A moment later their leader raised his arm and gestured to his men to follow him as he rode steadily towards the two Roman cohorts.

08 Centurion

Macro cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, in Greek, across the intervening ground. 'That's close enough! Stop right there!'

The leader of the approaching horsemen raised a hand to halt his followers and then continued to walk his horse defiantly towards the line of Roman shields. For a moment Macro wondered if the man did not understand Greek. It was unlikely, he reasoned, since Greek was commonly spoken across the east, even here where the native tongue was Aramaic. Close by Macro, one of the legionaries armed with a sling began to swing it round in an arc and let the whirring disc of leather thong and weighted pouch rise up over his head.

'Lower that sling!' Macro barked at him. 'No one is to take a shot at him until I give the order! The denarius bounty is temporarily revoked.'

Most of the men laughed at that, especially those who had not been given a chance to swap shield for sling. Cato had often wondered at the pleasure soldiers took in the frustration of their comrades and he shook his head with a wry expression. The legionary dropped his wrist and the sling shot thudded on to the ground. Once again silence settled over the Roman lines as the lone horseman continued towards them, openly contemptuous of Macro's earlier instruction.

'Cocky little bugger, isn't he?'

'Well, at least he isn't ordering his men to attack us.'

Macro jerked his thumb towards the cavalry approaching from the other direction. 'And why would he, with our lads on the way?'

'He doesn't look like the kind of man who is afraid of Roman cavalry.'

Macro shrugged. 'We'll see.'

He stepped forward, out from the ranks of the square, and stabbed his finger at the horseman, now no more than fifty feet away.

'Stop there! I'll not warn you again!'

At last, the rider pulled on his reins and halted his mount. For a moment there was silence as he surveyed the Roman soldiers with a fierce gaze. Cato saw that his dark robes were of a fine material, silk possibly, that rippled and billowed gently as the horse stamped a foot on the ground. He seemed to be a large man beneath his robes, and his face was broad and strong and fringed with a dark, neatly trimmed beard. He was perhaps a few years younger than Macro. His eyes flickered towards Macro and fixed on the stocky Roman officer.

'And who are you?' he called out in Greek. 'Besides being Romans.'

The voice was rich and deep with no trace of an accent.

'Centurion Macro, Fourth Cohort, Tenth Legion. Commander of the relief column sent to help his majesty King Vabathus, ally of Rome.'

'Ally of Rome?' The horseman's eyebrows rose sardonically. 'Lapdog of Rome, more like.'

Macro ignored the gibe. 'Who might you be then, sunshine?'

'Sunshine?' The man was momentarily taken aback by the idiom. 'I am Balthus, prince of Palmyra, and these…' He gestured back towards his waiting followers. 'This is my retinue, hunters mostly. Less than a month ago we hunted deer and wolves in the hills.Today we hunt traitors, and the enemies of Palmyra. Like the dogs we left in the sand back there.' He nodded over his shoulder.

Macro held out a hand. 'Then we are friends, Prince.'

'Friends?' Balthus snorted and spat on to the ground. 'Rome is no friend of Palmyra.'

Cato coughed and called out, 'But she is no enemy either. Unlike Parthia, and those in your city who would sell Palmyra into Parthian domination.'

There was a pause as Balthus glared at Cato before he spoke. 'That we shall see, Roman. It is no secret that your emperor covets Palmyra, as a thief covets the property of others.'

Macro shook his head. 'Now, steady on, friend. We ain't thieves.We're here to help your king.To save him from those who seek to betray him to Parthia.'

'Really?' Balthus smiled mockingly. 'And how do you propose to save him with this meagre force?'

Macro puffed out his chest. 'We're more than enough to do the job.'

'I think not, Centurion. It was you who needed rescuing just a moment ago. If I had not intervened then surely it would have been only a matter of time before you were destroyed by those traitors.'

'No.We had the matter in hand.We were just waiting for first light before calling in our cavalry.' Macro gestured to the men of the Second Illyrian galloping towards them.

Behind the front rank of auxiliaries, Cato turned to Parmenion and muttered,'Better send a runner to Centurion Aquila. Don't want our cavalry getting the wrong end of the stick.'

'Yes, sir.'

As Parmenion hurried off to give the orders Cato stepped out from the line of his auxiliaries and joined Macro just as Balthus shook his head and laughed.

'Roman cavalry… I don't think they would have made much of a difference.'

Macro flushed angrily and took a step towards Balthus. 'Now, look here, we could have taken care of ourselves.'

Even though he shared his friend's sense of wounded pride Cato knew this was neither the time nor the place to take umbrage, and he cleared his throat loudly. So loudly that both Balthus and Macro turned to look at him.

'Quite finished?' Macro growled.

'Sorry, sir. It's the dust. Anyway, I think we've established that we're on the same side as the prince. It's time we discussed the situation in Palmyra with him.'

'It is?'

'Yes.' Cato nodded quickly. 'Most definitely, sir.'

Macro stared at Cato for a moment and then turned back to Prince Balthus. 'Very well. If you tell your followers to dismount, I'll order my men to stand down, then we can talk a bit more calmly.'

Balthus nodded. 'That would be best, Centurion.'

He turned round and called out to his followers. A moment later, the riders slipped down from their saddles and squatted quietly by their horses, ready to remount the instant their leader gave the order. Still, Macro reasoned, they were acting in good faith, and he turned to his own men and bellowed the order to stand down. The men lowered their shields and javelins and kept a wary eye on the Palmyrans as the latter reached into their saddlebags for a scrap of bread or dried meat to chew on as they waited for further orders. A short distance from the square, Centurion Aquila had halted his men and they too dismounted as they rejoined their comrades.The tension between the two small forces was still quite palpable. Cato smiled faintly. At least it took the edge off the ongoing hostility between the legionaries and the auxiliaries, for the moment.

Prince Balthus slid off his horse and beckoned to one of his men to look after the beast before he turned to stride across the sand towards the two Roman officers. He stopped before them and appraised them carefully with his dark eyes, then squatted down, gesturing for them to do the same. Macro frowned, unused and unwilling to accept authority from anyone who wasn't Roman. Cato lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs and, with a weary sigh, Macro followed suit.

'So,' Balthus began, 'this is how Rome honours its treaty with my father. At his time of need, your governor sends him a mere handful of men to restore his kingdom. I warned him not to trust Rome.'

'We are the advance force,' Macro explained tersely. 'General Longinus will march on Palmyra the moment the rest of his army has formed up.'

'And what is this advance force expected to achieve, precisely?'

'Our orders are to break through to the citadel and protect the king and the Roman citizens there, until the rest of the army arrives.'

'I see.' Balthus nodded. 'The Roman reputation for meticulous planning is clearly well deserved.'

Cato winced at the man's ironic tone, while Macro's frown deepened.