Centurion

'Very well, sir.'

Macro was about to reply when a fresh roar of cheering burst out from the enemy ranks. All three officers turned to see the right flank of the mercenaries' line crumple before the relentless pressure of the rebels. Already several of them had broken through and were ruthlessly cutting down the Greeks. More of them pressed on, exploiting the overlap, and Cato could see that the royal bodyguards were in danger of being rolled up, surrounded and slaughtered. Macro's experienced eye read the situation at once.

'Cato, get your lads to plug the gap. Now.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato nodded and ran out a short distance to the side of the column, still marching towards the citadel gate. 'Second Illyrian! Halt!… Right face!'

The months of hard training that Macro and Cato had put them through paid off as the cohort moved from column to line in a few heartbeats. Cato paused for another breath and shouted the order. 'Open ranks by half-century!'

The men shuffled aside to create lanes through their lines, and when the manoeuvre was complete Cato drew his sword and swept it towards the failing Greek line.'Advance!'

The Second Illyrian moved evenly across the agora, their ranks carefully watched and dressed by their officers as they closed on the mercenaries.The commander of the syntagma glanced back and saw the auxiliaries coming to his aid. He saw the gaps in the line and grasped Cato's intention immediately. Turning back to his men he cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed,'Fall back! Fall back to the citadel!'

The mercenaries began to back away from the rebels, stabbing their spears frantically to try to create a gap between them and their enemies. As soon as some were clear they turned and ran towards Cato's men, immediately endangering their slower comrades as the rebels swarmed into the gaps in the rapidly fragmenting line. A handful were cut off and overwhelmed, attacked from all sides as they desperately swirled round, trying to block the rebels' blows. Inevitably, a blade darted in, and as each man staggered back from the wound he was hacked to the ground in a flurry of sword blows and spear thrusts. The first of the mercenaries reached the approaching line of Roman troops and hurried through the gaps. Cato drew his sword once more and stepped into place alongside Parmenion in the middle of the line. As they paced forward across the paving stones Cato glanced to both sides, gauging the moment.As the last of the mercenaries passed through the gaps he shouted an order.

'Close ranks!'

The men on the rear rank hurriedly stepped round and forward to fill the gaps as the rebels raced towards them.

'Shields to the front!' Cato yelled, just before the impact, and at once the auxiliaries' broad shields swept round to confront the rebels with a wall of gleaming bosses.The sharp points of swords glinted brightly where they punctuated the line of shields. At the sight the rebels hesitated for a brief moment, and the charge immediately lost its impetus. The two lines came together in a rolling chorus of shield thudding against shield, swords striking home against hide-covered wood, and the brittle clatter of blade clashing against blade. Cato hunched down behind his borrowed shield and braced his legs. A blow thudded against the rim, driving it back against his helmet. Cato saw white briefly, blinked and then thrust his sword out.There was no contact and he snatched his sword arm back before any rebel could slash at his unprotected flesh. On either side men grunted as they struck out, some bellowing full-throated war cries, insults or defiance. Mingled with this were the gasps and groans of the wounded and dying. Cato concentrated on keeping his position in the front rank of his cohort, knowing full well that as long as the line held the Second Illyrian would hold their own, despite the unequal numbers.

The rebel charge had halted the Roman advance and now they stood, feet braced, punching out their shields as they stabbed at any of the enemy who dared to press their attack too closely. In the growing light Cato saw the glint of a blade rising in front of his shield and instinctively threw his sword up to block the blow. An instant later the heavy tip of a falcata crashed against his short sword, driving Cato's weapon down. His arm felt numb and Cato clenched his fist with all his strength to retain a firm grip on the handle.The falcata rose again, accompanied by a triumphant snarl from the rebel who was wielding the weapon.This time Cato was able to swing his shield up and punched it out to meet the sword as he swung his own blade in a short scything cut at the man's leading leg. The blow landed at the same time as the shield boss rang overhead and drove down on to Cato's helmet. As he dropped on one knee he heard the rebel howl with pain and rage and Cato saw that the edge of his sword had cut deep into the man's thigh, severing muscles all the way to the bone. The man stumbled back and slumped to the ground as he dropped his weapon and clamped a hand over the wound, trying to stem the rush of blood. Then another man jumped in front of him and he was lost to Cato's view.

A hand gripped Cato's arm and pulled him on to his feet and back into the Roman formation. Cato glanced round and saw Parmenion.

'Are you injured, Prefect?'

'No.'

'Good.' Parmenion nodded, then leaned to one side as a spear stabbed past his head. Cato cut down on the shaft, knocking it to the ground, and then slashed at the hand grasping it, smashing knuckles and cutting tendons, so that the spear fell from nerveless fingers.

'Give ground!' Cato ordered. 'Parmenion, call the pace.'

'One!' Parmenion shouted, and the cohort backed off a step. 'Two! One! Two!'

The Second Illyrian steadily withdrew towards the citadel and Cato eased his way back through the ranks to the side of the standard-bearer. A withdrawal was one of the most difficult manoeuvres to handle. If the formation faltered, or fell apart, then the Palmyran rebels would cut them to pieces. Cato saw that the last of the mercenaries had entered the citadel and Macro stood alone under the massive stone arch, beckoning to Cato. Beside him Parmenion continued to call the pace and the cohort edged slowly towards the gate. The left flank was protected by the towering wall and the archers and javelin throwers pelting the rebels from above. But the right of the line would soon have to fold back and the rebels would flow round the edge and surround the Romans just as they had the Greek mercenaries.

'Parmenion! On me!'

As soon as his second-in-command was at his side Cato indicated the right flank. 'I'll take command of the flank century. As soon as the left of the line reaches the gate you get them inside a century at a time. I'll cover you until it's our turn.'

'Yes, sir.' Parmenion nodded. 'Good luck, sir.'

'I'll need it.'

Cato ran down the rear of the cohort until he reached the first century of the cohort, composed of picked men. Their commander, Centurion Metellus, saluted as Cato reached him.

'Hot work, sir.'

'And about to get hotter.' Cato smiled grimly. 'We're going to cover the withdrawal through the gate. When I give the order, I want the first cohort to form a wedge.We'll move up towards the gate and hold the ground in front of it until the rest of the cohort are through.'

'I understand, sir,' Centurion Metellus replied calmly. 'My lads won't let you down.'

Cato smiled. 'I know.'

He glanced round and saw that the last of the cohort's wounded men, and the mounted troops assigned to protect them, were already trotting back through the gate as the auxiliaries withdrew towards the citadel. The time had come for the first century to move away from the buildings on their right, opening the way for the rebels to sweep round their flank. Cato nodded to Centurion Metellus. 'Give the order.'

Metellus filled his lungs and bellowed, 'First century will form a wedge!' He paused a moment and counted to three under his breath and then, 'Manoeuvre!'

At once the flanking sections folded back to form the second and third sides and then the auxiliaries faced out so that the wedge presented shields on all three faces. The rebels surged into the gaps and flowed round Metellus' century, hacking and thrusting at the shields.