'How do you intend to enter the city?' Balthus continued. 'What route do you intend to take through the streets to the citadel?'

'We'll deal with that when we get there.'

'Although,' Cato intervened, 'we would, of course, be grateful if you could offer us any advice, or assistance, in carrying through our orders.'

'I'm sure a man can rely on Roman gratitude every bit as much as he can on Roman promises to help him.' Before Macro could react, Balthus continued smoothly, 'I will help you reach the citadel. But there are conditions.'

'Conditions?' Macro responded warily.'What conditions?'

'First, that I will lead the relief column, until it is safely within the citadel.'

Macro shook his head. 'No. It's my command.There's no question of my giving it up.'

'Centurion, right now you need my help rather more than I need yours. Without my men I doubt you'll even reach Palmyra, let alone fight your way through to the citadel. If you encounter any more horse-archers then I fear that you and your men would succumb to the fate I saved you from just now.'

He paused to let his words sink in, and allow time for the two Roman officers to realise that he spoke the truth.Then he continued.

'So I will lead this column.You will obey my orders, and when we reach the citadel you can assume command of your men again.'

Macro smiled. 'I'm sure your father will appreciate the gesture. His faithful son coming to the rescue, at the head of my men. That's bound to make you look good in his eyes.'

'Of course. I will need the trappings of loyalty if I am to make the most of being his successor.'

'His successor?' Macro was taken aback. 'But you're the second son.You're not his heir.'

'Not yet.' Balthus smiled.

'I assume that's another of your conditions?' Cato asked quietly. 'You want Rome to confirm you as the successor.'

'Yes. And there's more.' He lowered his voice. 'I want Artaxes executed the moment the revolt has been crushed, assuming he is captured.'

'I doubt you'll find any opposition to that demand in Rome,' said Macro.

'And I also want my older brother sent into exile.'

'Exile?' Cato raised his eyebrows. 'Why? Your older brother is in the citadel with the king. He's a loyalist.'

'Yes, it's too bad. But Amethus is also a fool.'

Macro shook his head. 'I don't know about that. Foolishness is no bar to kingship as far as I know. Although there are exceptions.'

'Quite. I am no fool, Centurion, and in the interests of Rome and Palmyra, it is best that I succeed my father.' A ruthless hunger filled the prince's eyes as he continued. 'Once this revolt is over, I will become the king. Naturally I may honour his treaty with Rome, with some modifications. '

'Oh yes, naturally.'

Balthus ignored Macro's sarcastic tone and eased himself back. 'Those are my terms. They are not open to negotiation.'

Macro pursed his lips as he considered the offer. Then Cato intervened. 'They sound fair enough, sir.'

Macro thought a moment before he replied. 'Maybe. But I can't go and make deals like this without the approval of Longinus. All I can give you is my word that I will present your case to my superiors. Is that acceptable?'

Balthus shrugged. 'I'll take your word, Centurion. The word of a Roman officer is good enough for me. In return, my men and I will escort you to Palmyra and guide you through to the citadel, and then you will take command.'

'All right.' Macro nodded, and offered his hand. 'I agree.'

A smile flickered across Prince Balthus' lips as he clasped the Roman officer's hand and sealed the deal. Then he rose to his feet with a swift shimmer of his dark, gleaming robes. 'Then you had better prepare your men to march, Centurion.The dawn is already on us and we must cover as many miles as we can before midday.'

Macro and Cato scrambled to their feet and bowed their heads as the Palmyran prince swirled round and strode back towards his men. Macro waited until Balthus was out of earshot and then said quietly, 'Well? What do you think?'

'The arrangement is as good as we could get.'

Macro looked at his friend. 'But?'

'I don't trust him.'

'Me neither.' Macro stared after Balthus a moment longer and then puffed out his cheeks. 'Well, let's get the men formed up for the day's march.'

After a brief rest to eat the morning's rations the wounded were loaded on to the carts and the surviving mules were harnessed into their yokes. Several had been killed or crippled by the arrows and horses were taken from one of the cavalry columns to serve in their place. Prince Balthus and his men had already seized the handful of enemy mounts remaining on the battlefield as spoils of war. The dead were hurriedly buried in a shallow grave, which was covered with rocks to spare the bodies the indignity of being worried by carrion and other scavengers. Then the two cohorts formed up: the legionaries at the front, followed by the carts, and then the auxiliaries, with the cavalry squadrons riding ahead on both flanks. When every man was in place, Macro glanced back down the column and muttered, 'They're good men. You'd never think they had just been in a fight. We'll show that prince what real soldiers can do when we reach Palmyra.'

'Yes, sir,' Cato responded. He continued evenly, 'Meanwhile, we need him and his men. They're our best chance of seeing this through.'

Macro shook his head. 'Cato, my lad, I'm as aware of the situation as you are. I'll be on my best behaviour.'

'Oh, I didn't mean you, sir.' Cato was embarrassed. 'I was referring to the men. We're going to have to watch them. Make sure they don't cause any trouble with the locals. If Balthus is anything to go by then we can't count on the warmest of welcomes when we get to Palmyra, whether they are our allies or not.'

'No.' Macro sighed deeply. 'And on that heart-warming note, let's get moving.'

The column trudged forward, towards the waiting Palmyran horsemen. A moment later, Balthus shouted an order and his men spread out in a thin screen ahead of the column and headed across the desert towards the distant city. The track took them past the site of the skirmish the Palmyrans had fought with the horse-archers at dawn and the Romans glanced curiously at the scores of bodies of men and horses littering the stony desert.

Cato felt a chill in his spine as he looked over the scattered corpses. 'Curious, don't you think?'

'What?' Macro turned towards his friend. 'What's curious?'

'There were no prisoners. No sign of any seriously wounded amongst Balthus' men.'

'So? They caught them on the hop, and gave them a good kicking.'

'I know,' Cato agreed. 'But surely some of the rebels would have surrendered, and there must have been some casualties amongst Balthus' men. So, where are they?'

Both officers glanced back to the dead men lying in the glare of the early morning sun. Macro spoke first.

'It seems our man Balthus is an even more ruthless bastard than I thought.'

Cato nodded. 'Just as long as he's our ruthless bastard.'

'And if he isn't?'

'Then the situation in Palmyra has every chance of becoming our worst nightmare,' Cato said quietly.

08 Centurion