in front of his men and made an instant decision.

'Parmenion!'

'Sir?'

'Send word to the other auxiliary cohorts to hold the line.'

As Parmenion summoned an orderly, Cato turned to the nearest section of auxiliaries. 'You! With me!'

He ran forward to the caltrops and began to pick them up and fling them to one side. 'Clear a path! Hurry!'

The men followed his lead, working systematically through the belt, until they had created a gap ten paces across. Cato snatched up a Parthian quiver and laid the arrows out in two lines to mark the channel.

'Second Illyrian! Form column and follow me!'

As the cohort marched through the gap and over the bodies on the far side, Cato looked towards Macro as the enemy surged through the gap they had made a hundred paces further along. With a thud of shields and scraping clatter of blades the two sides crashed together. Cato ran through the channel and took up position at the head of his men, counting his steps as he went. There were bodies everywhere, most still moving, and the enemy wounded eyed him with fear as they marched.There were horses too, riderless and pawing the ground. Once he had counted off enough distance to clear the caltrops by a safe margin Cato halted the cohort.

'Right face!'

He called to the nearest optio. 'Pass the word. When I give the order to charge I want the loudest war cry I've ever heard. We're going to teach them, and Macro's precious legionaries, a lesson they'll never forget!'

As the message went down the line Cato and the standard-bearer took up position at the head of the third century, in the centre of the formation. He waited until the last repeat of his orders died away. Ahead, to the right, he heard the bitter struggle between Macro's men and the rebels. Cato drew his sword, took a deep breath and called out, 'Second Illyrian… advance!'

The line tramped forward, unevenly picking its way across the Parthian dead and wounded. Cato knew that they must arrive as a single mass and bellowed to the officers to keep dressing the ranks as they moved forward.Then, Cato's eyes detected the forms of men through the dust, and a few paces further on he saw the flank of the rebel column. The regular soldiers were at the front of the column and the rest was made up of levies, little more than an armed rabble, whose eyes widened in terror as the auxiliaries emerged from the haze.

There was no time for parade ground protocol and Cato roared the order. 'Charge!'

His shout was drowned out by the rest of his men as they hurled themselves on the flank of the rebel column. The rebels did not have a chance to brace themselves for the impact. Some turned quickly towards the new threat, legs braced, shields out and swords raised. Others turned away and fled, hurling down their weapons as they ran for their lives. Most simply froze, staring at the auxiliaries bearing down on them as they roared out their battle cries. An instant later the Second Illyrian crashed into the rebels' flank. Cato's wild, meaningless roar was cut off as he gritted his teeth, raised his shield and braced himself for the impact as he threw himself into the press of rebel bodies in front of him. He struck the nearest man with the full weight of his armoured body and the breath was driven from the rebel in an explosive gasp. Cato paused an instant to balance himself, and then stepped forward, thrusting his sword to the right, into the side of a man about to slash down with his falcata at the auxiliary beside Cato. Instead he collapsed as his sword dropped from his fingers. Cato tugged his blade free and swept it round at the man he had crashed into with his shield. The blade glanced off the edge of the rebel's buckler and thudded into his padded skullcap. He staggered away from Cato and vomited down his ragged tunic before he collapsed.

'Second Illyrian! Second Illyrian!' the auxiliaries shouted over and over again as they laid into the enemy in a frenzied and ferocious assault of slamming shields and slashing swords. Cato punched his shield forward, stepped in behind it, and punched again, striking home with a solid thud.This time he swung his shield aside and threw his sword forward. There was an instant when Cato saw the look of wide-eyed terror in a man twice his age, before the point crunched through his eye socket into his skull and Cato felt a warm spray of blood spatter his face as he snatched the sword back.

'Keep going, Second Illyrian!' Cato bellowed. 'Forward!'

The melee was spreading out as more and more of the rebels fell back and ran. Cato, crouching and poised on the balls of his feet, glanced round quickly. His men had already fought their way right through the enemy column and were turning on the pockets of rebels who still stood their ground.To his right, near the head of the column, Cato saw a serpent standard in the middle of a ring of men in scale armour and purple robes.The personal bodyguard of Prince Artaxes, Cato decided. He pointed his bloodied blade towards the standard and called out, as loudly as he could, 'Second Illyrian! Make for the enemy standard!'

He caught the eye of one of the optios and pointed towards the ring of bodyguards. With a nod, the man turned and bellowed the order, and it was swiftly passed along the line. At once, there was a perceptible movement towards the standard as the auxiliaries made for Artaxes and his bodyguards. Now Cato could see a man positioned a short distance from the standard, urging his men on. As Cato cut his way through he recognised the features of the man and nodded grimly to himself.

'Artaxes…'

The auxiliaries closed in round the prince and his bodyguard and Cato could see beyond them to where the legionaries of Macro's cohort had made a path through the caltrops and were hacking their way into the head of the column. The rebels were finished, Cato realised. All that remained for Artaxes was the choice between fleeing, or fighting to the end.The Palmyran prince must have become aware of the situation at almost the same moment, for he drew a deep breath and shouted an order to his men, and they closed ranks with overlapping shields and raised their spears overhead, ready to thrust at any Romans who came within reach of the long iron heads of their spears. Cato glanced behind him and saw that the rest of his cohort were completing the destruction of the rebel column. The desert was littered with bodies and splashes of blood and the men still fighting had to be wary of their footing as they mercilessly cut down the rebels who were still mad or brave enough to continue the fight.

There were perhaps as many as a hundred men with Cato as the Romans closed in on Artaxes and his bodyguards. As the auxiliaries sized up their enemies there was a tense pause and the air was filled with the sound of laboured breathing as the men of both sides stared at each other, waiting for the spell to be shattered.

Cato drew himself up to his full height and raised his sword to attract the attention of his men.

'Second Illyrian! Hold your ground!'

The men glanced at him, some with surprised expressions, but they stopped where they were and waited on their commander's next order. Cato turned towards the rebels.

'Prince Artaxes! You are beaten. The Parthians have scattered. Your rebellion is over.' Cato let his words sink in for a brief moment before continuing. 'There is no point to further resistance. Save your men's lives and surrender.'

There was no response at first. Artaxes just glared at Cato and bit his lip.Then one of his men glanced back at him and began to lower his spear.

'No!' Artaxes screamed out. 'No surrender! Kill them!'

He grabbed the spear from the nearest of his men and hurled it towards Cato. His aim was wild, but so was the force behind the throw and before the auxiliary standing next to Cato could react, the head of the spear pierced his stomach and burst out of his back in a welter of blood and exploded flesh. The man's arms spasmed and his shield and sword flew from his hands to clatter on the ground. He fell back, kicked once and died with a frothy gurgling sound as blood spurted and bubbled from his throat.

'Kill the bastards!' one of Cato's men yelled, his voice shrill with rage. 'Kill 'em!'

With an angry roar the auxiliaries swept forward before Cato could stop them. Spears cracked off the auxiliaries' shields. Those rebels with a more powerful thrust sent the tips of their weapons splintering through the shields, one gouging a slough of skin and muscle from the arm of an auxiliary. Then the legionaries slammed into the prince's bodyguards, using their bigger shields and greater numbers to push the enemy back. The spears continued to stab over the rims of the auxiliaries' shields, clattering off helmets, glancing off those who had scale armour. Meanwhile the Romans tried to keep their shields up and their heads down as they pressed forward into the enemy. Close in, they had the advantage with short swords, and whenever a gap appeared between the enemy shields they thrust home at any exposed limbs. Some hacked at the shafts of the spears as they darted overhead, and split the wood, or even knocked them from the grasp of the rebels.

The grunts of the men on both sides, the snarled cries of triumph and the gasps and groans of the wounded sounded so close that Cato was sure he was breathing in the dying gasps of other men, and felt a momentary chill of superstitious dread at the thought. He pushed his way through his men, aiming for the enemy standard and Prince Artaxes. He could still see the prince, shouting defiantly as he drew his sword and punched it into the air, urging his men on. But one by one they were cut down and crushed as the auxiliaries trampled over them in iron-nailed boots. Before Cato reached Artaxes, one of the auxiliaries killed the man to his front and thrust his way through the gap in the tight knot of the surviving rebels. Artaxes was in front of him and before the prince could react the Roman soldier flew at him, knocking the standard-bearer aside with his shield. The standard toppled to the ground as the auxiliary hacked at Artaxes, driving him back and then down when there was no further room to retreat. Artaxes threw up his sword to block a blow to his head, and at the last instant the auxiliary shifted his aim and the edge of his blade cut through the prince's arm just above the wrist, smashing bones and severing tendons. Artaxes cried out and his sword dropped from his useless fingers. The auxiliary stepped forward to make the kill.

'No!' Cato bellowed, charging through behind the auxiliary. His shield caught the soldier in the side and knocked him away from Artaxes so that the sword blade bit harmlessly into the sand. 'Leave him!'

He turned and shouted in Greek,'Surrender! The prince is down! Surrender!'

The last of the bodyguards wheeled towards Cato and, after hesitating a moment, one of them threw down his sword. Then the others followed suit, but not before one of them fell to the weapon of an auxiliary still overwhelmed by the frenzy of battle.

'Second Illyrian!' Cato shouted. 'Stand fast! Hold back there!'

His men stepped back a few paces and lowered their swords. Only then did the surviving bodyguards warily lay down their shields and stand waiting to be taken captive, the fear and despair of defeat etched into their expressions. Cato let down his guard and allowed his shield to rest on the ground. At his feet Artaxes clutched his ruined arm to his chest with his other hand and moaned in agony through gritted teeth. Cato's chest heaved as he breathed deeply and he was aware of an unbearable tiredness and how much his body ached from the exertions he had demanded of it. But now it was all over. The attack on the rebel column, the battle against the Parthian army, the rebellion. Everything. He looked down at Artaxes and nodded wearily to himself at the thought. Then his eye was drawn to the bright red serpent banner and he stirred himself and bent to pick it up. Looking for the auxiliary who had cut Artaxes down, he beckoned to the man and held the standard out to him.

'Yours… You've earned it, soldier.'

The man smiled faintly and took the shaft of the standard. 'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

'Cato! Cato! Where are you, lad?'

He turned towards the sound of Macro's voice and saw that the legionaries had driven off the front of the column and now approached the battered and bloodied men of the Second Illyrian, clustered round the enemy standard. The bodies of rebel and Roman alike lay sprawled and heaped about them, and to one side the handful of prisoners stood together and stared at the scene in dejection.

'By the Gods,' Macro muttered as he picked his way over the bodies towards Cato. 'What a bloodbath. Are you all right, Cato?'

Cato saw the concerned expression on his friend's face and took a moment to realise that his face and helmet must be spattered and streaked with blood. 'I'm fine, sir. I'm fine.'

'Good.' Macro patted his arm. 'Fine job. Is this our man Artaxes?'

'That's him. I'd better get his arm seen to.'

'If you think it's worth it.' Macro shrugged. 'I don't see the point. I doubt he'll survive the reunion with his doting father.'

'I suppose not,' Cato conceded.'But that's their affair. Just as long as we deliver him to the king alive, we'll gain some favour with Vabathus. And with the Parthian threat removed…' Cato turned and looked over the battlefield. Now that the fighting was over and the dust had begun to settle he could begin to see the scale of the enemy's defeat. The Parthian army had been broken entirely, and was being ruthlessly pursued and run down by General Longinus and his men. Most of the Parthians were fleeing into the gullies of the broken ground, desperately trying to put some distance between them and the victorious Roman soldiers.

Macro chuckled as he saw his friend survey the battlefield. 'I guess the plan worked then.'

Cato turned to him then, and after a brief hesitation he laughed. 'So it seems.' Around them the legionaries of Macro's cohort crowded round Cato and his men surveying the auxiliaries' handiwork with open admiration. Then, from the ranks, a voice called out, 'A cheer for the Second Illyrian, lads!'

At once the legionaries let out a throaty roar of approval and after a moment's surprise the faces of the auxiliaries looked on in delighted smiles and triumphant grins as they mixed ranks with the legionaries.

There was a drumming of hooves and they both looked round to see Balthus and his men approaching them. The prince was smiling broadly and his eyes widened in delight as he saw the standard. Slewing his mount to a halt he slid from the saddle and clambered across the bodies towards the two Roman officers.

'My friends, it is a great victory. Parthia has been humbled. Humbled, I tell you! Have you seen my brother? Has his body been found?'

Macro stepped out of the way and gestured towards Artaxes. 'There. Alive but perhaps not so well.'

Balthus' smile faded and he stood and stared at his brother lying on the ground, nursing his nearly severed hand. 'You… Still alive.'

Artaxes opened his eyes and sneered when he saw his brother. 'Very much alive, brother, and when the king sees me, I shall be remorseful. I shall weep as I confess to the ambitious spirit that deceived me. And you know what? He will forgive me.'

Macro laughed out loud. 'I don't think so, sunshine! Not after what you've done.'

'Really?' Artaxes smiled and then winced as another wave of pain momentarily seized him. A cold sweat broke out on his brow as he continued. 'You don't know my father. Like most fathers, he has a weakness. A compulsion to indulge his favourite son, whatever I may have done.'

There was a moment's silence as the others considered his words.Then Balthus nodded and said quietly,'He's right. It will be a difficult situation…' He turned to the nearest of his men and barked an order. Before Macro and Cato realised what was happening, several bows were raised and arrows whipped through the air, thudding into Artaxes where he lay on the ground. He gasped, looking at his brother with a shocked expression.Then his eyes glazed over and he slumped back and stared into the sky, mouth open and slack.

Balthus looked at him for a moment and tipped his head slightly to one side.

'But not any more.'

08 Centurion