For those with little or no chance of recovery, the surgeon discreetly drew out a razor-sharp blade from his kit and deftly opened an artery so that the critically wounded bled to death before they even realised what had happened. Their bodies were left with those men who had died outright; and soon the route of the Roman retreat was marked by a grim wake of scattered corpses and discarded equipment.
An hour or so into the march, Cato's men began to pass the long lines of packs that had been set down the night before when the army had formed its line of attack. There was little of any value to pick over as the two cohorts stepped round the scattered packs.The units that had crossed the ground before them had collected up the spare canteens and food, and only clothes, mess kits and personal keepsakes remained, spread over the sand. In amongst the detritus lay the occasional body of a soldier who had fallen further up the column.
'Leave that!' Cato bellowed at one of his men who had bent down to search through a bundle of silk cloth. 'What bloody use is that to you now? Optio! Take that man's name! Next man who picks anything up will be beaten!'
'Sir!' Parmenion ran to Cato's side and pointed ahead of them. 'Look there!'
There was an interval of more than a hundred paces between the Second Illyrian and the next unit ahead of them in the line of march. The Sixth Macedonian was an under-strength infantry cohort attached to the Tenth Legion and, as Cato watched, a strong force of Parthians closed in on them and loosed their arrows at point-blank range. But they were only a screen for the real threat. Behind them came a solid mass of cataphracts, lancers in scale armour mounted on large chargers, each protected by a padded mantlet. They reined in and waited as their companions concentrated their rain of arrows on one point of the auxiliaries' line. Inevitably a number of men were struck down, and others gave way, and a gap opened. At once the horse-archers wheeled their mounts aside and the cataphracts burst through the Roman ranks.
'Oh, no…' Parmenion watched, ashen-faced, as the Sixth Macedonian disintegrated. The men scattered in all directions, some throwing down their spears and shields as they fled. The enemy, cataphracts and horse-archers, galloped amongst them, cutting the infantry down with lance thrusts, sword cuts and arrows from those who still used their bows. The nearest survivors ran towards the Second Illyrian and some of Cato's men began to move aside to let them through. The moment they were safely inside the rearguard Cato filled his lungs and bellowed, 'Close up there! Do you want to share their fate! Close up!'
The Parthians reined in as the auxiliaries lowered their spears and presented a bristling line of vicious points towards the horsemen. Then the nearest of the cataphracts lurched as his horse was struck in the rump by an arrow and bucked the rider from his saddle. More arrows whirred through the air as Balthus and his men rode up and shot into the Parthians. Caught between the spears of the advancing cohort and the arrow barrage the Parthians quickly gave way and galloped off in the opposite direction. Behind them lay a scattered carpet of bodies and equipment belonging to the Sixth Macedonian. Only the standard-bearer and a handful of men clustered about him still stood. As Cato's cohort reached them they fell in with his lead century, chests heaving, spattered with blood and wide-eyed with terror and battle fury.
As soon as he saw that the enemy had galloped off Balthus turned to look for Cato and waved his hand. Cato responded and with the glint of a wide smile the Palmyran prince led his men back to their position on the flank of the rearguard.
Cato turned back to his men and called out to them as they continued marching over the remains of the Sixth Macedonian.
'Take a good long look, lads! That's the fate that awaits any man who gives ground to those Parthian bastards!'
The march continued through the afternoon and only as the sun dipped towards the horizon did the enemy at last break off their attack and fall back towards the camel train and the column of Artaxes and his men following a few miles behind. The Third Legion, no longer forced to maintain close ranks, formed a loose perimeter as the rest of the army crept into the site chosen for the night's camp. Macro's and Cato's men were the last to pass through the picket lines and the legionaries and auxiliaries broke ranks and collapsed in exhausted heaps the moment the staff officer had led them to their sleeping lines. But there was no rest for Macro and Cato.
'The general wants to see all unit commanders in his tent at once, sir,' the tribune explained to Macro.
'His tent?'
'Yes, sir.The general had some men retrieve his personal baggage train during the retreat.'
'Very wise of him,' Macro replied evenly. 'Can't have a general going without his creature comforts, can we?'
'Er, no, sir. If you say so.'
'Very well, you can go.'
As the tribune marched away into the darkness Macro turned to Cato. 'Glad to see that our brilliant commander has managed to snatch his kit from the jaws of defeat. Wonder if that was part of his plan?'
They picked their way through the sleeping lines, where the sombre mood of the men was evident in the muted and grim tones of their conversation. Every so often the cry or groan of a casualty carried across the sprawl of exhausted soldiers. Despite the hardships of the day, the rigorous training of the Roman army had ensured that clear lanes had been well marked and there, at the heart of the camp, was the general's tent. A small brazier burned by the entrance and in its wavering glow Longinus' bodyguards stood sentry. Inside there was more light, and as Macro and Cato were waved inside they saw that the tent was filled with the other cohort commanders and the legates of the two legions, seated on stools around their general.
Longinus sat behind his campaign desk, listening to Legate Amatius.
'It's at least another full day's march to Palmyra, sir. Most of the men are out of water, they've had nothing to eat for a day and they're exhausted. I've lost over four hundred of my men and another three hundred wounded. It's the same story for the auxiliary cohorts attached to the legion. And that's not counting the Sixth Macedonian.'
'I see.' Longinus looked up as he caught sight of the latest arrivals. 'What's the condition of your cohorts, gentlemen?'
Macro took the waxed slate out of his sling and flipped it open. 'Fifty-two dead, thirty-one wounded from my cohort. Thirty dead and twenty-seven wounded from the Second Illyrian, sir.'
Longinus briefly noted the figures down. 'You made a good job of the rearguard, Macro.'
Macro shrugged and conceded, 'We got this far at least.'
'True. The question is, how much further can we go, gentlemen? We've lost perhaps a fifth of our strength. We're likely to lose far more than that tomorrow, if the enemy hit us as hard as they did today.'
'We have to go on as long as we can, sir,' Amatius replied. 'That's all we can do.'
'It is one option,' Longinus countered. 'We could save the cavalry at least and send them back to Palmyra tonight. The infantry would have to make its own way.'
Macro leaned towards Cato and whispered, 'And I wonder which officer, and his tent, would accompany the cavalry?'
'What are the other options, sir?' Amatius asked.
Longinus shifted himself and settled back in his chair as he looked round at the faces of his assembled commanders. 'The enemy surprised us, gentlemen. The Parthians joined with Artaxes sooner than I anticipated.We had to pull back; I had no choice in the matter.We have been worsted.There's no shame in that. There were far more Parthians than I was led to believe. It was a gallant attempt, and the people back in Rome will recognise that in due course.'