The Forgotten Legion

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.

At length the legions neared the base of an enormous dune that ran across their path, its sheer bulk halting their progress. Hundreds of feet of sand rose steeply into the air. The soldiers groaned aloud. It would be a long, hard slog.

'Climb!' The centurions roared, pointing upwards. 'Move!'

The front ranks shifted their yokes and began ascending. For the moment all they could do was obey. Maybe the promised mountains would be visible from the top.

Within fifty paces, Romulus saw a telltale cloud rising from behind the slope.

'Trouble.' Stomach churning, he nudged Brennus.

Suddenly everyone saw the dust. The army came to an abrupt standstill. Officers screamed in vain as the legionaries stared up with fascinated horror.

When Parthian archers emerged on top of the dune, a wordless moan escaped men's throats. They would be going no further. As the tired soldiers waited, awestruck, the entire ridge filled with the enemy.

'We 're finished,' swore Romulus. 'Can't fight them, can we? Might as well lie down and die now.'

A little shocked, Brennus regained his composure quickly. 'Can't be as bad as it looks,' he said.

Romulus spun to face Tarquinius, who regarded him steadily. The young soldier was furious. 'Did you know this would happen?' he snapped.

'No.' It was impossible to tell if the Etruscan was lying or not.

'Really? There are thousands of the bastards up there,' yelled Romulus. 'How could you miss seeing them?'

'The art of haruspicy is an uncertain one,' replied Tarquinius with a shrug. 'I've told you that before.'

Romulus' spirits plummeted. How could they live through another battle like the day before?

Then the Etruscan pointed.

A party of horsemen was making its way down the slope, hands held aloft to show they carried no weapons.

Romulus peered at the riders suspiciously. 'Are they offering parley?'

'Looks like it,' answered Brennus calmly.

'The breeze is more favourable now,' added Tarquinius. 'Although thousands more men will die today.'

'It's time to talk,' Romulus grumbled. 'We don't stand a chance otherwise.'

The friends held their breath as the Parthians came closer, the horses picking their way through the thick sand.

Crassus' position was obvious from the number of standards and red-cloaked officers, and the riders halted a hundred paces from it. They waited expectantly.

To Romulus' surprise, there was no response.

Men began to grow angry. The endless marching in blistering heat, exhaustion and the lack of water had been followed by the death of thousands at the hands of an unreachable enemy. Now, even when they were about to be slaughtered, it seemed that their leader would not talk to the Parthians. His arrogance had not completely evaporated.

With no cavalry remaining, Crassus had to rely on his bodyguards to carry orders. At last a pair of this elite came trotting along the column, sweating heavily in their gilded breastplates and leather skirts.

'Prepare for battle!' one wheezed every few steps. 'Back to the flat ground. Form a continuous line.'

'Piss off, son of a whore!'

'Who said that?' Both men skidded to a halt, hands on their swords.

'Go and fight those bastard Parthians yourself!'

There was an angry roar and more insults were thrown. So far, these hand-picked soldiers had seen no combat at all, which generated huge resentment among the rank and file.

'Where 's the ranking centurion?' The more senior bodyguard, an optio, tried to regain control.

Silently Bassius came forward, his phalerae prominent.

'Nobody disobeys a direct order from Marcus Licinius Crassus. Arrest those men!'

'You can call me sir. I didn't spend sixteen damn years in the legions for nothing!'

'Sir.'

'Go and do it yourself,' declared Bassius. 'You piece of shit.'

Huge cheers erupted from his men.

'Refusing to obey orders, Centurion?'

Bassius ignored him. 'Why has Crassus not sent a party to negotiate?'

More delighted shouts rose from the surrounding legionaries.