Centurion

'Shove harder, you bastards!' Macro called out to his men. 'Forwards!'

For a moment neither side gave any ground, and then, slowly at first, the nailed boots and weight of the Roman side began to tell and Macro took a pace forward and threw his weight ahead again. Another step was won, then another, and then the Romans were steadily pushing the enemy up the street towards the market. They were still subjected to a steady barrage of missiles from the roofs and the ends of adjoining alleys, while Balthus and his archers did their best to force the enemy to keep their heads down.

'Keep going!'

Macro glanced up over his shield rim and saw that the enemy had been forced back into the market. He ducked down again and continued to press forward.There was little attempt to resist the Roman column now and the rebels began to peel away from the rear ranks and scatter amongst the empty market stalls. The rebel officer bellowed angrily at them, until his voice was suddenly cut off as an arrow punched through his throat. He dropped his sword and staggered back, pulling at the barbed shaft until it snapped and the blood coursed from his arteries and he fell to the ground, senseless. His men broke and ran, sprinting across the market away from the Romans. Balthus and his archers loosed a few arrows after them and then turned their attention back to the remaining rebels on the rooftops. The leading section of legionaries started after the fleeing rebels.

'Leave them!' Macro roared. 'Or I'll have your guts for bootlaces!'

The men stopped at once and hurried back to rejoin their comrades, with sheepish grins as their friends jeered them.

'That's enough,' Macro ordered. 'Close up and bear left. Over there.' Macro raised his sword and pointed towards an arched entrance to the market square. The column quickly dressed its ranks and began to march up the widest passage between the bare market stalls. Macro, breathing heavily, stood to one side for a moment to watch the men pass. In the open space there was a faint loom cast by the stars and a fine crescent moon, enough light for the men to see their surroundings and to fight by. Some distance beyond the arch, in the direction of the citadel, the sky was stained red and orange by a fire burning out of sight and Macro felt his stomach tighten.The sounds of fighting drifted on the night air.

'That must be the diversionary attack.'

Macro started and turned and saw that Balthus was standing at his shoulder.

'You move bloody quietly,' Macro muttered with relief. 'Good thing you're on our side.'

Balthus stared at him a second. 'For the moment.At least until Artaxes is dealt with and the Parthians have left my people alone.'

'And after that?'

'After that?' Balthus smiled thinly. 'After that we shall see.'

Macro nodded. 'All right. So that's how things stand. But for now…'

His attention was drawn by a sudden chorus of shouts and as he turned round to gaze across the market square he saw a dark mass of figures spilling down the street that led to the citadel.

Macro cupped a hand to his mouth to shout his orders. 'Column! Halt! Shields up! Prepare to receive enemy charge! Balthus, shoot 'em down!'

08 Centurion

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The suite of rooms set aside for guests of the king had been turned into a makeshift hospital for the garrison's wounded. As Cato entered the small courtyard he saw that most of the rooms were already filled with men lying on sleeping mats, or simple beds of straw. Some slept soundly, others muttered in delirious tones and a few moaned or cried out in pain. A handful of orderlies and women were attending to their needs as best they could. Cato immediately felt as if he had little right to be there. He glanced down at the deep cut that ran across the palm of his left hand. The blood had slowed and was congealing in the filthy puckered lips of the wound. Even though it throbbed painfully Cato felt shamed by the insignificance of his wound compared to those of the other men in the hospital. He frowned in self-contempt, and was about to turn and walk away when a figure emerged from a room a short distance in front of him.

'Here,' the soft voice of a woman called to him in Greek. 'Let me have a look at that.'

'What?' Cato looked up and saw her outline against the light of a stand of oil lamps burning further down the corridor.

'Your hand. Let me have a look at it.' She moved towards him.

'No, it's not necessary,' Cato responded quickly.'I have to go.'

The woman moved quickly and took his elbow gently with one hand. 'Over here, under the lamp, where I can see it.'

Cato allowed himself to be steered down the colo

'Nasty.'

Cato stared at her in confusion. 'Sorry? I don't-'

'This cut. How did this happen? It's not a sword cut. I should know – I've seen enough of them in recent days.'

'Oh.' Cato tore his eyes away from her, discomfited by her direct gaze. 'I gashed it in a tu

'Gashed it in a tu

Cato pulled his arm away from her and stiffened his spine so that he could look down at her from his full height. 'I'll deal with it myself, then.'

'Oh, come now!' She chuckled wearily.'I was just joking. And now, seriously, I must see to that. The wound needs to be cleaned and dressed. Follow me.'

She turned, not waiting for him, and strode towards a doorway at the end of the colo

'Here. Let me clean it.'

Cato stepped over to her and offered his hand over the basin. She pushed it into the water and then, raising it, she began to clean away the filth with a length of cloth. She glanced at him.

'You're no local boy, nor even a Greek mercenary. A Roman then.' She switched to Latin. 'I haven't seen you before. You're certainly not on the ambassador's staff. Who are you?'

Cato was tired and not in the mood to answer her queries. Even now the Greek mercenaries were quietly forming up behind the citadel gates ready to make their move and he wanted to be with them the moment the signal beacon was lit. Nevertheless there was no harm in talking to her while she saw to his injury.

'I'm with a relief force sent by the governor of Syria.'

She paused and looked at him with widened eyes. 'Then the message got through. Thank the Gods, we're saved.'

'Not quite,' said Cato. 'We're only the advance column. The rest of the army is some days behind us.'

'Oh.' She turned her attention back to Cato's hand and wiped the cloth a little deeper into the cut to clear out the remainder of the dirt that had worked its way in. Cato winced but forced himself to keep his hand still. He looked away from it, back at her face.