Centurion

Amatius sagged back into his chair with a sigh, and the general looked round the tent. 'Well? Has anyone got anything to suggest?'

Cato bit his lip, cleared his throat and stood up. Macro glanced round at his friend and then lowered his head into his hands and stared helplessly at the ground between his boots as he muttered to himself, 'Bollocks, here we go again.'

'Prefect Cato, speak.'

All heads turned to look at him and Cato had to make an effort to keep calm and control the thoughts rushing through his mind as he considered the landscape on the road ahead of them and what might be achieved in the remaining hours of the night.

'There is a way we might turn the tables on the Parthians, sir. It will be risky, but no more of a risk than continuing to retreat as we are. The trick of it is finding a way to contain their horsemen. What we need is the right ground to do it on, and a few items from stores.'

Cato paused, suddenly aware that he was surrounded by older and, in most cases, vastly more experienced officers than himself.They might well ridicule his plan, but he knew with certainty that it was the best chance to save the army. If it didn't work it would cost his life and those of many more. Men who might well die along the route in any case. His eyes met the general's and Longinus nodded. 'Well, Prefect, you'd better tell us what's on your mind.'

08 Centurion

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

'Not much longer until first light,' Centurion Parmenion muttered. He stretched up and took a last look round their position. The broken ground with its deep gullies spread out on either side. Towards the north they became steadily more shallow until they gave out on to the flat desert. A mile or so beyond that the ground crumbled again, forming a similar set of rough cha

'Better keep your head down then,' Cato responded. 'Don't want to risk giving the position away.'

Parmenion nodded and lowered himself until his eyes were just level with the lip of the gully. Both officers had removed their helmets with the familiar, and conspicuous transverse horsehair crests. It had been a cold night and with the coming of dawn Cato was sitting hugging his knees against his chest as his teeth chattered and his muscles trembled from time to time. Parmenion looked at him with sympathy. The veteran was more generously covered with flesh, and long years of service in far colder climates had gone some way to inuring him to the present discomfort. He reached into his sling and pulled out a strip of dried mutton, and tore a strip off.

'Sir, have some of this.'

Cato stirred from his thoughts and looked at the dark fibrous meat and shook his head. His stomach was knotted with anxiety over the details of his plan and he felt more sick than hungry.

'Be a good idea,' Parmenion persisted. 'It will take your mind off the cold and you'll need food in your belly for when the fighting starts.'

Cato hesitated for a moment and realised that this was an opportunity to make himself look calm and unconcerned in the face of battle. He took the offering. 'Thanks.'

The dried meat had the consistency of wood until it had been gnawed at and chewed for a while, when it gradually became as pliable, and about as desirable, as boot leather. Still, Cato mused as his jaws worked, the smoked flavour became fairly pleasant to a man with an empty stomach.

And, as Parmenion had said, the vigorous effort expended in eating the dried mutton made him forget the cold for a moment.

'It's good,' he mumbled between mouthfuls.

Parmenion nodded.'I have it done to a recipe I got from an old Alexandrian merchant I knew once. The trick to the flavouring is to marinade it in garum before it's hung to dry.'

'Garum?' Cato was not a heavy consumer of the sauce made from rotten fish guts, though Macro tended to dash it over everything whenever he got hold of a flask. 'Well, it works well enough. Tasty.'

Parmenion smiled, pleased to have given his superior some small comfort as they waited for the enemy to appear. They ate for a little longer in silence, watching as the first faint hues of dawn spread across the eastern horizon.

'If we get out of this in one piece,' Parmenion transferred a wad of chewed meat to his cheek as he spoke, 'what do you think will happen to the general?'

Cato thought for a moment before he responded bitterly, 'Nothing. If this goes as well as I hope then you can be sure he will claim the credit and be revered back in Rome as the man who beat the Parthians. Yesterday's little fuck-up will be quickly forgotten. I imagine some lickspittle in the Senate will stand up and recommend Longinus for an ovation.'

'Not a triumph?'

Cato turned to him in surprise before he reflected that Parmenion was not Roman by birth, and probably had never been to Rome, so had no reason to be conversant with the ritual celebrations that Rome conferred on her successful generals. When a triumph, or the lesser ovation, was awarded, the Sacred Way, the ancient street that passed through the heart of the great city, would be packed with jubilant citizens, freedmen and even slaves, cheering their hearts out as their heroes paraded in full military regalia at the head of the soldiers who carried aloft the spoils of their conquests.

'Triumphs are reserved for members of the imperial family these days.Wouldn't do for a senator like Longinus to have one. Might just turn his head and encourage just a little bit more ambition than is good for the Empire. So he'll have to settle for an ovation instead, and our reward will be that he gets given a different command as far from Syria as possible.'

Parmenion laughed. 'The lads will be glad to see the back of that one all right! Can't say that I've been very impressed with many of the generals or legates that I've served under. Most have just used their appointments to mark their tablets on the course of honour. Bunch of amateurs really.'

'Some of them know their stuff,' Cato reflected. 'Macro and I had a good commander in Britain. Vespasian. You heard of him?'

'Vespasian? No, can't say that I have.'

'Well, you will one day, if I'm any judge of character.'

Parmenion suddenly stiffened and stared intently over the lip of the gully. 'They're coming.'

Cato swallowed the ball of pulped meat in his mouth and tucked the rest of the strip into his sling as he gazed to the east. The rearguard of the army, now under the command of another of Legate Amatius' officers, was just passing into the open ground between the tangles of gully and jumbled rocks. Just over a mile behind them, on the very fringe of the slowly settling haze kicked up by the Roman boots, small clusters of horsemen were trotting forward. As the light grew, Cato could see more and more of them, spread out across the desert as they moved forward to subject the legionaries and auxiliaries to another day of torment. Towards the rear of their host marched a long column of men: Prince Artaxes and his rebels. Cato concentrated his attention on them for a moment. The trap would be sprung the moment Artaxes stepped into it.