Centurion (47 page)

The grunts of the men on both sides, the snarled cries of triumph and the gasps and groans of the wounded sounded so close that Cato was sure he was breathing in the dying gasps of other men, and felt a momentary chill of superstitious dread at the thought. He pushed his way through his men, aiming for the enemy standard and Prince Artaxes. He could still see the prince, shouting defiantly as he drew his sword and punched it into the air, urging his men on. But one by one they were cut down and crushed as the auxiliaries trampled over them in iron-nailed boots. Before Cato reached Artaxes, one of the auxiliaries killed the man to his front and thrust his way through the gap in the tight knot of the surviving rebels. Artaxes was in front of him and before the prince could react the Roman soldier flew at him, knocking the standard-bearer aside with his shield. The standard toppled to the ground as the auxiliary hacked at Artaxes, driving him back and then down when there was no further room to retreat. Artaxes threw up his sword to block a blow to his head, and at the last instant the auxiliary shifted his aim and the edge of his blade cut through the prince’s arm just above the wrist, smashing bones and severing tendons. Artaxes cried out and his sword dropped from his useless fingers. The auxiliary stepped forward to make the kill.

‘No!’ Cato bellowed, charging through behind the auxiliary. His shield caught the soldier in the side and knocked him away from Artaxes so that the sword blade bit harmlessly into the sand. ‘Leave him!’

He turned and shouted in Greek,’Surrender! The prince is down! Surrender!’

The last of the bodyguards wheeled towards Cato and, after hesitating a moment, one of them threw down his sword. Then the others followed suit, but not before one of them fell to the weapon of an auxiliary still overwhelmed by the frenzy of battle.

‘Second Illyrian!’ Cato shouted. ‘Stand fast! Hold back there!’

His men stepped back a few paces and lowered their swords. Only then did the surviving bodyguards warily lay down their shields and stand waiting to be taken captive, the fear and despair of defeat etched into their expressions. Cato let down his guard and allowed his shield to rest on the ground. At his feet Artaxes clutched his ruined arm to his chest with his other hand and moaned in agony through gritted teeth. Cato’s chest heaved as he breathed deeply and he was aware of an unbearable tiredness and how much his body ached from the exertions he had demanded of it. But now it was all over. The attack on the rebel column, the battle against the Parthian army, the rebellion. Everything. He looked down at Artaxes and nodded wearily to himself at the thought. Then his eye was drawn to the bright red serpent banner and he stirred himself and bent to pick it up. Looking for the auxiliary who had cut Artaxes down, he beckoned to the man and held the standard out to him.

‘Yours… You’ve earned it, soldier.’

The man smiled faintly and took the shaft of the standard. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘Cato! Cato! Where are you, lad?’

He turned towards the sound of Macro’s voice and saw that the legionaries had driven off the front of the column and now approached the battered and bloodied men of the Second Illyrian, clustered round the enemy standard. The bodies of rebel and Roman alike lay sprawled and heaped about them, and to one side the handful of prisoners stood together and stared at the scene in dejection.

‘By the Gods,’ Macro muttered as he picked his way over the bodies towards Cato. ‘What a bloodbath. Are you all right, Cato?’

Cato saw the concerned expression on his friend’s face and took a moment to realise that his face and helmet must be spattered and streaked with blood. ‘I’m fine, sir. I’m fine.’

‘Good.’ Macro patted his arm. ‘Fine job. Is this our man Artaxes?’

‘That’s him. I’d better get his arm seen to.’

‘If you think it’s worth it.’ Macro shrugged. ‘I don’t see the point. I doubt he’ll survive the reunion with his doting father.’

‘I suppose not,’ Cato conceded.’But that’s their affair. Just as long as we deliver him to the king alive, we’ll gain some favour with Vabathus. And with the Parthian threat removed . . .’ Cato turned and looked over the battlefield. Now that the fighting was over and the dust had begun to settle he could begin to see the scale of the enemy’s defeat. The Parthian army had been broken entirely, and was being ruthlessly pursued and run down by General Longinus and his men. Most of the Parthians were fleeing into the gullies of the broken ground, desperately trying to put some distance between them and the victorious Roman soldiers.

Macro chuckled as he saw his friend survey the battlefield. ‘I guess the plan worked then.’

Cato turned to him then, and after a brief hesitation he laughed. ‘So it seems.’ Around them the legionaries of Macro’s cohort crowded round Cato and his men surveying the auxiliaries’ handiwork with open admiration. Then, from the ranks, a voice called out, ‘A cheer for the Second Illyrian, lads!’

At once the legionaries let out a throaty roar of approval and after a moment’s surprise the faces of the auxiliaries looked on in delighted smiles and triumphant grins as they mixed ranks with the legionaries.

There was a drumming of hooves and they both looked round to see Balthus and his men approaching them. The prince was smiling broadly and his eyes widened in delight as he saw the standard. Slewing his mount to a halt he slid from the saddle and clambered across the bodies towards the two Roman officers.

‘My friends, it is a great victory. Parthia has been humbled. Humbled, I tell you! Have you seen my brother? Has his body been found?’

Macro stepped out of the way and gestured towards Artaxes. ‘There. Alive but perhaps not so well.’

Balthus’ smile faded and he stood and stared at his brother lying on the ground, nursing his nearly severed hand. ‘You . . . Still alive.’

Artaxes opened his eyes and sneered when he saw his brother. ‘Very much alive, brother, and when the king sees me, I shall be remorseful. I shall weep as I confess to the ambitious spirit that deceived me. And you know what? He will forgive me.’

Macro laughed out loud. ‘I don’t think so, sunshine! Not after what you’ve done.’

‘Really?’ Artaxes smiled and then winced as another wave of pain momentarily seized him. A cold sweat broke out on his brow as he continued. ‘You don’t know my father. Like most fathers, he has a weakness. A compulsion to indulge his favourite son, whatever I may have done.’

There was a moment’s silence as the others considered his words.Then Balthus nodded and said quietly,’He’s right. It will be a difficult situation . . .’ He turned to the nearest of his men and barked an order. Before Macro and Cato realised what was happening, several bows were raised and arrows whipped through the air, thudding into Artaxes where he lay on the ground. He gasped, looking at his brother with a shocked expression.Then his eyes glazed over and he slumped back and stared into the sky, mouth open and slack.

Balthus looked at him for a moment and tipped his head slightly to one side.

‘But not any more.’

The day after the battle the legions’ priests performed the funeral rites for the men who had been killed. The pyres flared up into the night sky and by dawn their blackened remains dotted the desert as the army began its march back to Palmyra. The suffering of the enemy injured was ended with merciful thrusts to their throats, while the Roman wounded were carried from the battlefield and treated as well as they could be before being loaded on to carts, the backs of mules and horses, or makeshift stretchers carried by their comrades. Other parties of soldiers scoured the battlefield to retrieve any usable weapons that lay scattered over the ground.

The enemy dead were left where they lay, sprawled in heaps across the sand. Many hundreds more were dotted about the surrounding landscape where they had been cut down by the pursuing Roman cavalry. The Parthian army had been effectively destroyed. The survivors were scattered and leaderless and most had abandoned their weapons and armour. There was nothing left for them now but a long retreat back across the desert to the Euphrates and the lands of Parthia beyond.Without water few would make it home, and those who did would have a sorry tale to tell. It would be many years before Parthia dared to challenge Rome again.

Two days later, as the army constructed a marching camp close to the walls of Palmyra, General Longinus led a procession of officers and Prince Balthus, picked soldiers and captives through the gates of the city and along the main thoroughfare towards the royal palace. As soon as the king had received a message from Longinus announcing the outcome of the battle Vabathus had declared a public holiday to celebrate the end of the rebellion and the defeat of Parthia. Yet there was little sign of rejoicing as the Romans tramped along the paved road behind their standards. Macro and Cato marched just ahead of the standards with the other officers and they could see by the rigid set of the general’s head that Cassius Longinus was not best pleased by his muted reception.

‘What’s going on?’ Macro asked quietly. ‘You’d think they’d be happy the rebellion is over.’

Cato glanced round. Only a handful of the city’s inhabitants stood along the route, and they watched in wary silence as the soldiers passed by.

‘You can hardly blame them. They’ve seen more than enough fighting this last month. They’ll be grateful once they accept that peace has returned.’

Macro considered his friend’s explanation for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Maybe, but I’d like my gratitude now. I didn’t march all the way across a bloody baking desert, and sit out a siege, then fight a battle just so that I could be made to feel as welcome as a fart in a testudo.’

‘Please yourself, but I’m grateful just to get back to Palmyra.’

Macro glanced at him and grinned. ‘I’m sure you are. Of course that has nothing to do with that daughter of Sempronius, right?’

Cato felt a flush of irritation but managed to make himself smile back. ‘It has everything to do with her. With Julia.’ He felt his heart warm even at the mention of her name. ‘Her father gave me his word that I could marry her when I got back.’

‘If you got back, is what he said.’

‘If, when, what’s the difference?’

Macro smiled sadly. ‘Everything, when you don’t expect a man to survive long enough to make you honour your word.’

Cato’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, come on, lad! You’re not thick. Sempronius is an aristocrat. You’re the son of a freedman. Hardly the best match for his precious daughter. He was humouring you.’

Cato thought it over for a moment and shook his head. ‘No. It doesn’t make sense. If Sempronius had no intention of letting me marry Julia, then why promise her to me if there was any chance that I would return? I think you’ve got it wrong, Macro.Very wrong.’

‘Well . . .All I can say is that I hope so, lad. I really do.’

They marched on in silence, through the almost deserted avenue that ran through the city towards the palace complex. As they drew near the entrance, a lofty arch that spanned the paved road, a small crowd of ragged women and children on either side began to cheer half-heartedly at their approach. Once General Longinus drew level with the crowd they began to throw brilliant white petals in his path.

‘A nice thought,’ Macro remarked quietly. ‘But hardly reeking of sincerity. This lot must be the dregs of the street, hired to greet us.’

‘You wanted a welcome fit for a hero,’ Cato responded. ‘Well, here it is. At least the general is making the most of it.’

Macro glanced ahead and saw that Longinus was bowing his head gravely to each side and holding his hand up in an aloof gesture of acknowledgement. The centurion sniffed. ‘From the way he’s carrying on you’d think he had already been awarded his ovation and was marching down the Sacred Way in Rome with a vast crowd on either side and a personal escort of vestal virgins.’

‘Perhaps he’s treating this as a dress rehearsal for the real thing,’ Cato added wryly.

‘Do you really think Longinus deserves a prize for what he’s done? Those Parthian boys nearly had us cold.’

‘You know how it is, Macro. Doesn’t matter how many men you lose, nor how many mistakes you make along the way. As long as you get the right result. And any victory over the Parthians is bound to go down well in Rome. So there’ll be a celebration. Anything to keep the plebs happy.’

‘Great . . .’

Cato looked round at the other officers and then lowered his voice still further. ‘And it has the added benefit of separating him from his legions for a while. Given his ambitions, that’s no bad thing.’

Macro nodded. Despite having frustrated Longinus’ plans to build up an army capable of overthrowing the Emperor, they had still not uncovered enough evidence to prove his treachery. Narcissus was not going to be satisfied with their efforts, Macro thought with a sinking feeling.The Emperor’s secretary was not noted for his patience with those who failed to deliver what he required of them. Macro and Cato had been sent to the eastern provinces to expose Longinus as a traitor. Whatever else they had achieved, Longinus had not incriminated himself enough to justify removing him from office and destroying him. It had been different in the days of Caligula, when any Roman could be executed on a whim. His successor was determined that such extrajudicial excesses would no longer be encouraged.

Macro smiled to himself as he reflected that Narcissus probably pined for the brutal simplicity of the previous regime.

Just then he caught sight of a familiar face on the edge of the crowd and he paused a moment and stepped out of line. Cato turned with a quizzical expression and joined his friend. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘You go on. I’ll catch you up.’

‘Why? What is it?’

‘Someone I have to speak to. You go on,’ Macro said firmly.

Cato shrugged, then rejoined the column. Glancing back he saw Macro walk slowly towards the small crowd of ragged people lining the street and stop in front of a girl.

Then the procession passed through the arch and into the large courtyard in front of the royal palace. A guard of honour, formed from the surviving Greek mercenaries, lined the steps leading up to the palace entrance, where Thermon waited in front of the two columns that supported the portico. General Longinus rode across to the base of the stairs and reined his horse in before slipping gracefully down from the saddle. He gestured to his officers and Balthus to follow him and climbed the steps towards the entrance. The commander of the royal bodyguard snapped an order and the mercenaries turned smartly inward, stiffened to attention and presented their spears. Thermon bowed deeply as Longinus approached him.