The Forgotten Legion

Romulus felt a surge of pride to hear the name being used and from their reactions, other men felt the same way too. They were still Roman soldiers. The eagle still led from the front. Holding on to their identity had been a crucial part of survival. Without it they were nothing. Prisoners with no future, banished to the ends of the earth.

'We are needed at the border,' Tarquinius said unexpectedly.

Pacorus' mouth opened. 'Messengers brought word this morning,' he admitted gloomily. 'Been a raid by Sogdian tribesmen. Thousands of the bastards. They've hit several towns north of the capital. Burned them to the ground.'

'The men are ready, sir.' The Etruscan indicated the silk on every shield, the long spears. 'If I could have a word. '

'Why?' asked the Parthian suspiciously.

'Got a surprise for the enemy.'

Pacorus beckoned.

Everyone watched with bated breath as the Etruscan broke ranks to confer with their commanding officer. Tarquinius spoke urgently, gesturing with his hands while the other listened. The conversation did not last long.

Pacorus barked an order at the trumpeters, who immediately signalled the legion with silk covers to halt.

'This plan had better work, soothsayer.'

'It will,' said Tarquinius calmly.

Moments later, the Parthian second-in-command led away the other half of the legion to the west, towards Antiochia. When the men with Tarquinius realised their comrades were not also heading for battle, insults filled the air. Soldiers marching away responded with laughs and jeers.

'Where are they going?' asked Felix.

'To defend the capital.' The Etruscan smiled. 'And set up camp. There 'll be no ditches to dig when we return.'

'From where?' said Felix dubiously.

'The river forming the border.'

Questions flew thick and fast as men clamoured to know more.

But Tarquinius would not answer and stepped back into line, fixing his eyes on the horizon.

Trumpets blared stridently and drums pounded. Officers listened, then roared the commands. The soldiers moved off, thousands of iron-shod sandals grinding the grass flat.

'Sons of whores have probably escaped.' Pacorus stared into the haze. 'We got here too late.'

Long grass extended south to the horizon. In the distance, a range of low hills ran from left to right. Clumps of trees provided the only variation in the panorama. Birds sang overhead, competing with the hum of countless insects. The air was still, carrying every sound. Some distance away, a herd of antelope nervously watched the soldiers. It did not take long for them to move away, grazing as they went. Bright sunshine lit up the fertile land, but there was no sign of human inhabitants. This was too near Sogdia.

It was fierce tribesmen from the bare steppes that the Forgotten Legion was waiting for.

'There's been no sign of their passage,' Tarquinius reassured him.

Behind the legion's massed ranks stood the Parthian guards, the trumpeters and drummers. At their backs ran a broad, swiftly moving river. Muddy tracks near their position led down the bank into the water, good sign of a crossing point. The hoof prints mostly led out, into Margiana. It was clear that few horses had passed north in recent days.

The Parthian glanced at the ford yet again.

'You said yourself it would take them three days to get here.'

Pacorus grunted irritably.

'Only been a couple.' Despite the nature of the relationship, Tarquinius was careful to address the Parthian respectfully.

Pacorus changed the subject. 'The men did well.' Marching over fifty miles in two days had been an ordeal. 'Are they still ready to fight?'

'Of course, sir.' Again Tarquinius indicated the long spears carried by the legionaries. Fitted with barbed iron heads, the thick shafts were twice the length of normal pila.

The swarthy warrior nodded with approval.

'Is this definitely the only safe ford?' asked the Etruscan, checking.

'For thirty miles in either direction.' Pacorus scowled. 'They must cross here!'

Tarquinius fell silent. He did not move for so long that the Parthian began shifting nervously in his saddle. At length the haruspex smiled.

'They will be here by early afternoon.' It was unspoken, but there was no doubt now who was more powerful. 'No later.'

'You are sure?'

'Yes.'

Pacorus eyed the nearest grove of trees. 'And the hidden men?'

'They will not move until the trumpets sound, sir.'

Silence fell. There was nothing more to do but wait.

As usual, Tarquinius was correct. The sun had just passed its zenith when the few scouts returned at a gallop. Shortly after that, a large dust cloud appeared in the distance. Laden with spoils, the Sogdians were returning to their homeland. They would be careless, arrogant with success. From conversation with Pacorus, the Etruscan knew it was unlikely there had been any opposition to the raid. Parthia's armed forces in Margiana were at dangerously low levels and towns to the south would have paid dearly for their lack of defences. The tribesmen would hardly be expecting to meet thousands of legionaries blocking the route north.

Nine of the cohorts were arranged in battle formation, a good distance from the river. Five were in the centre, a pair on each wing. Soldiers in each ranked sixty across, eight deep. Men in the front four rows held long spears, those behind carried pila and every scutum was covered in silk. Small gaps between the units left room to manoeuvre once fighting started. Acting as reserves, the Parthian warriors were situated to the rear while the tenth cohort was hidden in trees five hundred paces in front, slightly off to one side.

Bucinae sounded as the Forgotten Legion moved into final position. Cohorts on the flanks moved forward a short distance, creating a curve in the defensive line.

They were ready.

'They're coming!' Romulus peered anxiously through thick summer leaves. 'I can't see anything, though.'

'Patience.' Brennus sharpened his longsword with a whetstone. The Etruscan had managed to obtain the items from Pacorus, the blade a souvenir from Carrhae. The Gaul now wore it in a scabbard across his broad back while a gladius hung from his belt, vital for close combat. 'Plenty of time yet. Won't be our turn till the end.'

Romulus sighed, never having watched a battle from the sidelines before. The grove faced south, wide enough to conceal five hundred men from view. They could remain hidden until the Sogdians had engaged with the other cohorts.

The soldiers behind them were ready to fight, their faces set. It had been months since they had seen any action and most were eager to change that. The men had fought together under Crassus because it was their duty, but Carrhae and a fifteen-hundred-mile march had forged strong bonds between all of the prisoners. Now they would gladly fight and die for each other — because there was no one else.

Their stout commander Darius was one of the more likeable Parthians. He too had heard the trumpets. Riding over, he dismounted, tying his horse 's reins to a low branch. 'We will teach these dogs a lesson,' he said in poor Latin. 'For invading Parthian territory.'

Romulus grinned. Few of the new officers had bothered to learn their soldiers' language but Darius was an exception.

Brennus swung the longsword back and forth. 'Just let us at the bastards!' he replied, wondering if they had reached the end of the world. No one could win such a battle. Except Brennus.Tarquinius'