'Parthia will not tolerate such naked aggression.The fort was a clear sign of Roman intentions and you are warned not to attempt any such incursions again.'

'Was?' Longinus interrupted. 'What has happened to the fort?'

'It has been razed.'

'And the auxiliary cohort sent to construct it. What of them?'

'They were destroyed.'

'Destroyed?' Longinus was startled. 'What of the prisoners? Where are they?'

'Regrettably, there are no prisoners.'

'Bastards,' Legate Amatius grumbled. 'Murdering swine.'

The emissary shrugged. 'They did not surrender. Our men had no choice but to wipe them out.'

Longinus was silent for a moment before he responded. 'Five hundred men, and one of the best field officers in the army. Centurion Castor…' He glared at the Parthian prince. 'Tell your master that this is an act of war.'

Metaxas smiled as his emissary translated his reply. 'Which? The destruction of your cohort, or the threat it posed to our sovereignty?'

'Don't try to confuse the issue!' Longinus snapped. 'He knows what I mean. When word of this reaches the ears of the Emperor I doubt there is any power in this world that will prevent him from wreaking a terrible revenge on Parthia. And it will be a fate you have drawn down on yourselves.'

'We have no wish to provoke war, my general.'

'Bollocks!' Amatius snorted. 'You wipe out one of our cohorts and you say you don't wish to provoke a war!' The legate's hand slipped towards the handle of his sword and the gesture was noticed at once by the Parthians.With a sudden rasp one of the prince's escorts drew his sword and the curved blade glinted in the sunlight. Prince Metaxas snapped an order at the man and with a brief show of reluctance he returned the blade to its scabbard.

'Sir.' Cato spoke softly to the legate. 'I'd take your hand off your sword.'

Amatius' nostrils flared as his eyes fixed on Cato.Then he blinked and nodded and released his grip. 'All right then. But there will be a reckoning for Centurion Castor and the men of that cohort. One day.'

The emissary was unimpressed. 'Perhaps, but not in this life. Not if Rome truly values peace on its eastern frontier. My master says that you are to remove your forces from the lands of Palmyra. Furthermore, you are not to intervene in its internal politics. Breach of either condition will force Parthia to take military action. Much as the prince, and his father, King Gotarzes, desire peace, they will be forced to wage war on Rome. Such a war would cost Rome dearly. Many more of your countrymen would share the fate of Crassus and his legions. Those are the words of my master,' the emissary concluded. 'You have heard our warning, my lord, and there is no more to be said.'

The Parthian prince made one last comment to his emissary and then gestured to his companion carrying the wicker basket on his saddle. The man unlooped the handles from his saddle horn and let the basket drop heavily to the ground beside his horse. Then the Parthians wheeled their horses round and the emissary spoke to the Romans one last time.

'My master bids you accept a gift. A gift plucked from the banks of the Euphrates. Consider it a token of the future should you choose to defy the kingdom of Parthia.'

The Parthians spurred their horses into a gallop and pounded back towards the distant line of their comrades who were already breaking formation to turn away from Antioch and disappear back into the ravine. For a moment the Romans watched them depart through the dust kicked up by their horses. Then Longinus turned his gaze to the wicker basket lying on the rocky soil. He gestured towards it.

'Centurion Cato.'

'Sir?'

'See what's in there.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato slipped his leg over the saddle horns and dropped to the ground. He approached the basket cautiously, as if it might be filled with snakes or scorpions. Swallowing, he reached down and pulled the handles apart. Inside there was a plain earthen jar, the size of a large watermelon. The bottom had cracked when the basket hit the ground and the odour of olive oil reached Cato's nose as it slowly drained through the fibres of the basket. A dark tangled mass glistened in the top of the jar, and as the oil continued to drain it settled and gleamed on the domed surface beneath.

'What is it?' Amatius snapped. 'Show us, man!'

Cato felt the bile rising in his throat as he leaned forward and grasped the oily dark tendrils. With gritted teeth he drew the heavy burden from the jar and raised it aloft. Oil ran down the ashen skin of the severed head and dripped from its parted lips on to the parched soil below.

Legate Amatius grimaced as he stared at the grisly spectacle. 'Centurion Castor.'

08 Centurion

'Gentlemen.' Cassius Longinus stared solemnly round the banqueting hall of his headquarters. He stood on a podium and surveyed the expressions of the centurions, tribunes and legates assembled before him.'War with Parthia has come.'

The officers exchanged glances and an excited murmur rippled across the hall before it died away and every face turned to the governor of Syria with an eager expression. News of the party of Parthian horsemen that had appeared before the very walls of Antioch the previous day had swept through the camp and the streets of the city. The rumour-mongers had been tirelessly at work, until the event portended everything from an historic alliance between Rome and Parthia to the mortal terror of the prospect of a vast Parthian army no more than a day's march away intent on the slaughter of every man, woman and child in Antioch. Longinus' first words had eliminated some of the more fanciful notions and now his officers listened in tense anticipation for more detail.The governor waited until there was complete silence before he continued.

'Some days ago, the Parthians surprised one of our outposts and slaughtered the garrison. Our visitors presented us with the head of its commander, Centurion Castor of the Tenth Legion.'

The men standing around Cato and Macro grumbled angrily and Macro nudged his companion and muttered, 'Pity the Parthians that come up against our lot.This has the makings of some good fighting.'

'Good fighting?' Cato frowned.'I'm not sure I share your enthusiasm for this particular campaign. The Parthians are not going to die easily.'

'Oh, come on! We've faced worse.'

'Really? Do enlighten me.'

Macro stared at his friend for a moment and then pursed his lips. 'Fair point. The Parthians are hard bastards,' he conceded and then rubbed his hands together. 'It'll be a tough nut to crack.'

Cato stared at Macro for a moment and then shook his head.'Sometimes I swear that you think this is all some kind of game.'

'Game?' Macro looked surprised. 'No. It's better than that. It's a calling. It's what real soldiers live for. But of course you wouldn't understand. Being a philosopher and all that.'

Cato sighed. As far as Macro was concerned the extensive education that Cato had enjoyed before joining the legions was more of a curse than a benefit, as he never tired of making clear. For his part, Cato felt that the army was now his family and as long as he performed his duties as professionally as possible the cultural baggage he carried with him was irrelevant, except on those rare occasions when his esoteric knowledge might actually find some practical application. And then even Macro grudgingly relented, although he tried to conceal any flicker of admiration he might feel for Cato's learning.

Longinus held up his hands to still the angry tongues of his officers. 'Gentlemen! I know how you feel about this news. I share your grief and rage and I swear, by almighty Jupiter, that we will avenge Centurion Castor and his men.