The Forgotten Legion

Brennus nodded approvingly at the observation while a dark shadow passed unseen over Tarquinius' face. His wish to travel east was being fulfilled, but it would be at far greater cost than the haruspex had first thought.

True to form, Tarquinius' words were prophetic. In the hours that followed, groups of Parthian archers rode in close, attempting to goad the Gauls into pursuit. If Publius' cavalry responded, more arrow storms rained down. If they did not, the enemy horsemen used them as target practice. Without bows, there was little the Gauls could do to retaliate and after a number of assaults, they had lost scores of men.

The Nabataeans seemed immune to temptation. Volleys of shafts were released if the Parthians came near, a tactic that worked well. Crassus finally realised this and Ariamnes was ordered to split his cavalry, placing half on each side of the army as a protective screen. The mercenaries were heartened by their allies' presence.

Slowly the army ground forward into the sandy wasteland.

But the Parthians immediately adapted the method of harassment. Groups of riders began picking areas the Nabataeans were not protecting at that exact time and their sudden charges from behind large dunes were harder to predict. Men on the outside of each rank became experts at spotting dust clouds driven up by the enemy's horses, early warning that an attack was imminent.

'Halt! Shields up!' echoed along the line throughout the afternoon. 'Form testudo!'

Despite their exhaustion, the soldiers had learned to respond fast. Each side of the Roman column would become a wall of shields, the men inside lifting theirs to form a roof, creating cover for all.

But no matter how fast they responded, fresh screams always rang out as the showers of Parthian arrows came scything down, the shafts finding gaps in the testudo and the men who'd obeyed orders too late. The enemy quickly realised that aiming both above and below the shields was even more effective. Soldiers dropped to the ground clutching throats, arms and legs. The hiss of arrows competed with shrieks of agony in a terrible crescendo.

Romulus was glad Brennus had insisted that they buy heavy legionary scuta. The Gaulish tribesmen of his cohort carried traditional elongated rectangular shields far thinner than standard army issue and it soon became evident that they were more susceptible to the enemy bows. If the Parthians came within less than fifty paces their arrows penetrated either type with ease. Further away, only the Gauls' shields were vulnerable. It was small consolation. All day the Parthians remained tantalisingly out of range of Roman pila, which were ineffective beyond thirty paces. Fortunately their assaults did not last long, as the enemy were driven off by Nabataean charges or pulled back when they had used all their shafts.

By mid-afternoon more than forty mercenaries had been killed and injured. The dead sprawled in the sand, fresh meat for the vultures above. As the army marched past, the wounded were left with a few guards. When the baggage train arrived, they were loaded into the wagons, their screams and cries adding to the general sense of fear and unease.

And the sun beat down mercilessly, an oven from which there was no escape. Crassus' army was being drained of its ability to fight.

Romulus' first taste of battlefield combat was not what he 'd expected. Cotta's lessons about armies meeting on a flat plain and lines of men clashing in shield walls were far from this. He ground his teeth as comrades continued falling to Parthian arrows. Even fights in the arena seemed easy now. There they were one on one, man to man. The tactic of wearing down an opponent was new to him. It was torture enduring attacks without being able to fight back.

Matters came to a head for Romulus when a lone Parthian archer returned after his comrades had just been driven off. Riding parallel, he began firing shafts at the irregulars from just outside javelin range. Half a dozen arrows later, five men lay dead and another had been maimed. The marching soldiers cringed behind their shields, each hoping he would not be next.

'Son of a whore!' Romulus yelled. He prepared himself to break rank, but Brennus quickly pulled him back.

'Wait!'

'I can kill him,' Romulus said, taking a deep breath. It was time to take a stand: too many of their comrades had been slain.

'He'll loose three arrows before you go ten steps!'

Romulus shook off the Gaul's hand proudly. 'I'm a man, not a boy, Brennus. I make my own decisions.'

The comment sank home more than he could know and Brennus released his grip. The lad's just like Brac, he thought.

Tarquinius did not look surprised.

Hefting the pila he had been training with for months, Romulus stepped out of formation.

'Get back into line, soldier!' yelled Bassius.

Ignoring the order, Romulus stabbed his second pilum into the sand and locked eyes with the Parthian. The archer's confidence was now so great that his horse had slowed to a walk and he smiled as Romulus drew back to throw.

Brennus held his breath but the arrogant rider did not even raise his bow in response.

'Waste of time,' said a soldier two ranks behind. 'He 's too far away.'

The centurion was about to bellow again, but paused.

With a grunt of effort, Romulus hurled the javelin. It curved upwards in a huge arc before coming down to skewer the Parthian through the chest. There was a roar of approval as the archer toppled slowly off his horse. It was an incredible throw and the mercenaries' spirits visibly lifted.

Romulus resumed his position and Brennus clapped him on the shoulder. 'Fine shot.'

He flushed with pleasure.

By late afternoon, the dreadful heat began to abate and the Parthians finally pulled away. Only fifteen miles had been covered instead of the regulation twenty, but Crassus called a halt before even more men collapsed. Despite their total exhaustion, every other soldier had to help build a marching camp.

'Thank the gods we dug yesterday,' remarked Tarquinius when the order came.

Brennus allowed himself a gulp from his water container. 'It'll be us again tomorrow.'

Grateful not to dig the hot sand, the mercenary cohort fanned out in a curved screen with half the Sixth Legion. Their job was to protect the remainder as the camp was built. The unlucky legionaries shed heavy yokes, cursing loudly as they got to work with shovels.

Across the desert plain other legions were doing the same. By sunset, the earth ramparts and defensive trenches had been finished. Even after extreme ordeals, the strenuous training and harsh discipline meant the army could still function. Rome could install civilisation anywhere.

As evening passed, the sun changed in colour. It went from yellow to orange, finally turning to blood red. Sitting by his tent, Romulus stared at the horizon, an uneasy feeling in his belly. The day had seen no real combat. Apart from his amazing javelin throw, all the skirmishing had gone the Parthians' way. Despite Tarquinius' warnings, it had been a revelation. With rare exceptions, the stories of warfare he had been weaned on consisted of crushing defeats for anyone foolish enough to resist the Republic. It didn't matter who it was — the rebel king Jugurtha in Africa, Hannibal of Carthage — all came to grief at the hands of Rome.

But the sunburnt, exhausted men he could see looked incapable of a major battle. Slack faces stared into space, tired jaws chewed dry food, sunburnt bodies lay everywhere, weapons dropped alongside. Crassus' soldiers did not seem to care what happened to them.

A shiver of fear ran down Romulus' spine. How could an army composed almost entirely of infantry beat one of only cavalry? 'How can Crassus win?' he said out loud.

The Etruscan stopped chewing. 'Simple. By drawing the Parthians into a fixed battle, facing a deep line of soldiers. And when that happens, our horsemen need to be on the wings.'

'Stops the army being flanked,' added Brennus.

'What would the infantry do?'

'Weather the storm,' replied Tarquinius. 'Shelter behind their shields with the front ranks on their knees.'

Romulus winced. 'To protect their lower legs from arrows?'

'Correct.'

'If they stand fast, it would allow the cavalry to peel round to the enemy's rear in a pincer movement.'