When Parthian archers emerged on top of the dune, a wordless moan escaped men's throats. They would be going no further. As the tired soldiers waited, awestruck, the entire ridge filled with the enemy.
'We 're finished,' swore Romulus. 'Can't fight them, can we? Might as well lie down and die now.'
A little shocked, Brennus regained his composure quickly. 'Can't be as bad as it looks,' he said.
Romulus spun to face Tarquinius, who regarded him steadily. The young soldier was furious. 'Did you know this would happen?' he snapped.
'No.' It was impossible to tell if the Etruscan was lying or not.
'Really? There are thousands of the bastards up there,' yelled Romulus. 'How could you miss seeing them?'
'The art of haruspicy is an uncertain one,' replied Tarquinius with a shrug. 'I've told you that before.'
Romulus' spirits plummeted. How could they live through another battle like the day before?
Then the Etruscan pointed.
A party of horsemen was making its way down the slope, hands held aloft to show they carried no weapons.
Romulus peered at the riders suspiciously. 'Are they offering parley?'
'Looks like it,' answered Brennus calmly.
'The breeze is more favourable now,' added Tarquinius. 'Although thousands more men will die today.'
'It's time to talk,' Romulus grumbled. 'We don't stand a chance otherwise.'
The friends held their breath as the Parthians came closer, the horses picking their way through the thick sand.
Crassus' position was obvious from the number of standards and red-cloaked officers, and the riders halted a hundred paces from it. They waited expectantly.
To Romulus' surprise, there was no response.
Men began to grow angry. The endless marching in blistering heat, exhaustion and the lack of water had been followed by the death of thousands at the hands of an unreachable enemy. Now, even when they were about to be slaughtered, it seemed that their leader would not talk to the Parthians. His arrogance had not completely evaporated.
With no cavalry remaining, Crassus had to rely on his bodyguards to carry orders. At last a pair of this elite came trotting along the column, sweating heavily in their gilded breastplates and leather skirts.
'Prepare for battle!' one wheezed every few steps. 'Back to the flat ground. Form a continuous line.'
'Piss off, son of a whore!'
'Who said that?' Both men skidded to a halt, hands on their swords.
'Go and fight those bastard Parthians yourself!'
There was an angry roar and more insults were thrown. So far, these hand-picked soldiers had seen no combat at all, which generated huge resentment among the rank and file.
'Where 's the ranking centurion?' The more senior bodyguard, an optio, tried to regain control.
Silently Bassius came forward, his phalerae prominent.
'Nobody disobeys a direct order from Marcus Licinius Crassus. Arrest those men!'
'You can call me sir. I didn't spend sixteen damn years in the legions for nothing!'
'Sir.'
'Go and do it yourself,' declared Bassius. 'You piece of shit.'
Huge cheers erupted from his men.
'Refusing to obey orders, Centurion?'
Bassius ignored him. 'Why has Crassus not sent a party to negotiate?'
More delighted shouts rose from the surrounding legionaries.
The two guards were blind to diplomacy.
'Crassus does not parley with desert savages.'
Bassius whipped out his gladius, placing its razor sharp tip under the optio's chin.
'Tell the general to go and talk with the Parthians. Himself.' He half turned. 'That right, boys?'
A swelling roar of approval moved down the line, the soldiers drumming their swords off scuta to show support. Those further away guessed what was going on and joined in. Romulus and Brennus did likewise. What was the point of dying in the Mesopotamian desert? They might as well retreat to Syria and survive.
A faint breeze had sprung up and Tarquinius saw that a number of small clouds had appeared in the sky. Engrossed with the standoff, no one else saw him frown. There were twelve.
The optio was a brave man. 'Crassus ignores demands from scum.'
'I've fought in more than ten wars, you miserable dog,' said Bassius, pressing harder with his gladius and breaking the skin. A drop of blood rolled down the iron.
He winced but did not back away.
'Crassus had best do what we say.' Bassius paused. 'Or he might end up like Publius.'
The optio glanced at his comrade.
Dozens of legionaries tensed and the second soldier carefully let go of his sword hilt. The men around them pounded harder on their shields. Crassus had promised them everything but delivered only hardship and death. Thousands of Parthians now waited to complete their annihilation. If the general would not parley, they would take matters into their own hands.
'You heard them.' The old centurion gestured at the column's centre. 'Now go and tell Crassus.'
Slowly the two guards moved away from the raised weapon and stalked back to Crassus' position. Bassius watched for a few moments before stepping into line.
'Jupiter!' Romulus let out a breath. 'Ever seen anything like that?'
Brennus shook his head. 'Shows just how bad it is, for a man like Bassius to mutiny.'
'Crassus decimated a unit that ran from Spartacus,' said Tarquinius. 'Interesting to see what he does about this.'
'He'll talk. If the fool doesn't,' replied Brennus calmly, 'the entire army will rise up.'
The Gaul was right. Crassus finally realised that his soldiers had suffered enough. The racket alone would have conveyed their depth of anger and it was not long before a party detached itself from the centre. Led by the swarthy Andromachus, Crassus and his legates rode across the sand towards the waiting Parthians, their heads bowed. Even the horsehair plumes on the officers' helmets were sagging. Not a sound broke the silence as the sun beat down on the dramatic scene. Motionless, the archers sat high above. Watching. Waiting. Ready to attack.
For some time the two groups talked, their words inaudible because of the distance. With Andromachus acting as interpreter, Crassus and his officers listened to Surena's terms.
Romulus clenched his jaw. 'Let's hope that the fool gets us a safe pass, or we will all be food for vultures.'
'They will be wanting guarantees that he won't invade again,' said Tarquinius.
'What kind?' asked Romulus.
Brennus spat on the hot sand. 'Prisoners.'
The young man's stomach lurched. Was this what Tarquinius had meant? Romulus had no time to dwell on the disconcerting thought.
Above them, a vicious melee suddenly broke out. Andromachus and the Parthians had produced concealed weapons and killed three legates. While the soldiers watched helplessly, Crassus was knocked from his horse with a blow to the head. Instantly two warriors jumped down and threw his senseless body on to a horse. Leaving their companions to finish off the remaining Romans, they galloped away up the dune.
The stunned legionaries watched as their sole chance of salvation disappeared. One senior officer had managed to pull his horse around and ride back, but the others lay lifeless on the sand.
The army had been left with only one legate.
'We are done for,' groaned a voice nearby.
Brennus drew his longsword, his face calm.
'Treacherous bastards,' said Romulus bitterly.
'They must have been planning it all along,' remarked Tarquinius. 'That I did not see.'
The horsemen above had already split into two files, each aiming at one side of the Roman column. Surena had prepared the final blow.