'Carry out the sentence!'

Amatius drew his sword as he pushed Crispus forward. The legionary dug his heels in and scrabbled backwards until the legate delivered a sharp jab into his back. Crispus screamed as the two lines of his comrades began to swing their clubs.

Cato had felt a growing sick sensation gnawing at his guts as he had watched the preparations and he whispered to Macro, 'Is there any chance of him making it to the far end?'

'There's always a chance,' Macro responded flatly.

'Have you ever seen a man survive the run?'

'No.'

Amatius drew his sword back for another thrust and Crispus cried out as he glanced over his shoulder.

'Go, man!'Amatius shouted angrily.'Before you shame us all.'

Some spirit of defiance and courage must have gripped Crispus at the end, for he suddenly darted forward, into the run. He moved swiftly and ducked his head down low as he sprinted, so that the first two pairs had no chance to hit him with their clubs. But one of the third pair had just enough time to swing his club and strike home; a glancing blow off Crispus' shoulder. He staggered to one side, straight into the club of the next man who smashed him on the hip. Crispus cried out, but lurched on towards the next pair. The first man caught him on the upper arm, while the other struck him hard on the ribs, causing an explosive gasp of pain to rip from Crispus' lips. He stumbled on, under a rain of blows, until he was a quarter of the way down the run. Then a blow, swung low, smashed his shin and he crumpled to the ground with a scream.The nearest legionary stepped forward and swung his club at Crispus, cracking his jaw. Blood and teeth flew across the sand and Crispus rolled into a ball on his side, drawing his arms over his battered head. The nearest legionaries stared at him and then glanced towards their legate.

'Finish him!' Amatius thrust his finger at the figure on the ground. 'Finish him!'

The legionaries closed in around Crispus and Cato saw their clubs rise and fall in a frenzy of blows. The wooden shafts flicked blood into the air and their ends were stained crimson as they pounded Crispus mercilessly. Fortunately, there was no sound from the prisoner after the first few seconds. Amatius let his men continue for what seemed like an age to Cato, and all the time the rest of the witnesses stood and watched impassively.

At length Amatius called a halt to the beating, and the blood-spattered legionaries drew back, panting. On the ground, surrounded by splashes of blood soaking into the sand, lay the barely recognisable shape of a man. They had broken most of his limbs and his skull had been smashed to a pulp so that bone and brains spilled on to the sand in a mess of wine-red and grey porridge. Cato swallowed his bile and tore his gaze away from the sight, glancing up and across the parade ground. A distant movement caught his eye and then he squinted and saw a man on horseback racing round the corner of the fortress and making across the parade ground towards the execution party and the Second Illyrian. At the sound of drumming hooves, officers and men began to turn their attention towards the horseman.

'There's trouble,' Macro muttered as he saw the grimy bandage round the head of the approaching rider. At the last moment the rider reined in savagely, scattering dirt and gravel. He saluted and immediately reached inside his tunic, groping for something.

'Who the hell are you?' Longinus demanded.

The man licked his dried lips before he replied, 'Tribune Gaius Carinius, on detached duty from the Sixth Legion, sir. I've come from Palmyra.' He found what he was looking for and wrenched a waxed tablet from inside his tunic and thrust it towards the governor. 'A dispatch from the ambassador, Lucius Sempronius, at Palmyra, sir.'

Longinus took the tablet. He glanced at the rider.'What's happened?'

The man swallowed hard, struggling for breath. 'There's been a revolt in Palmyra, sir. Parthian sympathisers. They mean to depose the king and tear up his treaty with Rome.'

08 Centurion

Cato watched as the tribune eased himself on to one of the chairs that had been set in an arc in the governor's study. He glanced round at the other officers who had been summoned there by Cassius Longinus. In addition to Amatius and the commanders of the other auxiliary cohorts in the camp, there was Macro and himself. Cato wondered why he had been included.

Longinus gestured towards the tribune, who still bore the grime of his hard ride. He had only had a brief chance to take refreshments while the officers had been hurriedly assembled in the governor's house. 'Carinius, if you please. Tell them what you told me while we were waiting.'

Carinius nodded, and cleared his throat. 'Five days ago the youngest son of King Vabathus, Prince Artaxes, announced to the Palmyran court that he would succeed his father.' Tribune Carinius paused to smile briefly. 'The trouble is that Artaxes is the youngest of the three sons, and so not immediately in line to inherit the throne. However, the oldest son, Amethus, is not politically astute and the second son, Balthus, spends all his days hunting, drinking and womanising. Artaxes is definitely the brains of the family, as well as the biggest threat to Rome. He was sent east as a child to be educated at the Parthian court. It seems that somewhere in his education he learned to hate Rome with a passion, and he has managed to persuade many of the Palmyran nobles to share his views.'

'I see.' Amatius nodded. 'But surely the king would not tolerate such a challenge to his authority?'

Longinus tapped the waxed tablet sent by the Roman quaestor who served as Rome's ambassador at the court of King Vabathus. 'The king is old. And Artaxes is his favourite son. The only thing to divide his affections is his loyalty to Rome. But who knows how far that loyalty will stretch in the current situation? Sempronius says that Thermon, the king's chamberlain, acts in his name. He, at least, is dependable. So he should be given the amount we pay him on the quiet. According to the ambassador, Artaxes demanded the crown at once. The chamberlain refused and fighting broke out amongst their supporters. Artaxes had managed to win over one of the king's generals and has nearly a thousand men under his control. Thermon could only count on the king's bodyguard and the households of those nobles who remained loyal to the king. And Sempronius and his retinue, of course. They have retreated into the citadel, together with the king and his oldest son.'

'What of the other son, the hunter?' asked Cato. 'What's happened to him?'

Longinus turned to the tribune. 'Well?'

'Balthus was hunting in the hills to the north when Artaxes made his move. There was still no word of him when the ambassador sent me to find you, sir.'

'Too bad,' Macro commented.'We could use him on our side right now.'

'I wouldn't be too sure of that,' said the tribune. 'Balthus is no great lover of Rome. We're just fortunate he hates the Parthians, and only dislikes us.'

Macro cocked his head to one side. 'Well, my enemy's enemy and all that. He could still prove useful to us.'

'Perhaps,' Longinus considered.'But we'll use him only if we really have to. The last thing Rome needs is to remove one threat only to have another put in its place. In any case, as far as we know the king and his allies are trapped in the citadel at Palmyra. According to Sempronius' message they have adequate of food and water and as long as Artaxes doesn't get hold of any siege equipment then they should be able to hold the citadel for a while yet. Of course, we can assume that our Parthian friends had some advance warning of Artaxes' intentions. Even if they didn't, word will have reached them a matter of days after it reached us. So at best we have the slimmest of head starts, gentlemen. We must send help to King Vabathus.'