Fear mushroomed, infecting all. Gazing fixedly at Publius' head, a handful of soldiers broke away from the testudo's protection. They were instantly cut down, striking terror into the rest.
The square wobbled and began to fall apart.
'Close up!' screamed Bassius, but his orders were to no avail. More mercenaries broke free, dropping their heavy shields.
'Publius is dead!' they shouted.
The cohorts behind were still advancing, had not even reached the Parthians. Suddenly the air was filled with cries of panic. Dozens of soldiers appeared through the dust, fleeing in blind panic towards them.
The Cappadocians did what most would do. They turned and ran.
The advance became a retreat as four cohorts bolted heedlessly towards the Roman lines. Straight into another screen of waiting Parthians.
All had fled save the twenty men around Bassius.
'Form testudo!' There was a note of pride in the senior centurion's voice.
Romulus, Brennus, Tarquinius and the remaining mercenaries moved closer to make a small square.
'Roman soldiers do not run!' Bassius yelled. 'Especially when the whole army is watching!' He pointed at the enemy. 'We will stand and fight!'
Through clouds of sand and grit, Romulus saw Parthians riding rings round the fleeing mercenaries. Arrows scythed through the air, cutting them down. Curved swords flashed in the sunlight, opening gaping wounds in men's backs. Hooves trampled the fallen into the sand, face down. Few of the terrified soldiers even lifted their weapons to retaliate.
The group watched helplessly as what had been a rout now became a slaughter. It was over very quickly. Except for those huddled with Bassius, Publius' cavalry and the four cohorts had been completely destroyed in a stunning example of battle tactics.
The sun beat down, unrelenting. Not a cloud was visible. The air was windless. Oppressive. Dead.
Under the raised scuta, the temperature was climbing fast. It would soon be unbearable. But Parthian arrows awaited any who stood up.
'Anyone got water?' asked Felix hopefully. The little Gaul who shared the friends' tent was one of the few to stand fast.
Romulus handed over his water bag, still a quarter full.
Felix took a mouthful and passed it back. 'That won't last much longer.'
'Doesn't need to,' muttered one of the others. 'Elysium is waiting for us.'
'We'll take plenty of them too,' said Felix grimly.
'That's the spirit,' bellowed Bassius.
Hearing this, the mercenaries roared at the tops of their voices. They would die bravely. Like warriors. Like Romans.
Horrifying screams echoed all around them as wounded men thrashed about. Blood saturated the yellow sand, turning it a deep red. Innumerable corpses lay scattered like broken dolls.
Crouching behind shields they now knew to be useless, the survivors waited for the inevitable attack. As the dust began to settle, hundreds of Parthians rode in from all sides. They were boxed in completely.
But no arrows were launched as a lone rider in fine robes rode towards the testudo, his horse picking its way delicately between the bodies. The Parthian officer reined in at a safe distance and watched them, his eyes inscrutable.
'Bastards!' cried Bassius. 'Come and get us!'
As Romulus and his comrades screamed their rage and defiance, he and Brennus exchanged a meaningful look. When the Parthian gave the order, death would take all of them. It would be no glorious end — just a volley from the lethal composite bows. There would still be no surrender.
Farewell, Mother. The gods be with you, Fabiola.
A journey beyond where any Allobroge has gone. And here at least I can die without having to run from my loved ones.
The dark-skinned man stared long and hard. Outnumbered and surrounded by mounds of their own dead, his enemies still had not laid down their weapons. Speaking in an unfamiliar tongue, he pointed back towards Crassus' army.
'What is he saying?'
'Probably telling us to run. Son of a whore,' said Felix, curling his lip. 'So they can kill us too.'
The Parthian gestured again at the Roman lines.
Tarquinius turned to Bassius. 'We can go, sir.'
The senior centurion regarded him blankly while the others gaped.
'You understand him?' hissed Romulus.
'Parthian is very similar to ancient Etruscan,' he muttered.
'The bastards could have killed us five times over,' admitted Bassius.
Tarquinius called out in the same language and the officer listened carefully before replying.
With raised eyebrows, Bassius waited until the brief conversation had finished. 'What was that about, Optio?'
'I asked him who he was, sir.'
'And?'
'He is Surena, the leader of the Parthian army.'
There was a collective sharp intake of breath.
Tarquinius raised his voice. 'Surena said we are all brave men, who do not deserve to die today. He is giving us safe passage.'
Heads lifted at the prospect of survival and Brennus let out a great sigh. His journey was not over.
'Can we trust him?' asked Felix.
'We haven't a chance in Hades waiting here,' said Bassius grimly. 'Break testudo! Form up in two files!'
The soldiers lowered their shields with trepidation, fully expecting a volley of arrows to be loosed.
Nothing happened.
Impassive bearded faces surrounded the twenty survivors of three thousand. Silently the riders nearest the Roman legions pulled apart, opening an avenue wide enough for men to pass through two abreast.
It seemed too good to be true.
'Follow me, boys! Nice and slowly,' announced the centurion calmly. 'We can't let the bastards think we 're scared.' Bassius moved off between the ranks of archers, his head held high. Despite his wound and the crushing defeat, the veteran's spirit burned undimmed, and his men followed gladly. Romulus could have sworn some of the warriors inclined their heads with respect as the ragged mercenaries passed, their scuta and javelins held in the marching position.
They had to tramp over the fallen to get by and every soldier following Bassius knew what their fate would be. But with Parthian horsemen watching from a few feet away, there was nothing they could do.
When the injured realised that some of their comrades were escaping, desperate calls for help rang out. 'Help me up,' cried one, his left leg pinned to the ground by an arrow. 'I can make it back.'
Romulus' heart filled with pity. It was one of the men from their century. Before he could move out of rank, Brennus' huge fist grabbed him.
'He's one of ours!'
'Don't even think about it!' the Gaul hissed. 'They'll gut you like a fish.'
'We are the only ones who stood our ground,' agreed Tarquinius.
Romulus watched the nearest warriors. One gave him a wolfish grin as he slid easily from the saddle, a long curved dagger in his hand.
Staring helplessly at the approaching Parthian, the mercenary panicked. 'Don't leave me here!'
'You don't even know his name,' said Tarquinius. 'Will you try and save the rest of them too?'
'He ran, leaving us to die,' growled Brennus. 'Coward.'
Romulus hardened his heart with difficulty. 'May the gods give you swift passage.'
'No!' screamed the injured soldier. 'Don't ki. ' There was an abrupt silence, replaced by a soft spraying noise.
Romulus turned back.
The man's throat had been cut. His expression was startled as both carotid arteries showered the sand in a crimson fountain. Toppling slowly to one side, the mercenary's body twitched a few times and lay still.