The Forgotten Legion

brutal thrusts of gladii instantly ended any resistance.

The majority had to camp outside. A few centurions tried to insist that the temporary ditches and ramparts that traditionally followed a day's march were built. They failed. The soldiers had been through too much to spend three hours digging hot sand. It was all the officers could do to get sentries positioned a few hundred paces into the desert.

The sun had set and with it temperatures dropped sharply, a stiff breeze adding to the chill. Outside the town, those not fortunate enough to have found cover spent the night huddled together in the open. All the tents had been lost with the baggage train. Now the injured began to die of cold, dehydration and fatigue. There was nothing anyone could do.

Romulus and his friends commandeered a miserable mud-walled hut, turning the residents on to the street rather than killing them. Soon they lay sleeping like dead men. Not even the danger of a Parthian attack was enough to keep them awake.

Elsewhere in the town, the largest building had belonged to the local chieftain before Roman occupation and was now the quarters for the garrison commander. Crassus gathered the legates there for a council of war.

The bare walls, dirt floor and rough wooden furniture revealed that Carrhae was far from wealthy. Rush torches guttered from brackets, casting flickering shadows on the weary figures. The six bloodstained officers sat with blank faces, some with head in hands, beakers of water and hard bread untouched before them. It was a far cry from Crassus' luxurious command tent, long since disappeared with the mules.

Nobody knew what to say or do. The legates were stunned. Defeat was not something that Roman soldiers were used to. Instead of achieving a crushing victory and the sacking of Seleucia, they had succumbed to Parthian wrath. They were stranded deep in enemy territory, their army in tatters.

Crassus sat quietly on a low stool, taking no part in what little conversation was going on. Simply calling the officers together seemed to have taken up the last of his energy. Beside him sat the garrison commander, overawed by the presence of so many senior figures. Prefect Gaius Quintus Coponius had not seen the extent of the slaughter, but the fleeing Iberian cavalry had brought him the shocking news on their way back to the Euphrates. Later he had witnessed the beaten legionaries staggering into the town. It was not a sight he would forget.

Longinus strode into the room, energy radiating from him.

Few looked up.

The tough soldier came to a halt in front of Crassus and saluted crisply. 'I have done the rounds. The Eighth has lost about a third of its number. Now that they've had water and some rest, my men are in reasonable shape.'

Crassus sat quite still, his eyes closed.

'Sir?'

Still silence.

'What have you decided?' demanded Longinus.

Comitianus cleared his throat. 'We have not come to an agreement yet.' He would not meet the other's eyes. 'What do you say?'

'There is only one real option.' Longinus let the words sink in. 'Retreat to the river immediately. We can reach it before dawn.'

'My soldiers cannot march tonight,' replied one legate.

There were murmurs of agreement.

Unsurprised, Longinus glanced at Comitianus.

'What about Armenia?' the commander of the Sixth ventured.

'The legate is right, sir.' Coponius' tone wavered. 'Retreating to the mountains makes a lot of sense. There are plenty of streams and the broken ground would make it awkward for the Parthians' horses.'

'The mountains?' Crassus gazed round the room longingly. 'Where is Publius?'

There was no answer.

'Gone, sir,' said Longinus at last. 'To Elysium.'

'Dead?'

Longinus nodded.

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