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 from the ugly birds as fights took place over the best pickings. Whether they waited until the prey was dead no one could tell.