Centurion

Cato's expression remained grim. 'It's a bloody miracle that any of us are still standing.'

'Well,' Macro waved his hand dismissively, 'we were hardly expecting to see friendly faces before we reached the citadel. In any case, it's easy to mistake friend for foe in the darkness, as we all know.'

Cato stared coldly at him for a moment and Macro fervently wished he had not said what he had. He stepped forward and reached down towards the man Cato was helping. 'I'll take his other side.'

'No, wait.'

But Macro had already slipped his hand under the man's arm and lifted him with a powerful heave. The mercenary rose to his feet with an agonised groan and Macro saw that the stump of the shaft still protruded from the wound where it had snapped off.

'Ah, sorry, mate. Couldn't see it there.'

The mercenary clenched his teeth together and rolled his eyes as he fought back the agony burning through his shoulder.

Cato shook his head. 'Nice going, sir.'

'Only trying to help.' Macro's tone was momentarily surly.'Anyway, what's the situation and what the hell are you doing wearing that get-up?'

'I'd hardly be able to sneak into Palmyra with Roman kit, would I? In any case,' Cato looked away as he supported Archelaus, 'I wanted to be there to make sure the relief column reached the citadel safely.'

Macro was deeply moved by his friend's concern for his safety, and then felt a surge of embarrassment. At once he tried to push the feeling aside before Cato could guess at it. He turned away to urge the relief column to pick up its pace before he could trust himself to address Cato again.

'These Greeks of yours look tough enough. I assume there's more like 'em in the citadel.'

'They're not my Greeks. These men are under the command of Archelaus,' Cato nodded towards the man he was helping.

'Archelaus, eh? Pleased to meet you.' Macro thrust out his hand, but the Greek, still clenching his teeth, glanced down at his wound and then back at Macro with raised eyebrows.

'Ah, yes. Sorry.' Macro smiled awkwardly. 'Good to meet you all the same.'

Cato grunted under his burden.'Now the formalities are over, let's get to the citadel.'

'Yes, of course. These men can fall in with us.' Macro looked up the street as the sound of the fighting in the agora carried towards them. 'What's happening up ahead?'

'The king's bodyguard are keeping the citadel gates cleared for you,' Cato explained. 'But we must hurry. They won't be able to hold the rebels back for long.'

The column continued up the street, towards the sound of fighting. As they emerged into the agora Macro glanced to his right and saw the line of Greek mercenaries giving ground under pressure of the enemy hacking at them from beyond their shield wall. From the walls of the citadel, a steady barrage of arrows, javelins and ballista bolts rained down on the rebel horde, thi

'Keep moving there!' Macro shouted at his men, who had slowed to take in the spectacle. 'It's not a bloody day at the circus! Shift yourselves!'

The column moved forward at a quick pace towards the open gate, where Macro stepped aside to wave his men on. Cato left two of Archelaus' men to help their officer to the hospital and then he joined Macro. Once the legionaries had passed through the gate, the mounted men followed: Balthus and his men, and then the squadrons from the Second Illyrian. Centurion Parmenion marched at the head of the auxiliary infantry who formed the rearguard. As soon as he recognised Cato he smiled and saluted.

'Good to see you, sir.'

'And you, Centurion. How have the men fared?'

'We've had no problems, sir.The lads from the Tenth did most of the hard work. They took the gate and cleared a path through the rebels.' He glanced at Macro and continued in a gently grudging tone, 'They did a fine job, sir.'

Macro shrugged. 'Of course; they're legionaries. But the lads of the Second Illyrian could have done the job just as well,' he added tactfully.'And we were helped by Balthus and his boys. A team effort all round, I'd say.'

Cato looked at him and smiled. 'You've become quite the diplomat.'

'Diplomat?' Macro frowned.'Sod off. I'll leave that to the broad-stripers. I lack a smooth tongue and the necessary arse-licking skills.'

Cato laughed.'An unsavoury image if ever there was one.'

Macro punched him on the shoulder. 'Fine. Let's drop the subject, eh? Hardly the time and place for smart words.'

'Very well, sir.'

Macro was about to reply when a fresh roar of cheering burst out from the enemy ranks. All three officers turned to see the right flank of the mercenaries' line crumple before the relentless pressure of the rebels. Already several of them had broken through and were ruthlessly cutting down the Greeks. More of them pressed on, exploiting the overlap, and Cato could see that the royal bodyguards were in danger of being rolled up, surrounded and slaughtered. Macro's experienced eye read the situation at once.

'Cato, get your lads to plug the gap. Now.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato nodded and ran out a short distance to the side of the column, still marching towards the citadel gate. 'Second Illyrian! Halt!… Right face!'

The months of hard training that Macro and Cato had put them through paid off as the cohort moved from column to line in a few heartbeats. Cato paused for another breath and shouted the order. 'Open ranks by half-century!'

The men shuffled aside to create lanes through their lines, and when the manoeuvre was complete Cato drew his sword and swept it towards the failing Greek line.'Advance!'

The Second Illyrian moved evenly across the agora, their ranks carefully watched and dressed by their officers as they closed on the mercenaries.The commander of the syntagma glanced back and saw the auxiliaries coming to his aid. He saw the gaps in the line and grasped Cato's intention immediately. Turning back to his men he cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed,'Fall back! Fall back to the citadel!'

The mercenaries began to back away from the rebels, stabbing their spears frantically to try to create a gap between them and their enemies. As soon as some were clear they turned and ran towards Cato's men, immediately endangering their slower comrades as the rebels swarmed into the gaps in the rapidly fragmenting line. A handful were cut off and overwhelmed, attacked from all sides as they desperately swirled round, trying to block the rebels' blows. Inevitably, a blade darted in, and as each man staggered back from the wound he was hacked to the ground in a flurry of sword blows and spear thrusts. The first of the mercenaries reached the approaching line of Roman troops and hurried through the gaps. Cato drew his sword once more and stepped into place alongside Parmenion in the middle of the line. As they paced forward across the paving stones Cato glanced to both sides, gauging the moment.As the last of the mercenaries passed through the gaps he shouted an order.

'Close ranks!'

The men on the rear rank hurriedly stepped round and forward to fill the gaps as the rebels raced towards them.

'Shields to the front!' Cato yelled, just before the impact, and at once the auxiliaries' broad shields swept round to confront the rebels with a wall of gleaming bosses.The sharp points of swords glinted brightly where they punctuated the line of shields. At the sight the rebels hesitated for a brief moment, and the charge immediately lost its impetus. The two lines came together in a rolling chorus of shield thudding against shield, swords striking home against hide-covered wood, and the brittle clatter of blade clashing against blade. Cato hunched down behind his borrowed shield and braced his legs. A blow thudded against the rim, driving it back against his helmet. Cato saw white briefly, blinked and then thrust his sword out.There was no contact and he snatched his sword arm back before any rebel could slash at his unprotected flesh. On either side men grunted as they struck out, some bellowing full-throated war cries, insults or defiance. Mingled with this were the gasps and groans of the wounded and dying. Cato concentrated on keeping his position in the front rank of his cohort, knowing full well that as long as the line held the Second Illyrian would hold their own, despite the unequal numbers.