'Who shall I say they are?'

Cato shrugged. 'No way to be sure just yet. But there's no point in taking any chances. Now go.'

The optio saluted and then turned away, bellowing orders to the auxiliaries to cease their weapons drill and form up. The men wearily tramped into position and when all was ready the small column marched across the parade ground towards the camp gate, leaving Cato to watch the distant horsemen. By the time the last rider had emerged from the ravine he estimated that there must be at least two hundred of them. And at their head the thin red and gold strip of a banner flickered lazily in the shimmering air. The horsemen continued their measured approach towards Antioch, and the army camp sprawled across the landscape before the city's walls. This was no attempt to surprise any unwary Roman patrols, Cato reasoned. The horsemen fully intended to be seen.

From inside the camp there was the shrill blast of notes from a bucina and a short while later the first of the Second Illyrian's mounted squadrons trotted out of the gate and formed up in two lines at the edge of the parade ground, waiting for the men of the other three squadrons to take up position on their right. As the last of the cavalrymen edged his beast into line and the cohort's mounted contingent tightened their grasp of their spears as they scrutinised the distant horsemen, a small party of staff officers emerged from the gates of the city and galloped along the track towards Cato and his men. Cato instantly identified the flamboyant red crest of the leading figure and felt some small comfort that the governor of Syria would take charge of the situation. The party of officers drew up in a flurry of dust and small stones and Cato saw that Macro and the legate of the Tenth were riding with the governor and his staff. Longinus thrust his arm out towards Cato.

'Centurion! Report.'

'It's as you can see, sir.' Cato nodded towards the approaching column. 'They're armed, but they've made no hostile moves yet.'

Longinus stared at the riders for a moment. The distant column had halted and formed a line across the track leading back into the ravine, and now a small party of horsemen, surrounding the standard Cato had seen earlier, detached themselves from the main body and galloped across the flat expanse of land between the hills and the camp. As they drew closer the dull, flat blasts of a horn carried across to the Romans.

Longinus turned to Legate Amatius on the horse beside him. 'Seems someone wants a truce.'

'Truce?' Amatius shook his head in wonder. 'But who the hell are they?'

Cato stared at the approaching riders, no more than half a mile away now. The dust kicked up by their mounts formed a backdrop that made it easier to pick out the details of their conical helmets and flowing robes, and the bow cases slung from their saddles. He lowered his hand and turned back to his commander.

'They're Parthians, sir.'

'Parthians?' Longinus' hand slipped on to the hilt of his sword. 'Parthians… What the hell are they doing here? Right under our bloody noses.'

The horsemen reined in no more than a hundred paces from Cato and the other officers, and after a moment's pause one of them edged his horse forward and walked it warily towards the Romans.

'Shall I order our men forward, sir?' Macro asked, gesturing to the squadrons from the Second Illyrian.

'No. Not yet,' Longinus replied quietly, his gaze fixed on the approaching rider.

'Parthians.' Amatius scratched his chin nervously. 'What do they want?'

Longinus tightened his grip round the handle of his sword and muttered, 'We'll know soon enough.'

08 Centurion

The Parthian stopped a short distance from the Roman officers and bowed his head. He pulled the silk scarf from about his face to reveal dark features. Cato saw that he wore smears of kohl round his eyes and had a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. He smiled slightly before speaking in faintly accented Latin.

'My master, Prince Metaxas, sends his greetings, and would speak with the governor of the province of Syria.' He glanced over the Roman officers. 'I assume that one of you finely dressed officers can send word to the man I seek.'

Longinus puffed his chest out irritably. 'I am Cassius Longinus, governor of Syria and commander of the army of the eastern Empire. What does your master want?'

'Prince Metaxas has been sent by our king to discuss certain disputes between Parthia and Rome, in the hope that the two powers might resolve these difficulties without recourse to force. Our king does not wish to cause any unnecessary loss of life amongst the ranks of your fine legions.'

'Oh, is that right?' Legate Amatius bristled. 'Well, let's just see how well his dandy little horsemen do when they come up against the Tenth.'

'Quiet!' Longinus snapped at his subordinate. He glared at Amatius and then turned back to the Parthian emissary. 'I will speak to your master. Bring him here.'

The Parthian flashed a smile. 'Alas, my master has heard that some Romans have not always honoured the traditions of the truce.'

Longinus' expression darkened as he replied coldly, 'You dare to accuse me of such infamy?'

'Of course not, my lord. Not you, as such.'

'Then bring your master here to talk to me. If he has the stomach for it.'

'The stomach?' The Parthian was puzzled. 'Forgive me, my lord, I am uncertain of this idiom.'

'Tell your master that I will not speak with his slave. Tell him that I will speak to him here and now, if he has the courage to venture from behind his escort.'

'I would gladly tell him this, but I would anticipate that he might respond to your offer in kind.' The Parthian gestured at the other officers and the cavalry of Macro's cohort. 'I am sure that so great a general as yourself would be brave enough to venture beyond the protection of such a formidable-looking bodyguard. But, in deference to your understandable anxieties, my master has permitted me to suggest that you and he meet between our forces.'

Longinus glanced briefly at the open ground between the camp and the richly robed horsemen. 'Alone, you say?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Don't do it, sir,' Amatius muttered. 'Bound to be some sort of barbarian trick. You've no idea what treachery that kind are capable of.'

Macro cleared his throat. 'I don't know. I doubt there's much harm this Prince Metaxas could do by himself.'

Amatius rounded on Macro. 'What the hell do you know, Prefect? The Parthians could shoot the governor down well before he even reached the spot.'

Macro shrugged. 'That's possible, sir. But they'd risk hitting their own man too. Besides, there's the question of losing face. If the governor backed down… Well, I'm sure that at least the people back in Rome would understand.'

'My lords!' The Parthian raised a hand. 'I beg your pardon for intervening in your dispute, but if you deem such a meeting to present too much of a danger then might I suggest that both supporting forces retreat to well beyond bowshot, and that my prince and the governor meet with, say, three companions each? Would that not assuage your suspicions and fears?'

'Fears?' Longinus bristled. 'I'm not afraid, Parthian. Romans fear no one, least of all the barbarians of the east.'

'I am delighted to hear that, my lord. In which case, may I inform my master that you and your companions will meet with him?'

Cato tried to hide his amusement that the governor had been so easily manoeuvred into consenting to the Parthian's offer. Longinus, however, was furious and took a while to recover control of himself. As he glared round he caught sight of Cato's expression and he thrust out his finger. 'Centurion Cato, you will accompany me, since you seem to be in such good humour. You, your friend Macro and Legate Amatius. The rest of you, join those mounted men. You will remain here. If I call for you, you come to our aid as swiftly as possible. Go!'