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.
Cato lowered his head. 'Right then, pass the word. Enemy in sight. None of our men is to move a muscle. Last thing we want is some curious squaddie putting his head up for a quick look and having the sun glint off his equipment.'
'They understand well enough, sir.'
'Tell them again, anyway.'
'Yes, sir.' Parmenion saluted and then crept slowly down the side of the gully, taking care not to disturb too much of the sand and dust that could give them away just as easily as a reflection.
Cato watched him trot along the bed of the gully towards the silent ranks of men squatting a hundred paces away. Cato knew that they would be tired. This was their second night without sleep, and they had marched an entire day under frequent barrages of arrows. If all went well, however, they would soon have a chance to wreak their revenge on the enemy, and Cato knew that at that moment they would discover a fearsome reserve of strength in themselves that would carry them through the fight. He had often seen it before, even in himself, and it always surprised him just how much a man could endure when the need arose. As it did now.
The men of the rearguard must have seen the enemy as well, through the dust haze in their wake, and began to pick up their pace. Cato frowned. They had strict orders not to speed up. But then again, he realised, it was only human nature to step out that little bit faster when enemies like the Parthians were breathing down your neck. Besides, it would look natural enough to the enemy, and enhance the deception.
With a sudden increase in their own pace, the nearest groups of Parthians urged their mounts forward and closed in on the rearguard, shooting arrows into the air that looked like tiny splinters from this distance, although the distant figures of their victims tumbling to the sand were all too real. Cato turned his attention to the front of the Roman column. As yet it was still heading west and Cato had a moment's anxiety as it occurred to him that Longinus might change his mind once again, abandon the plan and make directly for Palmyra leaving Cato, Macro and the others to their fate. Then, a moment later, Cato breathed with relief as he saw the column halt and begin to deploy across the line of march. Unlike the day before their flanks would be covered by the broken ground on either side and the Parthians would only be able to attack them from the front. The rearguard would take the brunt of the enemy's early attacks, and they would endure heavy casualties. Cato hardened his heart to their plight. They would be buying their comrades time to set the trap and if it worked they would not have suffered in vain.
As soon as the line was complete the remaining Roman units on the track stepped out and hurried through the gap left for them. Dense masses of horsemen harried the flanks and rear of the end of the column, being drawn steadily further and further into the strip of open ground between the gullies and rocks on either side. At last, the camel train carrying the spare arrows and Artaxes' rebel column marched past Cato's position and he turned towards Parmenion and swept his hand round in a low horizontal swoop towards the enemy, the signal they had agreed earlier.
Parmenion turned to the first century of the Second Illyrian and ordered them up on to their feet. The auxiliaries were keyed up for action and snatched up spears, the light javelins they had been issued for the coming fight, and shields, then stood ready to move. Further down the line were the men carrying the baskets loaded with four-pronged iron spikes drawn from the army's stoves. Speed was vital, since Cato had realised that they were bound to kick up enough dust for the enemy to spot the danger even before they emerged from the gullies on either side.
He carefully clambered down to the floor of the gully, put on his helmet and tied the straps securely as Parmenion led the cohort forward. Cato snatched up his shield and fell in alongside the standard as the auxiliaries reached him.
'Second Illyrian! At the double… advance!'
They trotted along the floor of the gully, following its course towards the open ground, nearly a mile away, far enough for the enemy to have missed their presence as they pursued Longinus. Somewhere on the other side of the open ground Macro would be leading his force forward, converging with Cato's. If speed was one vital component of the plan, then timing was the other, and Cato trusted that his friend would have started his advance at roughly the same moment.
Cato ran on, forcing his tired legs forward as his heart pounded and his breathing came in ragged gasps. He tried to keep to an even pace which he knew he could maintain for long enough to get the cohort in position.The rumbling crunch of the auxiliaries' boots sounded unnaturally loud in the confined space. But at least the rising sun's rays had not yet appeared over the lip of the gully to add glare and heat to their discomfort.
The gully began to slope up gently and the sides began to fall away as they reached the open ground. Cato glanced to his left. The rear of the rebel column was just visible through a dust haze half a mile away. Beyond that, the Parthian horse was packed into a flat space between the two expanses of broken ground. They stood their ground, releasing a torrent of arrows on Longinus' battle line: damage the front rank of legionaries would have to soak up until Cato and Macro were in position. Then Longinus would give the order to advance and the Parthians would turn their mounts to retire to a safe distance to resume shooting their bows. Then they would see the new danger and realise the trap they had been lured into. Cato smiled as he anticipated their surprise. It would not endure, of course. They would see the thin line and know that they could charge through it without too much difficulty. Except that they would not reckon with one other aspect of Cato's plan.
'There's Balthus!' Parmenion called out and Cato turned to look ahead.The small band of horse-archers had emerged from a gully and were galloping towards Cato, ready to take up position behind the infantry line. Behind them came Macro, distinguishable by his transverse scarlet crest. The column of legionaries with their curved oblong shields came after him, spilling out on to the open ground. So intent were the enemy on destroying the army in front of them that they did not react until the two arms of the trap had linked up to their rear.Then Cato saw faces in the rebel column turn to look back, then wave their arms to attract the attention of their comrades.