The Forgotten Legion

The crude sutures would leave a rough scar, nothing like the neat work of the Greek surgeons in Rome who were paid by wealthy ex-slaves to remove their brands. Romulus didn't care. Memor's proof of ownership was gone for ever. But when he pulled out his own knife a moment later and reached for the Gaul's leg, Brennus stopped him.

'We can't both have a freshly stitched wound. Burn mine. Logs fall out of fires all the time.'

Romulus protested weakly, but he knew his friend was right. There was no mercy for escaped slaves. To avoid suspicion, they had to be different. He heated the dagger until the blade was glowing a dull red and then gritting his teeth, applied it to Brennus' calf. An instant smell of burning hair and flesh filled his nostrils.

The huge Gaul grimaced, allowing the searing pain to cleanse away some of the memories of slavery. 'We 'll stay here for a while,' he announced with a smile. 'Lick our wounds and get some rest. Then we can go down to the port.'

His smile was infectious and Romulus grinned.

One last ordeal, but now they were truly free.

Brundisium's harbour was humming with activity. A large town, it had been transformed by the arrival of Crassus' army. Thousands of soldiers, tons of equipment and weapons filled the narrow jetties, waiting to embark for Asia Minor. The skyline was a forest of masts. Dozens of triremes rocked gently in the water, tied close together. Sailors swarmed back and forth, cursing the clumsiness of their passengers.

Mules brayed as they were forced down wooden gangways on to ships. Officers barked orders, pushing and shoving men into line. Messengers scurried between units, relaying orders.

Brennus and Romulus worked their way through the throng, searching for somewhere to join up. At length they found a makeshift desk of sacks of flour on the main dock. An old centurion was standing behind the temporary arrangement, bawling orders at new recruits.

He stared calculatingly at the dirty pair as they came to a halt.

'Farmers, eh?'

'That's right, sir.'

Romulus kept silent, taking in the phalerae hanging from the moulded leather breastplate and the silver torque round his neck. This was clearly a brave man.

'Well armed, aren't you?' He pointed at the heavy spears, the bow, swords and daggers, the well-made shields.

'We 're from Transalpine Gaul, sir,' explained Brennus. 'The bandits are plentiful and we have to know how to fight.'

'Hmmm. Thought you were a Gaul.' The officer eyed Brennus' bulging muscles and the scars on his arms. 'Why come to Brundisium?'

'The great general is leading an army to Jerusalem. I'm told the booty will be good.'

'So all the new recruits say.' The centurion scratched short grey stubble, looking Brennus up and down shrewdly. 'You're not escaped slaves?'

'No, sir.' The Gaul kept a blank face, Romulus copying him. Aping the Roman military cut, both men had cut their hair short that morning.

'Slaves are forbidden to join the military under any circumstances. It is a crime punishable by death. Understand?'

'We are free men, sir.'

The officer grunted, considering the tally on the calfskin parchment before him. 'And the lad?'

'Fights better than most grown men, sir.'

'Does he, by Jupiter?'

'Taught him myself, sir.'

'A bit young, but I suppose he's as big as most.' The centurion pushed forward a stylus. 'You enlist for three years minimum. Stay with the army for twenty and you'll be granted Roman citizenship. The pay is a hundred denarii per year in equal instalments every four months. Depending on the situation.'

'Situation, sir?' Romulus spoke for the first time, affecting Brennus' thick accent as best he could.

'If we're in the middle of a damn war, you don't get paid!'

'A hundred denarii?' Romulus turned to his friend with disbelief. The purse from Pompey alone had contained five times that amount.

Brennus frowned.

The centurion laughed, misinterpreting the remark. 'A lot of money,' he said. 'Crassus' son Publius is a generous man. He wants the finest infantry to fight beside his cavalry.'

Romulus grinned vacuously as if he had only just understood. After all, they weren't joining Crassus' army for the wages.

'You provide your own clothes and weapons. Costs for equipment, food and the burial club get deducted from pay. And when I tell you to do something, do it fast! Otherwise you'll feel this across your backs.' He slapped a vine cane on the sacks of flour. 'I command the cohort, but I'm also your centurion! Clear?'

They nodded.

The officer tapped the parchment with a gnarled forefinger. 'Put your marks here.'

The pair exchanged a long glance. Once they joined, there was no going back. With a shrug, Brennus picked up the stylus in his huge hand and marked the document. Romulus followed suit.

'Good!' The centurion smiled briefly. 'I'm putting you both under my direct command. Names?'

'Brennus, sir. This is Romulus.'

'Romulus?' he said with interest. 'A good Italian name. Who was your father?'

'Roman legionary, sir.' Romulus couldn't think of anything else to say. 'Mother wanted to honour his memory.'

'There is a Roman look to you. Should have a warrior's mettle too.' He seemed pleased. 'Call me Senior Centurion Bassius. Wait over there with the rest of the cohort.'

'When do we set sail, Senior Centurion?'

'Tonight. The general's keen to start the campaign immediately.'

Romulus stared at Brundisium, now barely visible through the orangeyellow haze. It was nearly sunset, and the sea had changed from bright blue to a deep navy. A gentle breeze was propelling the Roman fleet away from shore. Other triremes could be made out in the failing light, companions to the one they had embarked on. Dozens of long wooden oars made a smooth sound as they moved in unison to cut the water's surface.

The Achilles was a typical low-slung Roman ship with a single cloth sail, three banks of oars and a bronze ram at the prow. The decks were bare except for the captain's cabin at the stern and catapults for attacking enemy ships.

'Good riddance!' Brennus spat over the timbers of the side. 'The bastards won't find us now.'

'When can we return to Italy?'

'A few years. Murder of a noble takes a while to be forgotten.'

Romulus scowled at that prospect. Thoughts of his family, Caelius and Julia had filled his mind on their march south, but he would have to put all such thoughts to one side. It would serve little purpose to spend his time worrying about situations that were now so completely out of his control.

'We should have stayed in the ludus that night.'

'Maybe we should.' Brennus looked east, his eyes distant. 'But the gods meant this to happen. I feel it in my bones.'

Romulus followed his gaze. The horizon was formed by the darkening sky's junction with the black sea, making it impossible to see where they met. Beyond lay the unknown, a world Romulus had thought he would never see. But anything seemed possible now.

He came back to the present with a shiver. 'What will happen to Astoria?'

The Gaul's face grew sad. 'Sextus has promised to protect her and if the gods are merciful, we will meet again. But I cannot avoid my destiny. We had no choice but to run and Astoria knows that.' Their farewell had been all too brief and when Brennus had tried to stay longer, the Nubian had kissed him softly and pushed him out the door. Astoria knew how much Ultan's words meant to her lover. Follow your destiny, she had whispered.