“The Parthians don’t appear to be interested in advancing at the moment. I haven’t heard from the scouting party we sent east. I have Zyraxes cleaning up out front.”
“Yeah, I can hear.” He pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. Looking into the sky, he tried to find the slightly brighter gray spot that would indicate the sun’s presence. “It’s only a couple more hours until the sun starts fading.”
They faced out over the wall, the V Century working its way through the Parthians, and stared toward the other side of the pass they straddled. A line of heavy cavalry sat astride the trail as small squads worked to assist any wounded they felt were close enough to collect without engaging the Romans. While they watched each other across the distance, the gates opened and men went out to butcher a few of the horses for fresh meat while the V Century formed a line blocking the trail.
“So we wait,” Syphax said.
Together, they leaned against the top edge of the wall and looked west. Every few minutes, Lucius’s eyes slipped up to find the sun, hoping it was magically further in its progress than it normally would be. However, it seemed to have slowed down, dragging on interminably.
When the sun finally progressed too far for any further attacks, Lucius exhaled explosively, letting his shoulders sink. Syphax barked out the signals to recall the two centuries outside the fort. Once both units rejoined their comrades inside the fort, Lucius and Syphax organized the night’s watch and sent out the evening’s first scouting parties to ensure the Parthians didn’t attempt a dangerous night assault. Lucius doubted they would, not with the drubbing they’d taken earlier and not with the current conditions, though he’d been wrong before. After Syphax dismissed him for the evening, he retired for a meal with his young Armenian friends and then turned in early. Tomorrow would come entirely too quickly, and this time, the Parthians would be more serious about digging out the entrenched Romans.
Lucius’s lance had long ago broken as he laid about him with his spatha from the back of his mare, giving the gelding a rest after leading several sorties on him the second morning of the siege. As Sol moved toward midafternoon in his sun chariot, he tried to ignore the ache in his muscles and the fact he had several more hours of fighting if he wanted to see another night.
When the tough pony lashed out behind them, Lucius spun around and brought his blade down into the junction where the Parthian’s neck met his shoulder. The mare’s kick had probably saved his life and knocked the Parthian off balance. Nudging the horse away, he let the weight of the animal drag the blade out of the man’s neck as he sloughed off his saddle to fall in the mud. He wished he could be behind the walls and safe with the gelding, giving his arm a rest, but there was more sword work to be done.
All day, he’d been playing cat and mouse with Parthian squads trying to sneak around their position and bring the battle to two fronts. After yesterday’s failed assault, they’d resorted to the heavy work of assaulting the walls, dismounting their useless cavalry, and sending their warriors in on foot with hastily constructed siege engines.
Looking around in a momentary pocket of calm, Lucius nudged his mare toward a couple Parthians assaulting one of his men. Deflecting an axe with his shield, he shifted his aim, coming in low, and slashed toward the juncture where the Parthian’s lower armor joined his chest armor. He found the seam and drew blood but hadn’t cut deep enough to get the kill. That came as the Parthian cringed around the wound, opening a spot in his defenses. Lucius rammed the tip of his sword into the face mask of the Parthian’s helmet, the tip scraping across steel until it slipped into the seam between the helmet’s rim and crunched into skull. With a twist of the blade, he backed his mare up, then used the pony to shoulder aside the now riderless horse to carry the assault to the next rider. At the loss of his companion, the other Parthian panicked and left an opening for Lucius’s comrade. The Parthian tumbled from his saddle, dead.
Lucius nodded at his legionnaire, then spun his mare to meet the next Parthian. He didn’t have time to think about the burning in his arm. He’d rest it later. With that attacker downed, he looked around. The last few Parthians were being dealt with. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he waited until the last was downed, then pulled his centurion’s whistle to his lips and blew the signal to regroup and withdraw back to the reset point. Once they reassembled, he took an accounting of the wounded and dead, sending those who needed care back to the fort and having their field medic patch up those who could stay. At some point during the last sortie, he’d put a few nicks in his blade. He’d have to spend extra time with the sharpening stone that evening to return it to ready status.
At the sound of a horse riding hard through the woods, he spun around, his sword at the ready. He relaxed somewhat when he recognized one of their messengers. After he was cleared with the passcode, he rode directly to Lucius.
“Centurio, you need to get back to the fort. It’s the Tribunus…” the messenger gasped out between labored breaths.
Closing his eyes, his body sank in on itself, a hollow pit opening in his stomach. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t know first-hand, but bad enough to send for you.”
“Fuck.” Lucius shook his head. “Zyraxes, you’re in charge. Don’t get too aggressive. Just protect this flank.”
He spun his horse back toward the camp and nudged her into a trot. The messenger joined him, then they picked up the pace to race back to the fort. Seeing Lucius coming, the gates swung open to let him in. He slowed to work his way to the field hospital they’d set up to handle the wounded who seemed to be too numerous for the small space.
Moans and screams assaulted his ears as he stepped inside the tent. The surgeon and his assistants had their hands full, leaving the overflow to be handled by the field medics. They’d already had to make a lot of tough decisions, using painkillers to ease the agony of those who were waiting at the banks of the River Styx but hadn’t yet purchased their crossing.
“Centurio, he’s over here,” someone called to him.
Lucius slipped between the hornets’ nest of activity, meeting one of the optios before he could get to Syphax.
“What happened, Quintus?” Lucius asked.
“He took an axe to the lower back, right into his spine. I don’t know how he’s still alive, but he’s hanging on.” Quintus ran his dirty hand through his wet hair.
As the surgeon passed by Lucius, he waved him over. “Is there…anything…”
The surgeon shook his head. “Ease his passing, that’s about all there’s left to do. The Parthian axe took care of everything else.”
Lucius nodded, the corners of his eyes burning as the pit in his stomach deepened and threatened to suck him in. Not waiting for Lucius to respond, the surgeon found his next patient and went to work.
“Take me to him,” Lucius said. His tone sounded brittle and flat even to his own ears.
Quintus nodded and turned, leading Lucius deeper into the tent. The men surrounding Syphax made room for Lucius. The man who’d been like family to him was laid out on his stomach. In the center of his back, a bloody gash rent the silver armor. Syphax, normally dark brown, looked sallow. He scrunched his eyes tightly, his lips pulled back in a grimace as he let out a grunt of pain he tried to control.
Lucius squatted down next to his friend. “I’m here, Syphax.”
Once the wave of pain seemed to subside, Syphax’s face relaxed somewhat. Opening his eyes, it took them a moment to focus on Lucius’s face.
He let out a weak chuckle that ended in a wheezing cough. “What a cruel joke, my friend. Of all the places I could die, why did it have to be in the mud and rain?” He sighed, then tensed up as another wave of pain contorted his face.
From the entrance of the tent, voices raised in argument.
“I have to speak with the tribunus. It’s life and death,” a familiar voice shouted.
Syphax groaned.
“I’ll take care of it, Syphax,” Lucius said, standing up.
As he crossed the tightly packed space, people slid out of Lucius’s way at the sight of the black clouds in his eyes. When he stepped out, two guards held back Mylitos.
“What is it, Mylitos?”
The scout relaxed seeing Lucius, but hesitated, eyeing the guards. Lucius waved him after him as they stepped away from the hospital tent and found a quiet spot. Once Lucius took a moment to look over the legionnaire, his brows furrowed at the mud and blood on the man.
“What happened to you?”
“We were ambushed on the way back. They knew we were coming. I was the only one to get away.”
