by Ben Kane
Longinus strode into the room, energy radiating from him.
Few looked up.
The tough soldier came to a halt in front of Crassus and saluted crisply. 'I have done the rounds. The Eighth has lost about a third of its number. Now that they've had water and some rest, my men are in reasonable shape.'
Crassus sat quite still, his eyes closed.
'Sir?'
Still silence.
'What have you decided?' demanded Longinus.
Comitianus cleared his throat. 'We have not come to an agreement yet.' He would not meet the other's eyes. 'What do you say?'
'There is only one real option.' Longinus let the words sink in. 'Retreat to the river immediately. We can reach it before dawn.'
'My soldiers cannot march tonight,' replied one legate.
There were murmurs of agreement.
Unsurprised, Longinus glanced at Comitianus.
'What about Armenia?' the commander of the Sixth ventured.
'The legate is right, sir.' Coponius' tone wavered. 'Retreating to the mountains makes a lot of sense. There are plenty of streams and the broken ground would make it awkward for the Parthians' horses.'
'The mountains?' Crassus gazed round the room longingly. 'Where is Publius?'
There was no answer.
'Gone, sir,' said Longinus at last. 'To Elysium.'
'Dead?'
Longinus nodded.
A sob escaped Crassus' lips and he bent his neck, ignoring those around him.
The spirited officer had seen enough. 'With your permission, sir,' he said, 'I would like to lead the army to safety. Tonight.'
Crassus rocked on his stool and stared at the floor.
Longinus raised his voice. 'We should retreat under the cover of darkness.'
There was no response. Crassus, the liberator of Rome, was nothing but a shell.
Longinus turned to face the others. 'Stay with him,' he said dismissively, 'or follow me. The Eighth is marching to the Euphrates in an hour.'
Nervous muttering filled the room. He waited, fingers impatiently tapping his sword hilt.
'There is a local who has aided us on many occasions, sir,' began the prefect, eager to please.
Longinus raised an eyebrow.
'Andromachus has proved reliable since we first took Carrhae. Many Parthian attacks have been foiled because of his information.'
'Let me guess.' Longinus' voice dripped with sarcasm. 'This Andromachus can guide us to safety.'
'So he says, sir.'
'Where have I heard that before?'
Coponius was not to be deterred. 'Apparently the mountains are only five to six hours' march, sir.'
'Are they, by Jupiter?' said Longinus acidly.
But the legates began whispering with excitement.
Even Crassus lifted his head.
'I know the way to the river!' Longinus bunched a fist. 'These savages are all treacherous sons of whores. We can trust none of them. Remember Ariamnes?'
There was an ominous silence.
'Publius,' Crassus broke in. 'Where is Publius?'
The officers were paralysed with indecision.
At length Comitianus plucked up the courage to speak. 'Armenia seems a better option,' he said uncertainly. 'That road to the river is totally flat.'
'It's at least a day's march to the mountains by my reckoning. We can make the Euphrates overnight,' urged Longinus. 'Who is with me?'
Nobody met his eye.
The veteran was no longer prepared to tolerate their spineless attitude. 'Fools! You will be massacred.' He stalked out, red cloak flowing in the faint breeze.
There was a brief, uneasy pause before the group began asking Coponius eagerly about possible salvation. The brave legate was forgotten. It was the only way the rest could reconcile themselves to staying with Crassus.
The commander of the Eighth was as good as his word. Within the hour, Longinus' legion had gone, marching into the desert in virtual silence. Only the occasional clash of spear against shield betrayed its departure. Few of the exhausted survivors bothered to watch.
Romulus heard the tramp of feet, jingling mail and muted coughs and got up straight away. Brennus was snoring peacefully, but the Etruscan's eyes were open. Together they walked to the main gate.
'The Eighth is leaving,' said Romulus. 'Should we go too?'
The Etruscan's face was enigmatic in the moonlight. 'The penalty for deserting is crucifixion. We should stay.'
Romulus frowned. It wasn't likely the tired sentries would even notice if three more men fled the town. Discipline was at an all-time low.
'What about the stars?'
'They're not telling me much.'
Romulus shrugged, content to trust his friend. Brennus seemed set on following Tarquinius to the ends of the world if necessary. The big man was like a father to him and that was enough reason to stay.
The pair returned to the hut, where they found Brennus awake.
'What's happening?'
'The Eighth is heading for Zeugma.'
'Be easy to slip over the wall. No one would see.'
'No,' said Tarquinius firmly. 'It is less than a day's march to the Euphrates and safety. The men can manage that after a good rest.'
'It seems cowardly fleeing at night.' Brennus lay back on the dirt floor, closing his eyes. 'I need a good sleep anyway.'
Romulus pictured the lines of legionaries marching into the darkness. The Eighth had still looked proud, disciplined. Not like the rabble in and around Carrhae. His stomach turned over. Surely it was wiser to retreat when the Parthians could not use their deadly bows? What advantage was there in waiting until the morning? It didn't seem to make sense, but the Etruscan knew best. Wearier than he could ever remember, Romulus closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly.
The haruspex did not speak again before dawn. He sat by the open door, brooding and studying the night sky. Tarquinius did not like misleading his friends, but there was no other way. Olenus had been right all those years before.
By mid-morning, everyone knew that they should have followed Longinus to the Euphrates. Instead of marching west, the legates had elected to follow Coponius' guide north towards Armenia. Crassus had not given a single command since the previous night and rode his horse in a silent daze. After four hours in the cauldron of fire, the men had reached the limits of endurance. There had been no sign of the Parthians, nor of the promised mountains. Worst of all, no rivers or oases. Most soldiers had emptied their water containers within a few miles and thirst once again had become the enemy.
Sensing the soldiers' need for a rest, the legates finally ordered a halt. Men collapsed on to the ground, not caring that it was hot enough to burn. Fearing mutiny, the centurions did not attempt to move them for some time.
Eventually Bassius and the officers began to pace up and down, vine canes in hand. Armenia would get no nearer like this.
'Get up! Lazy bastards!' The words were the same, but since the superhuman effort of bringing the Second Cohort to safety, Bassius had lost his vigour. It seemed his last reserves had been spent, leaving only willpower to keep him going.
The legionaries groaned but did as he said. Bassius had earned their respect during the retreat and they were still willing to follow. Other centurions had more difficulty, but at last the battered army managed to get moving.
Its speed was now painfully slow and as the column ground on, ever more soldiers began to fall out of rank from sheer exhaustion. Some managed to struggle up, but the weaker ones remained sprawled on the baking sand. Cries for help filled the air, but few men had the strength to carry another. It was easier to look away. Tears again formed in Romulus' eyes when he recognised legionaries he had fought with during the campaign. Only Brennus' iron grip on his shoulder prevented him from trying to help many.
And so it went on. Half-dead figures littered the army's trail, left to cook in the sun. Clouds of vultures swiftly descended when it had passed. Loud, eager cries rose fro
m the ugly birds as fights took place over the best pickings. Whether they waited until the prey was dead no one could tell.
At length the legions neared the base of an enormous dune that ran across their path, its sheer bulk halting their progress. Hundreds of feet of sand rose steeply into the air. The soldiers groaned aloud. It would be a long, hard slog.
'Climb!' The centurions roared, pointing upwards. 'Move!'
The front ranks shifted their yokes and began ascending. For the moment all they could do was obey. Maybe the promised mountains would be visible from the top.
Within fifty paces, Romulus saw a telltale cloud rising from behind the slope.
'Trouble.' Stomach churning, he nudged Brennus.
Suddenly everyone saw the dust. The army came to an abrupt standstill. Officers screamed in vain as the legionaries stared up with fascinated horror.
When Parthian archers emerged on top of the dune, a wordless moan escaped men's throats. They would be going no further. As the tired soldiers waited, awestruck, the entire ridge filled with the enemy.
'We 're finished,' swore Romulus. 'Can't fight them, can we? Might as well lie down and die now.'
A little shocked, Brennus regained his composure quickly. 'Can't be as bad as it looks,' he said.
Romulus spun to face Tarquinius, who regarded him steadily. The young soldier was furious. 'Did you know this would happen?' he snapped.
'No.' It was impossible to tell if the Etruscan was lying or not.
'Really? There are thousands of the bastards up there,' yelled Romulus. 'How could you miss seeing them?'
'The art of haruspicy is an uncertain one,' replied Tarquinius with a shrug. 'I've told you that before.'
Romulus' spirits plummeted. How could they live through another battle like the day before?
Then the Etruscan pointed.
A party of horsemen was making its way down the slope, hands held aloft to show they carried no weapons.
Romulus peered at the riders suspiciously. 'Are they offering parley?'
'Looks like it,' answered Brennus calmly.
'The breeze is more favourable now,' added Tarquinius. 'Although thousands more men will die today.'
'It's time to talk,' Romulus grumbled. 'We don't stand a chance otherwise.'
The friends held their breath as the Parthians came closer, the horses picking their way through the thick sand.
Crassus' position was obvious from the number of standards and red-cloaked officers, and the riders halted a hundred paces from it. They waited expectantly.
To Romulus' surprise, there was no response.
Men began to grow angry. The endless marching in blistering heat, exhaustion and the lack of water had been followed by the death of thousands at the hands of an unreachable enemy. Now, even when they were about to be slaughtered, it seemed that their leader would not talk to the Parthians. His arrogance had not completely evaporated.
With no cavalry remaining, Crassus had to rely on his bodyguards to carry orders. At last a pair of this elite came trotting along the column, sweating heavily in their gilded breastplates and leather skirts.
'Prepare for battle!' one wheezed every few steps. 'Back to the flat ground. Form a continuous line.'
'Piss off, son of a whore!'
'Who said that?' Both men skidded to a halt, hands on their swords.
'Go and fight those bastard Parthians yourself!'
There was an angry roar and more insults were thrown. So far, these hand-picked soldiers had seen no combat at all, which generated huge resentment among the rank and file.
'Where 's the ranking centurion?' The more senior bodyguard, an optio, tried to regain control.
Silently Bassius came forward, his phalerae prominent.
'Nobody disobeys a direct order from Marcus Licinius Crassus. Arrest those men!'
'You can call me sir. I didn't spend sixteen damn years in the legions for nothing!'
'Sir.'
'Go and do it yourself,' declared Bassius. 'You piece of shit.'
Huge cheers erupted from his men.
'Refusing to obey orders, Centurion?'
Bassius ignored him. 'Why has Crassus not sent a party to negotiate?'
More delighted shouts rose from the surrounding legionaries.
The two guards were blind to diplomacy.
'Crassus does not parley with desert savages.'
Bassius whipped out his gladius, placing its razor sharp tip under the optio's chin.
'Tell the general to go and talk with the Parthians. Himself.' He half turned. 'That right, boys?'
A swelling roar of approval moved down the line, the soldiers drumming their swords off scuta to show support. Those further away guessed what was going on and joined in. Romulus and Brennus did likewise. What was the point of dying in the Mesopotamian desert? They might as well retreat to Syria and survive.
A faint breeze had sprung up and Tarquinius saw that a number of small clouds had appeared in the sky. Engrossed with the standoff, no one else saw him frown. There were twelve.
The optio was a brave man. 'Crassus ignores demands from scum.'
'I've fought in more than ten wars, you miserable dog,' said Bassius, pressing harder with his gladius and breaking the skin. A drop of blood rolled down the iron.
He winced but did not back away.
'Crassus had best do what we say.' Bassius paused. 'Or he might end up like Publius.'
The optio glanced at his comrade.
Dozens of legionaries tensed and the second soldier carefully let go of his sword hilt. The men around them pounded harder on their shields. Crassus had promised them everything but delivered only hardship and death. Thousands of Parthians now waited to complete their annihilation. If the general would not parley, they would take matters into their own hands.
'You heard them.' The old centurion gestured at the column's centre. 'Now go and tell Crassus.'
Slowly the two guards moved away from the raised weapon and stalked back to Crassus' position. Bassius watched for a few moments before stepping into line.
'Jupiter!' Romulus let out a breath. 'Ever seen anything like that?'
Brennus shook his head. 'Shows just how bad it is, for a man like Bassius to mutiny.'
'Crassus decimated a unit that ran from Spartacus,' said Tarquinius. 'Interesting to see what he does about this.'
