'Ariamnes is very persuasive and simply told Crassus what he wanted to hear,' observed the Etruscan.
'We have only two thousand cavalry left now,' said Romulus. 'How many Parthian horsemen will there be?'
'Up to five times that number.'
Romulus frowned, trying to calculate the number of arrows that many archers could loose.
Tarquinius checked there was nobody else within earshot. 'Thousands will lose their lives in the coming battle.'
The Gaul's face darkened. 'What about us?'
'So many spirits were leaving this existence . . .' The Etruscan seemed unusually troubled. 'It is difficult to be precise,' he admitted. 'But I feel sure that two of us will survive, because I have seen our friendship endure past the bloodshed and killing.'
Brennus prepared himself for the worst. Let me die bravely, he thought. With honour, protecting Romulus and Tarquinius. So I can meet Brac and my uncle in paradise with no shame. Tell Liath that this time I did not run when my loved ones needed me. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, struggling to quell the guilt that still ruled him.
Romulus scowled. How could any man see the spirits of the dead? Obviously plenty of men would die fighting the Parthians, but to know exactly which ones? It was not possible. He looked up to find Tarquinius' eyes on him, his gaze piercing. Unnerved, Romulus found himself unable to meet it. Perhaps it was his turn to die. His stomach lurched and he quickly threw up a prayer to Jupiter to protect them all.
'And the rest of the cohort?' asked the big warrior.
Tarquinius was reluctant to answer but Brennus persisted.
Silence.
The Gaul blanched. 'Every single one?'
'Virtually all.'
'Sometimes you see too much,' Brennus said, shivering. He stared at the unsuspecting mercenaries preparing for another day in this furnace. It was chilling to imagine them all being killed, and it reminded him strongly of the last time he had seen his fellow Allobroge warriors readying themselves for battle.
As always after the Etruscan's predictions, images of Fabiola and his mother filled Romulus' mind. He longed to ask about them, but dared not. If Tarquinius revealed something dark or evil, the young man was not sure he could refuse to believe it as well. Their fragile memories were sacred, even intrinsic to his survival. They helped him to continue marching into this wilderness.
The sun climbed fast from the horizon, bringing its heat to bear with renewed vengeance. The Nabataean cavalry had not been gone for long before trumpets sounded to break camp. Discipline was still strong and the army was soon ready to move. At the front stood the irregular cohorts, followed by five legions and the baggage train. Two legions now protected the rear, leaving the Gaulish and Iberian cavalry on the flanks. It was a thin protective screen for the number of infantry.
Bassius listened carefully to the last series of commands. 'Time to go. I want twenty miles from you today.'
Following the Nabataeans' hoof prints, two troops of Gauls galloped off in front.
The soldiers marched after them into the empty desert. The horizon remained clear of enemy horsemen and their spirits rose. But as the hours passed without a single cloud to provide respite from the burning sun, the enemy was forgotten as the extreme heat again took its terrible toll on the footsore Romans. Many had drunk all their water the day before and, contrary to Crassus' opinion, the mules had been carrying enough for only some of the soldiers. As thirst levels increased, the rest had no option but to keep walking. The three friends sucked grimly on pebbles, hoarding the remaining liquid in their leather bags as if it was gold.
And then it seemed as if the gods had remembered Crassus' army. Half a dozen Gauls came riding back with news that there was a river ahead. The legions' speed almost doubled, and quickly they made out the typical desert haze that formed over water in the distance.
Patches of reeds on the banks were trampled flat as thirsty mercenaries tramped into the shallow rivulet. Men flopped down headlong in an effort to get cool. But Romulus and his comrades were not allowed long to fill their containers.
'Did I say stop? Or fall out? No!' Bassius roared. 'Keep marching! Bastards!'
Relishing the feeling on his weary muscles, Romulus splashed through the calf-high water. 'A rest would be good,' he muttered, careful not to let the centurion hear.
'Some chance!' Brennus drained his bag, stooping to fill it immediately. 'Drink as much as you can.'
'There'll be no rest for a while.' Tarquinius pointed ahead.
Romulus and the Gaul tore their attention from the refreshing liquid.
All the scouts were riding back at the gallop.
Romulus saw Brennus' hand reaching for his sword. Automatically he did the same, sweat forming on his brow.
The Gauls rushed past the mercenaries, heading directly to Crassus' position. Moments later the bucinae blared with a stridency the men had not heard before.
'Hear that? Enemy in sight! Double time!'
The cohort responded with as much urgency as they could muster, pounding up the river bank, each man hoping the Gauls were wrong.
For the rest of his days, Romulus would remember the sight that greeted him.
On a flat plain in the middle distance sat the Parthian army, a formation nearly a mile across. Their appearance distorted by the haze, thousands of men on horseback waited patiently for the Romans. Huge, brightly coloured banners swirled in the hot air, making them appear even more alien. The noise of pounding drums and clanging bells reached the legions as signallers relayed messages to and fro.
It was an immensely intimidating sight for the exhausted Roman soldiers. Sunburnt faces went pale and oaths were spat. More than one mercenary looked west to the Euphrates and safety.
'Jupiter's balls!' swore Brennus. 'No infantry at all?'
'I told you there would be none,' replied Tarquinius.
There was a short silence. The Gaul visibly braced himself. 'We 'll cope,' he said simply. 'We 'll have to.'
The Etruscan's dark eyes were calm. 'It will all be clear by nightfall.'
They nodded grimly. With a battle to fight, there was little point entertaining fearful thoughts. It was courage and Roman gladii that they needed now.
'What are those?' Romulus pointed at tall humped creatures with long necks and legs, standing behind the enemy lines.
'Camels. The Parthians use them as mules,' explained Tarquinius. 'And they'll be carrying spare arrows, so those bastard archers don't run out. With that many of them, each man will have hundreds of shafts. Real trouble.'
'Because our damn shields are practically useless,' said Brennus, thumping his scutum.
The Etruscan nodded. 'The warriors train with those composite bows every day, my friend. Remember what they did yesterday.'
'But we are free men now.' Brennus clapped Romulus on the shoulder. 'If the gods will it, we shall die together – with our swords in our hands and the sun on our faces. Better than in the arena for that bastard Memor.'
'True.' Romulus met the Gaul's gaze squarely. Mention of the lanista made him remember Cotta's lessons. 'Spartacus wouldn't have worried about facing the Parthians,' he said. 'He always had plenty of horsemen.'
'That Thracian had far more ability than Crassus,' agreed Tarquinius. 'He only got beaten because Crixus, his second-in-command, wouldn't leave Italy. Spartacus would never have led his men into a mess like this.'
Romulus sank into a reverie, imagining himself in charge of the army, Tarquinius and Brennus by his side. Keeping the cavalry on the wings would be the most urgent task, to prevent the legions being outflanked while they formed up. Then the centre could make a tactical withdrawal as the Parthians attacked, allowing the cavalry to enfold the enemy. It was how Hannibal had won so many of his battles against Rome.
Tarquinius regarded him keenly. 'Crassus will not think of trying Carthaginian tactics. The fool thinks all we have to do is advance and the Parthians will flee.'