The Forgotten Legion

reins of power was growing ever tighter. While the rivalry between the members of the triumvirate remained behind the scenes, the city was constantly awash with rumours. It seemed that each man wanted sole power. At virtually any cost.

'People of Rome,' Crassus began dramatically. 'I have come to the temple of great Castor to seek his blessing.'

There was a sigh of anticipation.

'I wish the great horseman himself to give me a sign,' announced Crassus. 'A divine seal of approval.'

He waited.

Tarquinius looked around, seeing the tension rise in men's faces. Crassus is learning to work the mob, he thought.

'For what, Master?' It was the man who had cracked the joke about Pompey. Even he wanted to know why Crassus had come to pay homage.

Pleased by the question, Crassus rubbed his beaked nose. 'A sign that I will gain great glory for Rome!'

This produced an instant cheer.

'As governor of Syria, I will expand the Republic's borders to the east,' said Crassus boldly. 'Crush the savages who mock us. Who threaten our civilised ways!'

Roars of agreement rose into the air.

This was a common theme. If Rome considered herself in peril, then woe betide those who were perceived to be responsible. The mightiest power on the Mediterranean in an age, Carthage had dared to wage war against the Republic two centuries before. It had taken three long wars, but eventually its cities had been ground into dust by the legions.

Tarquinius had to respect the casual arrogance of even the lowliest citizen. They were scared of nothing. And though most had no understanding of why Crassus craved the leadership of Syria, the idea of military glory appealed to all. It did not matter that there had actually been no insults made, no envoys killed in the east. Romans instinctively respected war. Since deepest antiquity, its people had fought for it every year, returning to their farms each autumn.

'And when I come back,' Crassus continued, 'I will double the distribution of grain!'

This produced an even better response. Thanks to the precipitous decline in the price of agricultural goods, most of the population were now landless and dependent on congiaria, handouts of food and money, for their survival. The current amount of grain allowed was not enough for a family to survive for a year and any promise to increase it would be met with instant approval.

Crassus smiled with satisfaction and mounted the steps to the entrance, the cries sweeping behind him in a great wave of sound. At the top, a grovelling priest waited to usher him inside. The clamour was gradually replaced by excited muttering as the crowd discussed what they had just witnessed.

Tarquinius understood exactly what was going on. The visit to the temple had been completely staged. This was the busiest time of day in the Forum. If Crassus had wished to say his prayers in private, he would only have needed to arrive a few hours earlier or later. The ante was obviously upping in the struggle for dominance. Keen to emulate the military successes of his rivals, Crassus was beginning to reveal his hand. Tarquinius lifted his eyes upwards, squinting in the bright sunshine. A fair breeze. Few clouds. Soon the air would change, bringing rain.

Crassus will travel east with an army, he thought. To Parthia and beyond.

And I will go with him.

'Tarquinius!'

He was so unused to hearing his own name that for a moment the haruspex did not react.

'Tesserarius!' cried the same voice.

Tarquinius stiffened and his eyes quickly focused on a familiar figure shoving his way through the onlookers. The unshaven man was about thirty-five, of average height, with hair close cut in the military style. A drink-stained tunic failed to conceal the wiry muscle of his arms and legs, while a belt with a short dagger proved the newcomer was a soldier. The Etruscan spun on his heel, but already his left arm had been taken in a firm grip.

'Forgotten all your old comrades?' sneered the man.

Feigning surprise, Tarquinius turned back. 'Legionary Marcus Gallo,' he said calmly, cursing his decision to remain inconspicuous. It meant that his own knife was out of reach in his pack. 'Finally been thrown out of the army for drunkenness?'

Gallo's lip curled. 'I'm on official leave. Deserter scum,' he hissed. 'Remember what they do to men like you? I'm sure the centurion would be delighted to demonstrate.' He glanced around blearily, clearly looking for his drinking companions.

They were nowhere to be seen — yet. But with so many people in the vicinity, attention had immediately been drawn by the accusation. Tarquinius' pulse quickened. He took a deep breath, asking for the gods' forgiveness. The Etruscan had little choice. Gallo's grip was like a vice on his arm. If he did nothing, he would be hanging on a cross by sunset, an example to all.

'You drunken fool!' Tarquinius cried, smiling broadly. 'Have you forgotten how I saved your miserable life in Pontus?'

The swift, humorous response was exactly what was needed. Frowns were replaced by laughs and most of those nearby looked away. Gallo scowled and opened his mouth to rebut Tarquinius' comment.

Before he could say a word, the haruspex stepped in close and drew the other's dagger with his right hand. Pretending that they were embracing like old friends, Tarquinius shoved the blade between Gallo's ribs, straight into his heart. The legionary's eyes bulged with surprise and his mouth gaped like a fish out of water. Tarquinius kissed him on the cheek as Gallo's grip fell away, allowing him to hold the mortally injured man upright with his left arm. In the close-packed throng, no one saw what was happening.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, but his words fell on deaf ears.

Gallo's features went slack and a dribble of spit ran from his lips.

The haruspex twisted the dagger to make sure.

There was a burst of laughter from the crowd as a ripe tomato flew through the air to hit Crassus' bodyguard in the face. It was followed by a hail of red fruit. Intent on revenge, the bruised street urchin had returned with plenty of reinforcements. Wearing little more than rags, the gang of filthy children screamed with glee as they hurled their stolen tomatoes at the guard. He cursed and swept his blade at them, but they easily dodged his half- blinded attempts. Men smiled and pointed, shouting encouragement at both sides. Nobody was paying attention to the two soldiers any longer.

It was the perfect opportunity for Tarquinius. Gently he lowered Gallo to the ground, turning him face down so that the red stain on his chest wasn't visible. Then he plunged into the crowd, taking a direct line towards the nearest street off the Forum. Within two dozen paces, he would no longer be discernible to those on the temple steps. Even if the fools noticed, they wouldn't be able to catch him.

But the chance encounter with Gallo had been a close escape. It must not happen again. Tarquinius stepped into an alleyway and took off his bloody cloak, wrapping it around the axe. He would have to be even more cautious and from now on, the distinctive weapon would stay in his lodgings. No one must suspect who the Etruscan was and why he was in Rome.

The smell of cooking pork from a nearby stall reached Tarquinius' nostrils and his stomach rumbled in response. Reaching into his purse, the haruspex walked calmly towards the tantalising odour. A smile played across his lips.

Parthia. Olenus had been right yet again.

Chapter IX: Lentulus

Ludus Magnus gladiator school, 56 BC

Romulus did not feel safe climbing into his cot with Lentulus only a few feet away, but he had nowhere else to go. The ludus was full of tough men, none of whom had offered him shelter after the fight. Not even Cotta.

He cursed.