Centurion

There were perhaps as many as a hundred men with Cato as the Romans closed in on Artaxes and his bodyguards. As the auxiliaries sized up their enemies there was a tense pause and the air was filled with the sound of laboured breathing as the men of both sides stared at each other, waiting for the spell to be shattered.

Cato drew himself up to his full height and raised his sword to attract the attention of his men.

'Second Illyrian! Hold your ground!'

The men glanced at him, some with surprised expressions, but they stopped where they were and waited on their commander's next order. Cato turned towards the rebels.

'Prince Artaxes! You are beaten. The Parthians have scattered. Your rebellion is over.' Cato let his words sink in for a brief moment before continuing. 'There is no point to further resistance. Save your men's lives and surrender.'

There was no response at first. Artaxes just glared at Cato and bit his lip.Then one of his men glanced back at him and began to lower his spear.

'No!' Artaxes screamed out. 'No surrender! Kill them!'

He grabbed the spear from the nearest of his men and hurled it towards Cato. His aim was wild, but so was the force behind the throw and before the auxiliary standing next to Cato could react, the head of the spear pierced his stomach and burst out of his back in a welter of blood and exploded flesh. The man's arms spasmed and his shield and sword flew from his hands to clatter on the ground. He fell back, kicked once and died with a frothy gurgling sound as blood spurted and bubbled from his throat.

'Kill the bastards!' one of Cato's men yelled, his voice shrill with rage. 'Kill 'em!'

With an angry roar the auxiliaries swept forward before Cato could stop them. Spears cracked off the auxiliaries' shields. Those rebels with a more powerful thrust sent the tips of their weapons splintering through the shields, one gouging a slough of skin and muscle from the arm of an auxiliary. Then the legionaries slammed into the prince's bodyguards, using their bigger shields and greater numbers to push the enemy back. The spears continued to stab over the rims of the auxiliaries' shields, clattering off helmets, glancing off those who had scale armour. Meanwhile the Romans tried to keep their shields up and their heads down as they pressed forward into the enemy. Close in, they had the advantage with short swords, and whenever a gap appeared between the enemy shields they thrust home at any exposed limbs. Some hacked at the shafts of the spears as they darted overhead, and split the wood, or even knocked them from the grasp of the rebels.

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 ba

'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.