The Forgotten Legion

Tarquinius strode away, his spirits soaring as he remembered Olenus' words. Everything was starting to make sense.

Two gladiators become your friends.

The gods continued to smile on Tarquinius.

A day later, dusk was falling and Secundus was preparing to go in search of some food. Most evenings he would spend his takings on a chunk of roast pork and a few cups of vinegary wine in one of the rough taverns which dotted the city's streets.

'Come with me,' he urged, tapping the only memento of his army career: a bronze phalera that always hung from his tunic. 'Still haven't told you the full story of how I won this.'

Tarquinius smiled. The warm breeze was telling him to stay put. 'Where are you going?' he asked.

'The fleapit on the corner one street over. You know the one.' Secundus scowled. 'As long as there aren't too many collegia thugs throwing their weight around. Otherwise it'll be the place beside the Forum Olitorium.'

'Keep a seat for me,' the Etruscan said. 'I won't be long.'

The one-armed veteran knew better than to ask why his friend wanted to linger outside the Lupanar. All his tactful enquiries had been met with complete silence. And since the blond trader was still paying him ten sestertii a day, Secundus had long since decided that prudence, rather than curiosity, was called for. He nodded, expertly rolling up his blanket with one hand. 'See you later.'

The ex-soldier was quickly gone into the falling light, a hand gripping the sheathed knife that was slung from a strap over his left shoulder. Already the streets were emptying of decent folk, to be replaced by the unsavoury types who favoured the hours of darkness.

Tarquinius was not scared of being on his own. And the local lowlife knew better than to tackle the slightly built stranger. When four of them had jumped him a week previously, there had been a flurry of blows so rapid that afterwards neither of the survivors could explain it. One thug had gone down instantly, blood bubbling from a gaping slash in his throat. While his companions gaped in dismay, the haruspex had opened another's chest with his gladius. Then a third had sustained a nasty wound to his left thigh, leaving only one man to escape unscathed. Tarquinius had not even suffered a scratch and now thieves gave him a wide berth when they met him on the street.

The Etruscan leaned back against the wall, pulling closer his lacerna, a lightweight open-sided cloak with a hood. He loosened his gladius in its scabbard, keeping it close to his right hand. His waiting was nearly over. Tarquinius could feel it.

It was not long before the flicker of torches could be made out through the gloom, followed closely by the noise of drunken voices. Preceded by large slaves armed with clubs and knives, five toga-clad nobles weaved unsteadily towards the Lupanar. It was a common sight. After a day spent in the stuffy atmosphere of the Senate, politicians liked to relax with some wine. And after that, a whore.

Tarquinius pulled up his hood. This was not just another group of senators — Olenus' murderer was amongst them. Old, unfulfilled rage bubbled up from deep inside but the haruspex breathed deeply, keeping himself calm. Now was not the time to lose control. He glanced up occasionally as the party neared his position. The poor light meant that he would not be able to recognise anyone until they were virtually on top of him.

'Come on, you drunkards!' cried one of the nobles. 'I've been wanting to get here all day.'

'This place better be worth it,' growled another.

Recognising the voice, Tarquinius stiffened. Lifting his head carefully, he peered at the figures now only a few feet away. But none of the equestrians was facing in his direction: they were staring lustfully in through the open door of the Lupanar.

'Take a look, Caelius,' said the nearest. 'You won't be disappointed.'

The Etruscan watched as a stocky man, his greying hair still tinged with red, shoved forward to take in the prostitutes who were visible in the brothel's reception area. It was Caelius. Older and slightly fuller at the waist, but the same bastard who had changed the haruspex' life for ever fifteen years before. An involuntary sigh escaped Tarquinius' lips.

At this, one of the slaves gave him a cursory glance. He was not troubled by what he saw. A small shape, wrapped in an old cloak. Probably a leper. Nothing six burly men couldn't handle.

Arguing over who wanted what type of girl and in what way, the nobles passed through the arched doorway and out of sight. The slaves were left to stand outside until such time as their masters' pleasure had been sated. Tarquinius stirred. Inevitably, their attention would be drawn to him, the only beggar left on the street. And there were too many of them for him to attack Caelius anyway. Tarquinius was not troubled by this. Now was not the time.

Scooping up his gladius in a fold of his cloak, he stood up awkwardly, affecting a bad limp. No one even watched as he shuffled off into the gloom.

One of the narrow alleyways close by would serve as a hiding place until Caelius and his friends emerged. It would be easy to follow the equestrians home. When Tarquinius knew where the arrogant noble was staying, he and Secundus could keep watch night and day. Pick an opportune time to strike. The haruspex smiled, offering up a prayer of thanks. His long years of waiting and remembering were nearly over.

Olenus would be avenged. Soon.

Chapter XV: The Arena

The Ludus Magnus, Rome, late summer 55 BC

Bright sunlight pouring through the window woke Romulus. Brennus was still asleep. The young fighter got up and started his daily routine of stretching, now second nature. The rest had done him good. He breathed deeply, emptying his mind.

'Time to kill Figulus and Gallus.' The Gaul had woken. He sighed heavily. 'And settle this once and for all.'

Romulus nodded and kept moving. The end of the vendetta would be a relief to him too.

Brennus climbed out of bed naked and went to the table. 'Let's eat,' he said. His heavily muscled body revealed a network of old scars. Romulus had seen the fearsome evidence of Brennus' career before but it still filled him with awe. All he had was a thick purple welt on one thigh. Unusually, Brennus' slave brand was on his left calf, while Romulus' was high on his right arm.

Brennus covered a piece of bread in honey. 'Want some?' he asked, shoving it in his mouth.

'No.'

'By all the gods! Sooner we get you to the arena, the better.' Brennus finished eating and pulled on a loincloth. He felt jaded. Can this really be what Ultan saw for me?

Once he had warmed up, they donned their armour. Bare-chested, Brennus wore a wide leather belt covering the groin, and a pair of bronze greaves. Romulus had a similar belt and manicae for his right arm. A single greave on his left leg completed the attire of a secutor.

'Use the same shield you fought Lentulus with.'

'What about you?'

Brennus lifted a large, rectangular scutum from a pile in the corner and smiled wolfishly. 'Sharp edge on this too.'

Romulus strapped on his gladius, eyeing Brennus' longsword enviously. He was still too small to wield it.

'Be careful.' Astoria seemed worried as she kissed the blond warrior. 'Stay together.'

'Stop fussing, woman!' Brennus gently squeezed her backside. 'Cook me more of those mice.'

He swaggered outside without looking back. Romulus nodded nervously at the Nubian and followed.

Most of the gladiators had gathered in the yard to do stretches or sharpen weapons. Fifty men in full armour, ready for battle, was an impressive sight. A dozen retiarii stood, tridents and nets ready, beside ten burly Thracians. Murmillones with their characteristic fish crest helmets,