The Forgotten Legion

for the laquearius. He was falling in slow motion, face contorted in agony, Sextus' axe planted deep in his spine.

'You looked hard pressed.'

'Thanks!' Remembering Lentulus' last act, Romulus spun round, thrusting his sword through the Thracian's throat. The man choked on blood and toppled to one side, eyes wide with shock. Quickly Romulus grabbed a bone- handled dagger from the dead gladiator's belt. Two weapons were always better than one.

When he looked back, Sextus was gone.

'Well fought!' Brennus walked over, breathing heavily. He was covered from head to foot in blood.

Romulus glanced round for enemy fighters. Seeing none nearby, he relaxed slightly. 'The fight's nearly over,' he said with satisfaction. 'Thanks to you.'

Brennus nodded in acknowledgement. 'Kill or be killed,' he muttered to himself.

Romulus did a quick head count: fewer than twenty Dacicus gladiators were still standing. 'It won't take long now.'

'Let's hope the fools surrender soon,' sighed the Gaul. 'They have no chance of winning.'

Quite suddenly a net came flying through the air and landed over Brennus' head, weighted folds falling to the sand. The big man struggled to free himself, but his sword tip was caught in the heavy mesh. A vicious trident thrust followed and Brennus barely managed to avoid being gutted.

Instinctively Romulus slashed down with his gladius, severing the attacker's arm at the elbow. Shocked to recognise one of the Magnus retiarii, he did not pause. A swift kick to the groin knocked the maimed gladiator to the sand.

'Look out!' Brennus dropped his longsword and grabbed at strands of the net to lift it off.

Romulus saw movement from the corner of his eye. Alarmed, he turned to face Gallus, who was flanked by Figulus and two other grim-faced fighters, a Thracian and a Samnite. Bloody weapons were in their hands.

'On your own now, scum!' The retiarius lunged with his trident.

'I should have knifed you instead of the Dacicus gladiator,' replied Romulus, dodging to one side.

'Missed your chance,' sneered Gallus.

Keeping himself between Brennus and the attackers, Romulus shuffled backwards. The retiarius laughed, thinking Romulus was trying to get away.

Without thinking, Romulus stabbed his sword into the sand, drew the new knife and flung it.

The gladiators paused, surprised.

Gallus stopped abruptly, making a strange gurgling sound. A bone handle protruded from his throat. With a faintly startled expression, the stocky fighter dropped to the ground, killed the same way as his first opponent.

Freeing himself, Brennus moved to stand alongside Romulus. 'Three against two. Good enough odds, I reckon!'

'Vulcan's prick! You said Gallus would net the big bastard!' The Samnite on Figulus' left shuffled his feet nervously in the sand.

'Why didn't you gut him when he was down, idiot?' The Thracian licked dry lips, but did not back away. 'Let's end this!'

'Finished squabbling?' Brennus smiled grimly and charged.

Romulus was only a step behind.

The Samnite took one look and turned to run. As he did, Sextus appeared as if from nowhere. With a huge swing of his axe, he cut the man's head clean off. A fountain of blood sprayed into the air from the headless torso, which fell twitching on to Gallus' body.

The sand all around was stained crimson with the blood of countless Dacicus gladiators. And now those who were supposed to be on his side. Gallus. The Samnite. Men are dying in droves. For what? thought Romulus.

Figulus threw his shield at Brennus and sprinted to safety, leaving the last of his cronies alone. The man paled as the three friends advanced.

'I surrender!' Dropping his weapon, the murmillo fell to his knees.

'Try to kill one of your own, eh?' Brennus raised the longsword high and brought it down on the man's left shoulder, breaking the clavicle.

The murmillo let out a high-pitched scream, the sound echoing loudly. Romulus realised the arena had gone quiet. All the fighting was over. The entire audience was now watching them.

'Let him live, Brennus.' Sextus had noticed too. 'It's over. He has asked for mercy.' The scissores stood back, planting his bloody axe on the sand. 'Memor will be observing.'

'This piece of shit is a traitor to our familia!' spat the Gaul. 'Loyalty is everything. Without it we are nothing.'

'It's not worth it,' Romulus said tiredly. He was revolted by the number of bodies, scattered like discarded puppets. 'Enough men have died.'

There was a long pause. Brennus was trembling with rage.

'Brennus!'

At last the Gaul seemed to hear and the fire in his blue eyes subsided.

The murmillo quickly raised a forefinger, but the crowd jeered at the appeal for mercy. This was not what they had come to see.

Romulus was disgusted. No one cared that the injured fighter was actually one of their own men. The mob wanted blood and it did not matter whose it was.

This is no way to live my life.

Brennus had also had enough. He lowered his longsword and stepped back, ignoring the shouts.

Across the arena, all surviving Dacicus fighters had thrown down their weapons, pleading for mercy. Fewer than fifteen remained living.

Twenty-four Magnus gladiators were uninjured; another half-dozen were lying screaming in pain, but would live to fight another day.

Trumpets rang out, silencing the clamour. The portly master of ceremonies stepped forward again.

'Victory goes to the Lu-dus Mag-nus!' he announced.

Brennus, Romulus and the others raised bloody swords in acknowledgement. The responding roars completely drowned out the cries of the wounded and dying. Rome cared not for the victims.

'What a slaughter.' Disgusted, Romulus looked at the open red mouths in the baying crowd. 'Nearly sixty men have died for this?'

Brennus was fully in control of himself now, the battle frenzy replaced by his customary poise. He stared at his right arm, bloody to the elbow. 'Pompey deserves it more than this poor bastard, I suppose,' he said heavily, nudging the headless Samnite with one foot.

'Yes. He does!' hissed Romulus.

The announcer held up both podgy arms for quiet. 'I give you — the illustrious general Pompey Magnus!'

There was dutiful cheering as Pompey rose to speak again. The middleaged consul stood in silence for a moment, enjoying the applause. He acknowledged it with regal waves, and the people responded with a more fervent display of gratitude to Pompey. The brutal mass combat had satisfied their bloodlust.

'Knows how to work the crowd as well as Caesar,' said Brennus.

Romulus clenched his fists. 'They are all bastards!' he replied. His exhaustion had been replaced by a desperate desire to show Pompey how it felt to be butchered. But images of the venator's death were too vivid. He would end up the same way. A plan was needed.

'People of Rome!' Pompey raised his arms. Enthusiastic screams greeted him. 'What a spectacle we have seen here today! All for you. Citizens of the Republic!' Deafening applause followed.

Pompey smiled, clicking two fingers together. Slaves bearing a bronze tray laden with money bags materialised at his side.

'Let those from the winning side come forward!' The announcer sounded disdainful. 'Only those with no wounds may approach!'

The able-bodied fighters grouped together, heads held high. They walked to stand in front of the box, saluting Pompey with clenched fists. Even Romulus felt a brief surge of pride at having survived the slaughter. It was hard not to.

'You have fought bravely,' Pompey said approvingly. 'Those who show such courage deserve suitable reward.'