Macro had also summed up the situation, and was issuing orders to the officers on the wall. ‘Get some archers ready to cover the patrol! Shoot the moment those bastards behind our men are in range!’

As Macro and Cato returned to the Governor’s side, Longinus turned to them and asked, ‘So who are those men pursuing your patrol?’

Cato felt a chill feeling in the nape of his neck as he replied. ‘I think they’re Parthians, sir.’

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘Parthians?’ Longinus stared back at him. ‘Nonsense! How could they be Parthians? Have you ever seen one?’

‘No, sir,’ Cato admitted. ‘I’ve read about them. Heard them described.’

Longinus sniffed with contempt and the officers turned back to watch the desperate chase across the desert towards the fort. As the horsemen drew nearer Centurion Postumus glanced at Cato before saying quietly, ‘I’m afraid they are Parthians, sir.’

They were clearly visible now and all those in the gatehouse could plainly see the conical helmets and the saddle tassels flapping in the wind. Every so often one of the riders would take careful aim with a bow and loose an arrow after the fleeing survivors of the Roman patrol. But the range was long and the horses galloping at full stretch and only one of the arrows found its mark as the officers in the tower looked on. One of the horses suddenly reared, nearly throwing its rider, and Cato saw the dark shaft of the arrow protruding from a hind leg. As the horse stamped, the shaft caught on the other leg and was ripped out in a bright gush of blood. A major blood vessel must have been severed for the blood continued to spurt from the wound as the rider tried in vain to spur his mount on towards the fort. After several increasingly faltering steps the horse’s legs buckled and it sank on to its chest. The rider quickly dismounted and turned to face his pursuers, crouching behind his shield as he drew his sword. They came on, and at the last moment flowed round the man and his dying horse. There was a brief flurry of arrow shafts and the auxiliary spun round under the impacts, and crumpled to the ground.

A deep groan rose up in the throats of the men on the wall and Macro cupped a hand to his mouth and called down to them. ‘Archers! Don’t just stand there! Hit ‘em - soon as they’re in bowshot!’