The Forgotten Legion

Tarquinius had reached the door when the redhead spoke again.

'Return late and I'll have you crucified.'

'Master?' Shocked, he stared at Caelius blankly. The threat sounded genuine.

'You heard me,' the redhead replied. His eyes were dark slits.

Tarquinius bobbed his head and closed the door behind him. Alarmed by the cryptic remark, he went to the family's room and gathered up a few belongings, together with a bow and quiver. The thought of time with Olenus soon lifted his spirits. Grinning broadly, he kissed his mother goodbye and left the estate buildings behind.

The small groves on slopes above the villa were full of slaves bringing in the olive harvest. The original trees had been brought from Greece hundreds of years before. Green olives and their valuable oil provided a huge part of Rome's wealth. Tarquinius wondered again why Caelius had not planted more of them to help with his financial problems.

'Don't forget our deal,' the vilicus yelled when he saw Tarquinius. 'Otherwise I'll put you to work in the mill.' Grinding flour was even more backbreaking than cutting wheat, and a common punishment. 'It's good you're going up there,' Dexter added ominously.

'What do you mean?'

'Crassus has an interest in the old man. Gods alone know why.'

Tarquinius opened his mouth to ask more, but the foreman had already turned away, shouting orders.

What interest could Marcus Licinius Crassus have in Olenus?

The immensely wealthy noble had defeated Spartacus the year before, ending the slave rebellion which had almost brought Rome to its knees. It was now common knowledge that the victory had been cleverly claimed by Pompey Magnus, his main rival. The lie had won him a full triumph from the Senate while Crassus had to be satisfied with a mere parade on foot. For months afterwards, the enraged Crassus had continually failed to regain the political advantage.

But recently he had skilfully manoeuvred to become joint consul with Pompey, and in an initial show of unity, the pair had restored the tribunate, which had been abolished by Sulla. Only plebeians could serve in these posts. With their rights to veto bills in the Senate and to convene public assemblies to pass laws of their own, the tribunes were immensely popular with the Roman public. The reform had been a clever move and Crassus had immediately used his new-found recognition to stir up resentment against Pompey in the Senate. At only thirty-six, his co-consul was legally too young to serve in the post. In addition, he had never even served as a senator. Pompey had quickly heard about Crassus' tactics and soon the pair were publicly disagreeing with each other. Instead of working together as they were supposed to, their rivalry had become more bitter than ever.

Tarquinius shivered.

There could be only one reason for Crassus' interest. The bronze liver.

Tarquin's sword. Caelius was planning to sell the sacred items to a man who wanted — needed — signs of divine approval.

He walked on, mind racing. Time was suddenly of the essence.

'Skiving again?' His leg manacles still in place, Maurus looked at Tarquinius sourly from his position halfway up a tree. In one hand the brown-skinned slave held a small, sharp knife to cut olives from the branches; he gripped the trunk with his other. A wicker basket hung from his back.

'The master know about this?'

'He's sent me to kill some wolves. Half a dozen in three days. Want to help?'

Maurus' face paled at the idea of physical danger.

Tarquinius mimed pulling back his bowstring and loosing an arrow. 'Keep picking, then.'

The gnarled trunks and busy workers were soon left behind as he climbed above the tree line to see the surrounding countryside that he knew and loved so well. Lake Vadimon sparkled in the sunlight and he drank in the view, momentarily putting aside his worries at Caelius' and Dexter's comments.

The powerful aroma of wild herbs filled Tarquinius' nostrils and he breathed deeply. Breaking off a small branch of rosemary from the nearest bush, he stuffed it into his pack to use later. The young man kept his eyes peeled for wolves, though it was unlikely he would see any in daytime. The predators lived in woods much higher on the mountain and came down to hunt only at dusk or dawn. He found traces of their passage here and there, in the form of spoor. There was even the carcass of an adult sheep near the track, bones picked clean of flesh by the birds. Only a jackal remained, sucking the marrow from a cracked femur. It darted away before he could string his bow.

Tarquinius worked his way to Olenus' hut, continuously scanning the sky and slopes for unusual signs. The first thing the old man would ask was what there had been to see on the climb. He counted eight buzzards hanging on thermals that swirled over the peak. Pleased there weren't twelve and that the clouds appeared innocuous in shape and number, Tarquinius clambered sure-footedly up the light scree covering the mountainside.

Spotting Olenus' tiny dwelling, his pace quickened. Despite the altitude, the temperature had been rising and he was looking forward to a rest. The makeshift hut where his mentor lived was built into the edge of a clearing, with commanding views south to the lake and beyond. It was one of Tarquinius' favourite places, full of good memories.

'Finally you grace me with your presence.'

He spun round to find Olenus standing on the track behind.

'How did you get there?' Tarquinius was so relieved to find the haruspex alive that he nearly hugged him.

Olenus smiled and adjusted his leather hat. 'I have my ways. Good to see you, boy. Notice anything on the way up?'

'Nothing much. A jackal. Eight buzzards.' Tarquinius made an apologetic gesture. 'I'd have come before, but the harvest took an age to bring in.'

'No matter. You are here now.' Olenus moved past smoothly. 'We have much to talk about and time is short.'

'I can't stay long.' Tarquinius tapped the bow hanging from his left shoulder. 'I've only got three days to hunt six wolves.'

'Just as well I have killed some then, eh?'

Olenus pointed at the drying racks outside the hut. Five distinctive grey pelts were stretched across their timbers.

'One wolf in three days? That'll be easy,' grinned Tarquinius. 'What's going on? You normally leave the hunting to me.'

The haruspex shrugged. 'A man gets bored talking to sheep all day.'

'You knew how many Caelius would demand?'

Olenus beckoned to him. 'Come and rest in the shade. You must be thirsty after the climb.'

Delighted by the revelation, Tarquinius followed Olenus to a log under the trees. The pair took their ease in silence, contemplating the view. The sun beat down, creating a haze that would eventually obscure the panorama below. Tarquinius drank and passed the leather water carrier to the haruspex.

'Any vivid dreams recently?'

Tarquinius half choked on the liquid in his mouth. 'What?'

'You heard.'

'I had one about you. In a cave. Maybe the one where the liver is kept.' He wrinkled his nose at the smell from the pelts. 'So I've seen it at last!'

'What else?'

'Nothing.' Tarquinius stared down at the impossible brightness of the lake.

'You make a terrible liar, boy.' Olenus chuckled. 'Scared to tell me that I will die soon?'

'I didn't see that.' A shiver ran down Tarquinius' spine at the haruspex' ability to read his mind. 'But Caelius and some soldiers were nearing the cave. It looked like they meant business.'

'He has sold knowledge of my presence to someone in Rome.'

'Crassus!' The name escaped Tarquinius' lips before he could stop it.

Olenus was unsurprised. 'He 's got enough money to run the latifundium for a year.' His gaze was piercing. 'Not bad for an old man, eh?'

Tarquinius struggled briefly with the concept. 'I thought he wanted the liver.'