'A tenth of my army dead or wounded?'
'Yes, sir.'
'How many Parthians have been killed?'
'Not sure, sir.' The young officer was pale with fear. 'A few hundred, perhaps.'
'Get out of my sight,' Crassus spluttered. 'Before I have you executed!'
'It's hardly his fault, sir,' said Longinus, who had disobeyed orders yet again to come and remonstrate.
Hands twitching on his reins, Crassus glared at the legate. Nothing was being said about their argument before the battle started. Even he had realised what was more important now.
'What are your orders? The Parthians will attack again soon.'
'Send word to Publius,' cried Crassus abruptly, a wild look in his eyes. 'He must advance on the Parthian right with his cavalry and four cohorts of mercenaries. Create a diversion.'
Longinus paused. It was not what he would do.
'Is that clear?' The general's voice was suddenly calm. Too calm. Crassus glanced at the officer in charge of his guards.
The centurion laid a hand on his gladius.
Longinus saw the gesture and knew instantly what it meant. Any man who questioned Crassus' orders would now be killed. The legate saluted stiffly and paced over to the nearby scouts.
'When Publius has driven them back, we will charge the enemy's centre,' yelled Crassus after him.
Longinus did not reply. He was wondering what difference the ridiculous tactic would make. How could an army of infantry led by an arrogant madman beat a mobile enemy with no interest in fixed battle?
Romulus' cohort heard Crassus' orders when the messenger arrived moments later. Bucinae repeated the commands, common practice in battle to ensure they were passed on accurately. At once the Gaulish cavalry fanned out in front of Bassius' mercenaries, while the nearest cohort of Cappadocians moved to stand on their right. Two more came in to the rear, forming an arrow shape of cavalry, reinforced by a large square of foot soldiers behind.
Bassius grinned at his men. 'All right! This is a chance to show the whole army what we are capable of. Leave the yokes!'
'Take only water flasks,' said Tarquinius, stuffing something inside his tunic. 'We will not return to this position.'
His two friends quickly discarded all their equipment.
They did not have long to wait. Even Crassus knew that the time before another devastating Parthian attack was diminishing. The exhausted men could not withstand many like it.
Cavalry trumpets blared a staccato series of notes.
Publius assumed his position at the front of his cavalry. The noble 's short figure and brown hair were unremarkable, but his determined face and strong jaw drew attention. 'Advance!' he cried, pointing straight at the Parthians. 'For Rome and for Gaul!'
Urging their mounts forward, the tribesmen cheered loudly, kicking up sand and stones. Bassius and other centurions shouted at the mercenaries to follow.
'Let's show those bastards the sharp edge of our swords!'
There was a muted roar as tired bodies pushed into a trot behind the tough old officer. Despite his wound, Bassius seemed indestructible and his appetite for battle inspired everyone to follow.
'Ready pila!'
They ran with their arms cocked, heads bowed to avoid the clouds of dust from the horses' hooves. Romulus glanced at his friends from time to time. Having used both javelins in the first attack, Tarquinius slung his shield on his back, holding the double-headed axe firmly in both hands. Incredibly, he was smiling. Brennus' face was calm, his gaze focused.
Romulus' spirits rose and he laughed with the madness of it. The arena had been replaced by something even deadlier, but it no longer mattered. By his side were the two mentors who had become his family. Men he would die for and who would die for him. It was a good feeling. Romulus readied the pilum he had picked off the ground, ready to accept the gods' will.
With enormous effort, the cohort managed to keep up with the trotting horses. Marching on burning sand had been hard enough without having to run. Hot air scorched the soldiers' throats with every breath.
'Not much further,' panted Romulus when they had gone about five hundred paces.
The enemy's right flank was coming within the range of the Gauls' spears.
Tarquinius slowed down, his eyes narrowing.
Suddenly Publius ordered a full charge, and the infantry found themselves being left behind.
'Double time!' Bassius threw his arm forward. 'Let's take these fuckers!'
The men responded with superhuman effort to keep up. But instead of standing to meet the cavalry, the Parthians turned and fled.
Publius was taken in. 'Charge! Charge!' he screamed in exultation and his men pushed their mounts harder.
Three of the mercenary cohorts fell even further behind, but Bassius' did not. His soldiers kept pace with the old centurion, now running as if Cerberus himself was after him.
In apparent disarray, the entire Parthian right flank fell back, drawing on the Roman attack. Convinced he had scared them into retreating, Publius heedlessly led the Gauls onward.
He did not see the Parthian commander's gesture.
Almost as one, hundreds of archers turned, drawing their lethal bows to full stretch. With a guttural cry, the officer swept down his arm. Arrows shot forward in a dark swarm, hissing through the air to land with soft thumping sounds. Dozens of Gauls were knocked to the ground. Without pausing for breath, the Parthians loosed for a second time. Feathering man and mount without distinction, the torrent of missiles brought the charge to a juddering halt.
Bassius' men reached the mounds of bodies within moments. It was a horrific sight: the sand covered with dead and injured riders, horses rearing in agony with wooden shafts protruding from chests, rumps, eyes. Many stampeded into the distance, trampling everything underfoot. The deadly rain was still falling, slaughtering the Gauls. Survivors milled about, horseless and bewildered.
Desperately trying to rally his cavalry, Publius was wheeling in circles at the front. Quite abruptly he released the reins and toppled slowly from the saddle, clutching his throat. An arrow had taken him through the neck.
A huge cry of dismay went up from the remaining Gauls.
The situation was hopeless. Brennus realised it at once and looked to the rear, seeking a way out. But it was too late. Hundreds of Parthians were already sweeping round to envelop Bassius' mercenaries and the remnants of Publius' horsemen.
The old centurion had also seen their escape route disappear. 'Form testudo!' he cried.
Discipline still holding, the mercenaries clumped together. Shields clattered off each other, the metal bosses glinting as an armoured square took shape. Men along the sides formed a wall of scuta while those in the middle crouched low, covering their heads completely. The testudo was not an attacking formation, but an extremely effective defensive one – against everything except Parthian arrows.
They watched from behind their shields while the Gauls were cut to pieces. Unable to retreat and unwilling to advance, Publius' cavalry was annihilated before their eyes.
As the last tribesmen fell, warriors began to close in on the testudo. Romulus saw a Parthian jump down beside the body of Crassus' son, knife in hand. There was a huge cheer a few moments later as he stood, Publius' bloody head dangling from his fist. A second warrior rode over and fixed the gory trophy to the tip of his spear.
Fear mushroomed, infecting all. Gazing fixedly at Publius' head, a handful of soldiers broke away from the testudo's protection. They were instantly cut down, striking terror into the rest.