'Leave me the knife too.'
Vettius smiled and handed it over.
Fabiola gripped the bone hilt tightly, steeling her resolve, imagining Romulus killing to stay alive, first as a gladiator and then as a soldier. The chilling thought helped to give her strength. It seemed that things were not much different here in the Lupanar. Despite Pompeia's treachery, Fabiola remained focused on her one driving purpose in life: to save her brother. In her profession, there was only one way to achieve that: by gaining influence over the rich and powerful.
And no one would get in her way.
Chapter XXVI: Retreat
Parthia, summer 53 BC
Late in the afternoon, Crassus called together his seven legates. For reasons best known to Surena, the Parthians had not attacked for a while. Perhaps he was allowing his men a well-earned rest. The Roman general still possessed enough reason to utilise the breathing space this granted. Crassus' lack of cavalry was rendering the invincible legions helpless. Something had to be done. Fast.
Desperate for ideas, Crassus' bloodshot eyes moved around searchingly. Six of the red-cloaked officers avoided his gaze, staring down at the hot sand. Only Longinus had the courage to return it.
'What shall we do?' Crassus' voice cracked with emotion. 'If we stay they will butcher us.'
'Another charge and the men will crack, sir,' said Longinus immediately. 'Only one thing to do. Retreat.'
There were reluctant nods all round. The situation was dire. Roman armies rarely fled the field, but in this burning desert hell, the rulebook had been rewritten.
'With the baggage train gone, there is no more water. We must fall back to Carrhae.' Longinus spoke with utter conviction.
The others muttered in agreement. Carrhae had deep wells and thick earth walls. It would provide some respite from the lethal Parthian arrows.
'And after that?'
It seemed the death of Publius had rendered the general unable to make any decisions.
'Head north. The broken ground in the mountains will help us. With luck, we may find Artavasdes.'
Crassus' eyes closed. His campaign was in ruins, the plans of equalling Caesar and Pompey dust. 'Sound the retreat,' he whispered.
'The wounded, sir?'
'Leave them.'
'Are you sure, sir?' asked Comitianus, commander of the Sixth. 'I have over five hundred casualties.'
'Do what I say!' screamed Crassus.
'He's right. For once. They would slow us down too much,' said Longinus harshly. 'We have no choice.'
They did not argue further and the grizzled legate barked an order at the nearest soldiers.
Moments later, trumpets sounded the ominous notes that no legionary ever liked to hear. The injured stirred frantically, knowing what was about to happen. Five of Bassius' mercenaries could no longer walk and had been placed at the rear. As the retreat died away, the senior centurion moved to stand by the wounded.
'You have fought bravely today, boys.' Bassius flashed a rare smile. 'Not many options left, though. We have to leave right now and none of you can march. So you can take your chances here,' he paused, 'or choose a swift death.'
The words hung in the hot air.
Unwilling to meet their comrades' eyes, the rest of the men looked at the ground. It was a brutal decision, but the Parthians would be less merciful.
'I'm not ready for Hades yet, sir,' said one, a dark-skinned Egyptian. A bloody bandage was wrapped roughly around his left thigh. 'I'll take a few with me.'
A second soldier also chose to stay, but the remaining three were very badly hurt. Too weak to retreat or fight, they had no choice but the last. Muttering briefly with each other, they pulled themselves upright.
'Make it quick, sir,' one said.
Bassius nodded without replying.
A lump formed in Romulus' throat. He had dispatched opponents in the arena but they had rarely been people he 'd known, trained or fought with. This trio of men had been with them since boarding the Achilles, a lifetime ago. After nearly two years of campaigning, Romulus knew the wounded well enough to really grieve their passing.
The centurion firmly gripped each man's hand once. As he moved to stand behind, all three bowed their heads, exposing their necks. They were receiving a soldier's death, an honourable way to die.
Bassius' gladius hissed from the scabbard. He raised it high, holding the hilt in both hands, the razor-sharp tip pointing towards the ground. With a swift motion the centurion stabbed down and cut the spinal cord. Death was instant: the first body crumpled without a murmur. Silently Bassius moved on to the second and third. The mercy killings did not take long; clearly the veteran had performed this grisly task before.
All over the Roman lines, the same act was being repeated by any officers of conscience. But the Parthians had no intention of letting their enemies retreat in good order and another attack began before everyone could be dealt with.
Quickly Bassius organised his new command of exhausted men into a square. With Sido and five other centurions killed, the veteran had assumed control of the regular cohort as well. None of the dazed junior officers questioned the unusual move. Bassius nodded farewell to the Egyptian and his companion. The pair were sitting back to back, swords at the ready.
Eyes full of tears, Romulus could not look back.
'They are brave men.' There was real respect in Tarquinius' face. 'And this is how they have decided to die.'
'Doesn't make it any easier to leave them,' he retorted.
'Stay if you wish,' said the Etruscan. 'That is your choice. Perhaps this is why I could not be sure about all three of us surviving?' His dark eyes were unreadable.
'Now is not the time for you to die,' added Brennus confidently. 'What purpose would it serve?'
Romulus considered the idea, but it seemed pointless. The wounded had freely chosen how they would end their lives and dying with them would prove nothing. There were still many things he wanted to achieve. With a heavy heart, he marched away.
Bassius' incredible willpower held his mixed group together as they left the battlefield behind. To the soldiers' relief, Parthian horsemen did not pursue them for long. Romulus eventually glanced round to see groups of warriors riding in circles, whooping with glee. One waved a familiar shape in the air. It was the ultimate disgrace – a legion's silver eagle, fallen into enemy hands. At the sight, his spirits fell even further.
Beneath the horses' hooves, the huge plain was covered with dead and injured as far as one could see. It was a charnel house. Flies swarmed on to dry staring eyes, gaping mouths, bleeding sword cuts. Nearly fifteen thousand Roman soldiers would never return to Italy. Above them, clouds of vultures now hung on the thermals. The air was filled with the smell of manure, blood and sweat. It had been a bad day for the Republic.
'Lots of men are still alive.'
'We can't help them now,' said Brennus sadly.
'Olenus saw this seventeen years ago,' uttered Tarquinius with some satisfaction. 'He would have liked to see the Romans come to this.'
Romulus was shocked. 'Those are our comrades!'
'What do I care?' the Etruscan replied. 'Rome butchered my people and devastated our cities.'