The Forgotten Legion

'That silk is worth a fortune,' Isaac protested before bowing towards Pacorus. 'And I doubt very much if it is in your. price range.'

Tarquinius reached into his tunic. 'Look at this,' he said, opening the leather pouch.

Warily Isaac extended a grimy hand.

The ruby dropped into his outstretched palm.

'That should pay for everything,' said the Etruscan.

For a moment the Judaean was speechless. It was larger than a hen's egg.

Tarquinius chuckled knowingly.

'I'm not sure this is top quality,' Isaac raised the gem to the light, one eye closed. 'I can see some imperfections.'

'It is worth a king's ransom,' snapped Tarquinius. 'And you know it.'

'Take the ruby,' Pacorus' voice was cold. 'The silk is ours.'

'And the myrrh,' added Tarquinius.

Isaac knew when to take a bargain. 'Of course, Excellency,' he fawned. The stone had already disappeared into his robe. 'They are yours. The goods only need to be carried here from my camp.'

He turned to go.

'Stay,' said Tarquinius. There was no mistaking his tone. 'Until we have seen all the silk.'

The old trader stopped dead. 'Indeed, indeed.' He spat an order at his men, who scurried from the tent.

Tarquinius turned to Pacorus. 'It is strong and thick. And these bales should cover five thousand shields.'

'That's only half of them.'

'It will be more than enough.' The Etruscan stared at the commander, dark eyes piercing. 'I have already seen a mighty victory over the Sogdians.'

'They say you predicted the Roman defeat before Carrhae.'

'Weeks before.'

Pacorus smiled.

Chapter XXX: Margiana

Margiana, autumn 53 BC

Spanning fifteen hundred miles, the journey from Seleucia had taken in all terrains and weather types. It had been an extraordinary experience for the legionaries, Crassus' campaign having provided little skill at survival in such environments. Encouraged by Tarquinius, surviving optiones and harsh Parthian discipline, the prisoners had toughened up beyond measure. Three months later, fitter than ever before, muscled, tanned dark brown, the men were recognisable only by their tattered uniforms. New cloth standards had been fashioned for each century and five thousand scuta covered with silk. Tarquinius had been busy each night, supervising the soldiers as they stitched multiple layers in place. Helmets and spear tips flashed in the sunlight; neat ranks marched in step for twenty miles every day. The trumpeters were still being used, but Pacorus had also trained the men to recognise new commands from the drums.

The Forgotten Legion was now an intimidating sight, but there had been no action on the long march. As the soldiers had soon discovered, few people lived in the vast emptiness of central Parthia. No one had complained. The memory of Carrhae was still raw.

Some weeks after the encounter with Isaac, the flat, arid terrain had been replaced by a range of hills covered in scrubby bushes and trees. Marching through them, the legionaries entered the green plains of Margiana. To their delight, there were frequent watercourses, fed from the mountains visible on all sides. This was inhabitable land, the polar opposite of the wastes left behind. It reminded Romulus of the countryside he had seen while journeying from Rome to Brundisium.

Water bottles were now full every day, the game plentiful and temperatures acceptable. Each night the men's bellies were stuffed with meat. The Parthian guards relaxed. Life had become more enjoyable. Even the cloud of vultures that had followed them all the way from Seleucia thinned out and disappeared.

The attention of the gods had been drawn away from the Forgotten Legion.

'You were right!' Felix stared at the verdant scenery with delight. 'Rivers. Fertile soil. There are farms here.'

'Told you,' answered Brennus with a smile. 'Trust Tarquinius.'

Felix shook his head in amazement.

Cultivated areas and clusters of low mud huts were common. Several villages had been spotted, but Pacorus did not enter them. He was deliberately keeping a low profile. There had been only one stop, lasting several days, near a small Hellenic-looking town surrounded by a protective wall.

Tarquinius and the Parthian had gone in alone, and had placed an order with every blacksmith to be found. Margianian iron was renowned in Parthia for its quality and was used to forge the cataphracts' armour. On the third afternoon they had returned, their mules laden with thousands of long spears. The weapons had immediately been issued to half the men and training had begun the next morning. New manoeuvres were taught, soldiers grumbling as they were organised into strange formations.

Nobody was told why. But Brennus and Romulus suspected. As usual, the Etruscan would not say.

Wishing to reach the border quickly, Pacorus led the Forgotten Legion in a northeasterly direction across Margiana until they had reached rolling grassland. Filled with abundant wildlife, the virgin green landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. Antelope were sighted daily, allowing hunting parties to provide the army with even more fresh meat. To vary their diet, Romulus and Brennus caught fish from streams.

Occasionally they saw encampments of large, round tents with pointed roofs. Herds of horses, sheep and goats spread out around the settlements, grazing the lush pasture. Men and boys on horseback kept watch over the animals. Just as Tarquinius had described, the tribesmen were squat people with yellow skin, black hair and slanted eyes.

'Outlandish-looking folk,' commented Brennus as they passed a sizeable group of tents. 'But they seem peaceful enough.'

The riders nearby reined in and watched impassively as the column marched past. Their rough cloth jerkins and trousers were covered in autumn mud and they carried only the ubiquitous bows and hunting knives. Few legionaries bothered to look. The locals were of no consequence.

Tarquinius nodded. 'They are practically settled. But the nomadic Sogdians who raid this area look very similar.'

Brennus stared curiously at the riders' flat noses and high cheekbones. 'I'll wager they've not set eyes on too many of us.'

'Or seen a man your size!' said Romulus.

They both laughed.

'Their ancestors would have.' Tarquinius always had more information. 'Alexander founded the city of Antiochia not far from here and it is still the capital of Margiana. Most of the trade from the east passes through its gates.'

'Local legends tell of mighty soldiers with pale skin and blond hair who crushed all before them.' Pacorus had overheard the comment as he rode by.

Those who could understand some Parthian looked round with interest.

'Greeks!' said Romulus, imagining the army that had marched so far from home, nearly three centuries before. As ever, the thought fired his imagination.

It was old news to Tarquinius.

'This area has only been under our control for a generation,' the Parthian officer continued. 'The inhabitants don't like us and rebellions are common. And tribes from the north think the grasslands are theirs to graze, the towns free to plunder. The Forgotten Legion's job is to teach them different.'

'Plenty of fighting then, sir?' There was a glint in Brennus' eye.

'Quite likely,' revealed Pacorus. 'And very soon.'