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suffering or danger – a consideration that extended also to cavalry mounts and beasts of burden. Misinterpreted, such an attitude could incur a risk; an officer suspected of
fastidium
– squeamishness, could suddenly find his career going nowhere. Hence Roderic’s concern to maintain a persona of iron toughness.) ‘According to Polybius, sir,’ Victor continued, ‘when Hannibal gave the order for his elephants to charge . . .
    â€˜Eminence – the Romans have come out of Palmyra,’ announced the scout, kneeling before Tamshapur. ‘Two thousand at the most, drawn up in battle array not five miles distant. We caught one of their outriders.’ And he pointed to a captive Roman pinioned between two Persian soldiers.
    This was the best possible news, gloated Tamshapur, dismissing the man. After dealing with the Romans’ puny force (the prisoner could prove useful here), he would occupy Palmyra, whose citizens, learning of the garrison’s fate, would scarcely dare to close the gates against the Persian host. With Palmyra secure and no one to oppose him, the whole Diocese of Oriens from the Euphrates to the Red Sea would fall into his hands like a ripe plum. And after Oriens – Egypt? The name of Tamshapur would then be forever remembered in the annals, as the commander who restored to Persia the lands filched centuries before by Alexander and since annexed by Rome. Filled with a sense of euphoric anticipation, Tamshapur gave the order for the army to advance.
    When a distant line of dust-clouds signalled the Persian approach, the
Numerus Euphratensis
withdrew to the position which Roderic and Victor had reconnoitred a few days earlier. This was a long defile, with towering walls of red sandstone – open-ended, wide at the mouth, narrowing in the centre to a neck just broad enough to be spanned by three ranks of soldiers – a disposition which accounted for the unit’s entire strength, barring archers and a small force of cavalry, both stationed elsewhere.
    Carrying oval shields of laminated wood and wearing scale-armour hauberks and traditional Attic helmets, the
pedites
or foot-soldiers waited, stiff with apprehension, their young faces pale and set with the effort of concealing their fear. In an elaborate show of nonchalance, their officers, resplendent in muscle cuirasses, lounged atop their horses or strolled among the men, smiling and murmuring encouragement. A little to the fore, the commander and his
vicarius
sat astride their mounts. The
pedites
’ equipment was standard regulation issue – with one startling exception. Instead of the normal seven-foot spear, each infantryman held an immensely long pike measuring fully twenty feet.
    â€˜Remind you of anything, sir?’ Victor asked the general in breezy tones, in an attempt to break the tension, building as the minutes bled away. He waved towards the silent ranks behind them.
    â€˜Should it?’
    â€˜The three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae, sir – surely you’ve heard of them?’
    â€˜You’re forgetting, Victor – your commanding officer is just an ignorant barbarian. Enlighten me.’
    â€˜Well, sir, in order to buy time for the main Greek army to come up, an advance force of three hundred Spartans under their king, Leonidas, volunteered to block a narrow pass against an invading Persian army, numbering three hundred thousand. Odds of a thousand to one.’ He grinned. ‘With us, they’re only ten to one; should be a walkover.’
    â€˜What happened to those Spartans?’
    â€˜Another time, sir – listen!’
    A faint susurration, like wind in a cornfield, could just be heard in the distance. This grew steadily to a pattering, then to a muted, rumbling roar. While the van of their army was yet invisible, a small advance party of Persian infantry preceded by a mounted herald came into sight round a bend in the canyon, some five hundred yards