'The cataphracts.' There was respect in Tarquinius' voice. 'Their elite heavy cavalry.'
'Long spears like Greek hoplites carry would soon sort them out,' said Romulus fiercely. 'If we had any.'
'Or a defensive ditch,' added the Gaul.
Tarquinius nodded approvingly.
The weary Romans stared miserably at the enemy, unable to do more than bake in the intense heat. It was almost a relief when the instruments started up again. With a flourish, the Parthian riders whipped off their cloaks, revealing chain mail from neck to mid-thigh. In each soldier's right hand was a heavy lance. The horses were also covered in armour, creating an immense wall of metal. Sunlight bounced off thousands of iron rings, reflecting towards the Romans in waves of blinding light.
Crassus' soldiers found it impossible to look directly at the cataphracts and the dazzling light wasn't the only reason. Fear was creeping into men's hearts.
'Amazing.' Tarquinius pointed excitedly. 'The andabatae in the arena were a mockery of the real thing.'
Romulus had only heard of the mounted gladiators who wore helmets with no eyeholes.
'Roman savages,' said the Gaul. 'Sending blind men into the arena to fight.'
'These riders are a different proposition,' pronounced the Etruscan.
Romulus was amazed by the mail rippling down the horses' flanks. He had never seen anything like it.
The cataphracts waited, maximising their terrifying effect. The drums kept up their dreadful din, deepening the sense of impending doom. Mercenaries and legionaries shifted uneasily from foot to foot. The unease in Crassus' army was becoming palpable, spreading to every man. Normally it was the Romans who scared their enemies by standing in silence before battle.
'Might have a decent fight today.' Brennus hefted his spear impatiently, eager to end their wait. 'Those bastards actually look dangerous.'
Tarquinius smiled humourlessly.
Wishing the battle would just start, Romulus checked his sword was loose in its scabbard, his pilum head securely attached to the shaft. Stay calm, he thought.
For what seemed an eternity, the two armies faced each other, soaking up the intense heat. The tension was unbearable.
And then the noise stopped. Immediately the horse archers moved forward while the heavy cavalry remained where they were.
'Prepare for an enemy charge,' ordered Bassius. 'Close order!'
The mercenaries had been well trained. Quickly the men readied their pila and spears and moved closer, standing shoulder to shoulder. Like tiny cogs in a big machine, thousands of soldiers across the battlefield did the same. Their shields overlapping, the formations presented the Parthians with dozens of armoured squares.
The enemy urged their mounts to a trot, followed by a gallop. The earth shook with the thunder of hooves and Romulus felt his stomach clench. The previous day's attacks would be as nothing compared to this.
Just as Tarquinius had predicted, the horsemen split smoothly into columns, aiming at gaps between the cohorts. Fear grew palpable in the ranks, men sweated heavily and hands grew clammy on javelin shafts. Behind him Romulus heard a man vomiting. He ignored the sound, lifting his scutum higher, squinting at the approaching riders.
Battle was about to commence.
The Parthians rode closer and closer. Soon they could see horses' nostrils flaring, the archers' faces tense as they drew back bowstrings.
Romulus' remaining pilum felt burning hot.
'Ready javelins!' There was no trace of fear in Bassius' voice. 'Wait till my command!'
Every man's right arm went back, ready for the order to release.
Before it could come, the Parthians fired a volley. It was from much closer range than the day before. Until that moment, the mercenaries had no idea just how powerful the enemy's composite bows were. Waves of arrows swept through the air, punching through Roman scuta like paper. The front rank dissolved, cut down to a man.
Miraculously, Bassius alone remained standing, shield peppered with arrows. 'Aim short! Loose!' he screamed.
With a heave, Romulus and the men of the second two ranks swung forward, launching their pila in low curving arcs. They fell in a flurry of wood and metal, finding targets at last. From such a short distance, Roman javelins were also lethal. Horses fell screaming to the sand, throwing their riders. Dozens of warriors were hit, but the force of the charge was such that they were carried past to safety.
Another brutal volley scythed into the side of the cohort before Bassius had time to respond. And then the Parthians were gone, galloping off to attack another square. The noise of hooves died away, to be replaced by screams.
At least eighty men lay strewn across the hot sand.
Romulus gaped at the sight. Scores of soldiers had been killed outright by arrows which had passed through shield and chain mail, ripping into soft flesh beneath. Scuta lay pinned to prone bodies all around and a dense network of wooden shafts peppered the ground. So many had been injured that Romulus looked himself over in disbelief. He had not suffered so much as a scratch. Neither had his friends.
'They can do that all day,' Tarquinius said calmly.
His face grim, Brennus muttered and cursed.
Through clouds of dust, other cohorts were now being subjected to the same attacks as the archers swept around the Roman formations. For the moment, Bassius' depleted unit was an island of calm in the midst of chaos.
'Romulus! Get over here.'
Bassius was waving to him, his face knotted in pain. An arrow-riddled scutum hung from his left arm.
'What can I do, sir?'
'Cut out this damn thing!' The senior centurion swung out his wounded arm. A barbed head was protruding just below the elbow.
Romulus winced.
'Came clean through the shield.' Bassius shook his head. 'Thirty years of war, and I have never seen a bow as powerful.'
Romulus took the arrow in both hands and snapped it in two near the point. Bassius grunted in pain as the young soldier pulled the shaft backwards. The scutum fell from his grip and a fresh run of blood came from the two small wounds. Using a piece of cloth ripped from his tunic, Romulus bound the area tightly.
'Good lad,' said Bassius, picking up the shield again.
'You can't fight like that, sir.'
The centurion ignored him, moving back into position. 'Form square! There'll be another attack very soon.'
Romulus rejoined the ranks, wishing Bassius was in charge of more than a cohort. Officers like him were worth far more than Crassus.
A momentary calm fell on the battlefield as the Parthian archers withdrew, leaving mayhem behind.
'They've only gone to replenish their arrows.' Tarquinius watched the flocks of vultures gathering above. 'Crassus must seize this chance. The whole army should be in a continuous line, eight or ten ranks deep.' He indicated the battered units. 'Not like this. It's a massacre, not a battle.'
'How many casualties?' Crassus punched a fist into his palm. Unsettled, his horse skittered sideways, ears flattening.