Fear mixed with determination in Sabinus' face. 'What then?'
'Get in between their horses,' said Romulus with as much confidence as he could muster. 'Make a beeline for Petreius.'
'And pray,' muttered Paullus from his other side.
'If we're successful?' asked Sabinus.
'Head for our lines,' Romulus replied. What chance will we have? he wondered. Little to none. The reality of their plight sank in. They'd committed themselves, though, and their comrades were depending on them.
The end of the Numidian attack was marked by a chorus of screams from the legionaries who'd been injured. Soon after that, the pounding of hooves shook the ground again as the light cavalry pulled back. Romulus waited until the last of the riders had gone past. 'Now,' he cried. 'Run as if your life depended on it.'
Jumping up, they tore after the Numidian horsemen. This time, they were closer behind the enemy, and once again none of the stationary riders saw them. Romulus counted his steps as he ran. Thirty paces, then forty. Fifty. Sixty. Still no one cried out or threw a javelin. Craning his head this way and that, he looked frantically for Petreius' scarlet cloak amid the press.
'There,' shouted Paullus, pointing to their right.
Romulus stared into the confusion of horses and riders, seeing nothing. Then his vision cleared, and he recognised the Roman general about a hundred paces away. Petreius was surrounded by a group of officers and, like Caesar on the opposite side, he was pointing and gesticulating at his enemy's lines. A dozen guards on horseback ringed him, their spears at the ready.
Mithras help me now, Romulus prayed. I do this for all my comrades. He glanced at the other two. 'Ready?'
They each gave him a grim nod.
'Don't say a word if you're challenged. Just keep moving.' Angling himself straight at Petreius, Romulus increased his speed. Within twenty steps, they had reached the ranks of the Numidian cavalry. It was a perfect example of chaos, thought Romulus, so unlike a Roman cohort. Fresh riders were making their way through to the front, cheering and laughing with the tribesmen who had just returned. Men were dismounting to check their horses' hooves or to urinate on the dry ground. There were shouts and cheers and water bags were being handed around. No one even gave them a second glance.
'Stop running,' Romulus hissed. 'Act like one of them.'
At once his companions slowed to walking pace. Covered in sweat and blood, and wearing tunics not dissimilar to the Numidians, the three deeply tanned legionaries could pass an idle glance. A sudden jolt of fear hit Romulus as he looked down. The gladii on their belts were a dead giveaway. His pace faltered for a moment. Keep moving, he told himself. They're not looking. We have not been seen.
He was right. No one confronted them as they worked their way through the mass of men and horses. One Numidian even nodded at Romulus, who grunted in reply and moved on before the warrior could ask him something. Soon they were nearing the back of the formation, and Petreius' group of officers and sentries. This party was a different prospect.
'We'll never make it to his side,' Romulus muttered from the side of his mouth. 'Those bastards are too alert. Are either of you good at long spear throws?'
Sabinus shook his head.
'Not me,' Paullus answered ruefully.
Romulus sucked in a nervous breath.
'It's down to you then,' said Paullus. 'We can bring down a few of his guards. Protect you while you take aim.'
Romulus counted their light throwing spears. He and Paullus had two each, while Sabinus had three. Seven in total. It wasn't enough, but would have to do. Then Romulus looked at the collection of enemy riders they were about to take on and his courage began to falter. 'Come on,' he hissed, moving into the open before fear made him freeze on the spot.
To their credit, Sabinus and Paullus were only a step behind. Fanning out on either side of Romulus, they readied their spears.
Romulus was so near Petreius that he could hear what the general was saying. Cocking back his right arm, he drew a bead on his target's chest. At this short distance, his iron-tipped shaft should penetrate the gilded breastplate that Petreius was wearing.
Ten steps away, one of the guards glanced uninterestedly at the trio. Then he frowned. Something wasn't right here. His gaze turned back and at once his mouth opened to shout an alarm. Before he could, Paullus' first spear took him in the chest. Without a word, the Numidian toppled backwards off his horse. Another looked around in surprise. In a heartbeat, he'd noticed the wooden shaft sticking from his comrade's chest and the trio of ragged- looking men just in front of him. A loud cry left his lips and he prepared to throw his javelin.
'Quickly!' cried Sabinus.
Things started to happen very fast.
Romulus threw his first spear just as one of Petreius' officers unintentionally moved his horse forward a step. The weapon flew through the air, punching into the Numidian's belly with a gentle soughing sound. With a loud scream of pain, the man fell sideways to the ground. Petreius looked around, and realised what was going on. His face twisted with fear and rage, and he pulled his horse's head around to ride away. Romulus spat a curse. The Pompeian general knew that his life was worth more than staying to fight these assassins.
As he prepared to throw his second shaft, Paullus gave a surprised cough. Romulus looked around in horror to see a javelin protruding from the right side of the thickset legionary's chest. With no mail to stop it, the shaft had slid past his ribs to puncture the lung. It was a death wound. As if to confirm this, a stream of bloody bubbles was already leaking from Paullus' lips.
Yet he still had the strength to point urgently at Petreius before he collapsed.
Romulus spun back. Petreius was riding away, taking two guards with him. A moving target, with men milling around between Romulus and it. He had to take a shot, though, or the whole mission would be a failure. Paullus would have died for nothing. Romulus took a deep breath and lobbed the spear up in a curving arc, over the officers and guards. Swift as an arrow, it turned and came back down, striking Petreius in the left shoulder. The impact threw him sideways in the saddle, but he did not fall. Immediately one of his men rode in alongside to lend him support and together they cantered off.
Romulus' spirits plunged. He'd failed. Petreius wouldn't die from an injury like that.
A sword swept through the air, held by a Numidian officer. 'Roman scum!'
Romulus ducked, narrowly missing losing his head. Moving back a step, he pulled his gladius from its scabbard. He parried the next blow, and the next, but his opponent was on horseback, which made defending himself much harder. The next time the Numidian slashed at him, Romulus took a different tack, darting round the other side of his mount to plunge his sword into the man's thigh. There was a muffled cry as the officer went down.
Romulus looked around. All he could see was snarling faces pressing in from all sides.
Where was Sabinus?
Chapter XVII: Homecoming
At the junction, Tarquinius stopped. The northern Italian countryside had been growing more familiar since before dawn, but he knew this spot better than anywhere in the world. It was where, twenty-four years before, he had looked back one last time towards the latifundium he'd called home. It felt very strange to be standing here once more. How much had he seen and done since then? Suddenly Tarquinius felt old, and tired.
He was relieved a moment later to feel an unusual surge of happiness. He had had many good times in the area. His parents had farmed not ten miles away. High on the cloud-covered mountain above, he'd learned the skills of haruspicy from Olenus. The ruins of Falerii, an ancient Etruscan city, also lay nearby. Tarquinius had been drawn back by vivid memories of it, and a desire to visit the peak — the same which dominated the landscape for miles around — one more time. Perhaps in the sacred cave where he had completed his training the gods would reveal
