The Forgotten Legion

Grief filled him. There would be no more running.

'Sorry.' Brac gasped with the effort of speaking.

'For what?' Brennus snapped the pilum in two, lying Brac carefully on one side.

'Not running fast as you. Not listening enough.' The boy's face was ashen. He did not have long.

'Nothing to be sorry for, my brave cousin,' Brennus said gently, squeezing Brac's hand. 'Rest here a little. I need to kill some Roman bastards after all.'

Brac nodded weakly.

A lump filled Brennus' throat, but anger overtook the grief, surging through every vein. He gripped Brac's arm in farewell and got to his feet.

The druid had been wrong. He too would die today. What reason was there left to live?

There was a rush of air as javelins hummed past him, embedding themselves in trees with dull thudding sounds. One of the dogs collapsed, yelping in pain at the long metal shaft protruding from its belly. Unsure what to do, the second stood with tail firmly between its hind legs.

Many of the legionaries were within twenty paces now, running at full tilt.

'Sons of whores!' Brennus pulled out an arrow and fitted it to the string, drawing to full stretch. He released while hardly looking at the nearest soldier, knowing it would take his target in the throat. The Gaul's next three shafts killed as well. By then the Romans were so close he had to drop the bow and pick up a spear. As his enemies encircled him, curved scuta held high, swords ready, Brennus let battle rage engulf him. Any thoughts of a long journey were forgotten.

Because of him, his wife and child had died alone. Because of him, Brac was dead. He had failed everyone, and all Brennus wanted to do now was kill.

'Bastards!' He had learned dog Latin from traders who passed through every year. 'Come on! Who's next?' Without waiting for an answer, he hurled his spear. The heavy shaft punched effortlessly through a shield, driving links of chain mail deep into the soldier's chest cavity. The man collapsed without a sound, blood pouring from his mouth. Brennus stooped quickly and picked up Brac's weapon, repeating the procedure with a second Roman.

'You have only a dagger now, Gaulish scum.' A red-cloaked officer leading the legionaries gestured angrily. 'Take him!'

His men raised their scuta in unison, closing ranks, stepping over the bodies.

Brennus bellowed an inarticulate cry of rage and charged. His entire people had just been annihilated in one short, vicious encounter. He was about to die, wanted to die. Anything to end the pain.

Ripping the closest man's shield from his grasp, the warrior turned it on its edge. He swept round in a circle, knocking several enemies from their feet. In the confusion, Brennus jumped to stand over the legionary whose scutum he had taken. With a savage blow downwards, he decapitated the man with its metal rim. Blood spurted over his calves as he grabbed an unfamiliar gladius from the ground. Its owner would never need a weapon again. Gauging the balance, he swung the straight-edged blade, wishing it was a longsword.

Armed now, Brennus was an even more intimidating prospect. Unwilling to face certain death, the thirteen Romans remaining hung back.

'Seize him, you fools!' the officer screamed, the horsehair crest on his helmet bobbing indignantly. 'Six months' pay for the man who takes him alive!'

Spurred on by the reward, they closed in, forming a tight circle of locked shields. The Gaul killed another three legionaries when they reached him, but at last a sword hilt connected with the back of his head. He stumbled, stabbing another enemy fatally in the groin as he went down.

A hail of blows followed.

Brennus landed on the bloody ground semi-conscious, his torso covered in minor wounds.

'Thank Jupiter most Gauls are not like this ox!' The officer smiled contemptuously. 'Otherwise you women would never conquer them.'

His men flushed with shame, but none replied. Their superior could inflict dire punishment if they answered back.

Concussed and confused, Brennus was still desperate to fight. He struggled to rise, but the last of his huge strength had been expended. Through a red haze, he heard the centurion speak again.

'Bind his arms and legs. Carry him to the surgeon.'

Fuelled by anger, one of the soldiers found the courage to speak. 'Let us kill the bastard, sir. He 's done for eleven of us.'

'Fool! Governor Pomptinus wants as many slaves as possible. This one will be worth plenty as a gladiator in Rome. A lot more than you miserable scum.'

Brennus closed his eyes and let blackness take him.

Chapter V: Romulus and Fabiola

Five years later.

Rome, spring 56 BC

'Curse you, Romulus. Come quickly! Or you'll get another hiding!'

Gemellus paused in his tirade. A short, fat man with a red face, the merchant was prone to terrible bouts of rage. Sweating heavily, he stood in the large, sunlit courtyard of his house, eyes swivelling frantically. He spotted movement near an ornamental statue positioned between the plants and trees and, moving surprisingly fast, he shoved a podgy ringed hand behind the grinning satyr.

Instead of Romulus, Gemellus pulled out a young girl of about thirteen in a torn tunic. The child was covered in grime, her clothes little more than rags, but her extraordinary beauty was still apparent. Long black hair covered finely boned features that would catch any man's eye. She squealed in pain, but Gemellus held tightly on to her ear.

'Where 's your brother, vixen?' He looked around, expecting to see Romulus nearby. Normally the twins were like each other's shadow.

'I don't know, Master!' Fabiola struggled even harder.

'You are lying!'

'He's supposed be in the kitchen, Master.'

'Like you. But the little bastard's not!' replied the merchant triumphantly. 'So where is he?'

This time, the girl did not answer.

Gemellus slapped Fabiola's face. 'Find him, or I'll whip you both.'

She did not cry. No matter what Gemellus did, she always looked defiant.

Infuriated, the merchant swept a meaty paw at Fabiola but lost his grip.

She dodged easily under another wild swing and ran past the openfronted rooms and banqueting halls forming the sides of the courtyard.

'Tell that useless brat to hurry!' His voice echoed through the house. Angrily, Gemellus eased his bulk on to the edge of a carved marble fountain positioned in the shade against the back wall of the colonnaded garden.

A mosaic reservoir decorated its back; the intricate patterns were designed to be seen as visitors entered and gazed across the atrium, through the open doors of the tablinum.

He trailed a few fingers in the water to wet his brow. Fountains and sanitation were luxuries only the very rich could afford. Gemellus wondered how much longer it would be possible to keep up his extravagant lifestyle. The merchant had no wish to return to his impoverished roots in the insulae.

A shadow cast by the sundial in the middle of the courtyard told Gemellus that it was nearly hora quarta. Noon was still more than two hours off, but the spring air was already as hot as Hades. He cursed loudly, wiping his face with a fold of his grimy tunic. Life was difficult enough without pursuing Velvinna's brats around the villa. Political uncertainty in the Republic and floods of foreign imports had changed the economic climate from bad to worse. Weakened by years of poor leadership and corruption, the Senate had capitulated three