'Come on!' Macro bellowed, waving angrily to the men straggling back from the pursuit. 'Hurry up!'

The tide of battle was changing before their eyes. Already the Judaeans were starting to turn on the Romans, chasing after those who had let their battle rage carry them too far. As Cato watched, a group of Judaeans caught up with one of the auxiliaries and knocked him to the ground. The man rolled on to his back and tried to cover himself with his shield, then Cato lost sight of him as the enemy crowded round and hacked at the victim at their feet, their sword blades rising and falling in a frenzy.

Cato turned to Macro. 'If we don't make a move for the fort now, we'll never reach it.'

Macro glanced round. It was over half a mile to the breach where the gatehouse had once stood. The enemy would run them down long before they got there if they delayed any longer. Macro faced his men. 'Second Illyrian! Back to the fort, double time! Scrofa! Postumus! On me!'

As the centurions and optios of the infantry relayed the orders and turned their men back towards Bushir, the two cavalry commanders trotted over to Macro.They had lost only a handful of men in the pursuit of the enemy and most had already returned to their standards, although several were still trying to fight their way back through the rallying Judaeans.

Macro addressed them hurriedly, one eye on the enemy streaming back towards the camp. 'I want the cavalry to screen our retreat. Pull your men back to the edge of the camp facing the fort. Form them in line and charge anyone that looks threatening, Once we make the breach you can fall back and the archers will cover you from the wall.'

Postumus exchanged a quick glance with Scrofa before he replied. 'That's madness.You'll get us killed.'

'That can happen to soldiers,' Macro said coldly. 'This isn't a bloody debating society, gentlemen.Those are your orders and you will carry them out. Go!'

Scrofa wheeled his mount round and spurred it back towards his command. Postumus glared at Macro for a moment and then followed his former commander.

'Come on.' Macro patted Cato's arm and started trotting after the column of infantry hastening back to the fort. Around them ran the last of the stragglers.There was a pounding of hooves and the cavalry galloped by in a cloud of dust to take up their allotted positions. Once past the camp they turned outwards and formed a line, Scrofa's men to the left of the breach, Postumus' to the right, leaving a gap for the infantry to pass through. Cato and Macro caught up with the rear century and joined the ranks. Glancing back over his shoulder Cato was shocked to see some Judaeans sprinting after him, no more than fifty paces behind. A handful of them stopped abruptly and began to whirl slings overhead.

'Look out!' Cato shouted. 'Slingshot!'

He turned and presented his shield, just in time to save himself from a stone that cracked off the top edge of his shield and rattled over the top of his helmet. One of the other men was not so lucky and was struck in the back at the base of his spine. His legs went dead and he flopped forward with a cry of pain and surprise. One of his comrades stopped and hurried back to his side.

'Leave him!' Macro ordered, thrusting him back towards the column. Cato turned back and ran to catch up, tensing his shoulders and ducking his head slightly as if that might make him significantly less of a target. More shot whipped by and this time fate spared the Romans any further casualties. They were closing up on the cavalry screen and Macro called out, 'Cavalry! Charge them! Now!'

Scrofa and Postumus waved their swords to the front and the grim-faced cavalrymen edged their mounts forward. They trotted past Macro and Cato and the Judaeans who were pursuing them slithered to a halt as they realised their danger, and began to fall back. However, beyond them Cato could see a line of horsemen trotting towards the Roman cavalry. The Parthians came on, bows held ready and sword scabbards slapping the flanks of their mounts.The men caught between the two lines of horsemen ran from the narrowing gap, desperate to escape the clash. Macro and Cato continued towards the fort, casting glances back over their shoulders. Suddenly Macro stopped and turned.

'What the hell is he doing?'

Cato fell back and joined him in time to see Postumus' squadrons veer to the right, cutting diagonally across the enemy front. Postumus swept his arm forward and shouted an order that Macro and Cato could not quite catch the sense of. His cavalry increased their speed and galloped away from the camp, towards the north. As they did so Scrofa reined in and his men halted, perhaps a hundred paces from the enemy. He turned to watch as Postumus and his men rode off.

'The bastard's running out on us!' Macro said in astonishment.

'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

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?'

'There, sir! Look over there!' Parmenion thrust his arm out and stabbed his finger to the south.

Macro thrust his way through the men and clambered a short distance up the slope so that he could see. An instant later Cato was at his side and both officers scanned the desert in the direction Parmenion had indicated. At first the swirling dust stirred up by Bannus' army made it hard to discern what was causing Parmenion to be so animated. Then a fluke of breeze shifted the dust and Cato saw beyond the enemy. There was another body of men, hundreds of them, mounted on horses and camels, riding out of the desert directly towards the Judaeans. Now Macro could see them and he punched his fist into the air. 'It's Symeon! Symeon!'