‘The fool,’ Cato muttered. ‘Where does he think he can escape to?’

‘Who cares?’ Macro turned back to the men pursuing them. Scrofa and his men were all that now stood between the infantry heading for the fort and the enemy horde, desperate to chase after them and wipe them out. ‘Only Scrofa can save us now.’

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER THIRTY

Scrofa stared at the oncoming Parthians, then glanced back at Macro, as if looking for guidance. Macro swore softly and muttered, ‘You have your orders, man. Bloody well carry them out.’

‘He’s going to run for it too,’ Cato decided, grabbing his friend’s arm. ‘We have to go. Now!’

‘Wait!’ Macro raised his arm and thrust it out towards the enemy. Scrofa was still for a moment, then he nodded. With a formal, final salute to Macro he swept his sword towards the Parthians and shouted the order to charge. His men spurred their horses on, and holding their shields close and clutching their spears tightly they raced towards the Parthians. Macro shook his head in wonder, before Cato pulled his arm insistently. The two officers turned away and ran down the track to catch up with the rest of the column hurrying back to the safety of the fort. Behind them there was a pounding of hooves for an instant and then the clash and ring of sword blades, the thud of blows landing on shields, shrill whinnies from terrified horses and the savage war cries of fighting men, and the screams of the wounded.

Ahead of them the first of the infantry centuries had reached the breach and was scrambling up the bloodstained rubble. Parmenion leaned over the wall to the side, desperately waving the men on. As more of the infantry arrived, the units struggling up the rubble merged into a single mob of frantic men, while their comrades jostled forward at the base of the mound, anxiously looking over their shoulders.When Macro and Cato reached them they looked back and saw that Scrofa and his men were locked in a terribly unequal fight with the Parthians and would surely be cut to pieces as the price they paid for saving their comrades. Cato glanced away to the north and saw that Postumus and his friends were already little more than dark blots amid a haze of kicked-up dust. Already, a large number of Parthians were racing after them, determined not to let them escape, and Cato found himself hoping that Postumus was saved for as horrible a death as the Parthians could conceive.

He turned back and saw that the auxiliaries were still struggling to climb up the rubble slope. ‘If this carries on much longer none of the cavalry will survive.’

‘Come on you men!’ Macro bellowed in frustration. ‘Move yourselves!’

‘Prefect!’

Macro turned towards the voice and saw Centurion Parmenion waving at him from the wall, an excited expression on his face.

‘What is it?’