The Silver Eagle

Whatever the night held in store would be better faced in good humour. Ill fortune and the gods’ displeasure were sometimes directed at those who entered dangerous situations fearing the worst. Chance and destiny favoured the bold, thought the haruspex.

Given what he had seen in the sky, it was the only way to think. More than twenty years after Olenus had done so, Tarquinius had read his own fate. If he was correct, the next few hours would reveal all.

And somehow he would find the right time to tell Romulus.

Night had finally fallen, and the temperature was dropping. Overhead, a clear sky promised at least some visibility in the dark streets. Wall-mounted torches illuminated the large, colonnaded courtyard, which was packed with four strengthened cohorts of legionaries. Caesar was committing almost half of his forces in Alexandria to this manoeuvre. The general had lost none of his daring.

Wrapped in a warm, hooded cloak, Fabiola stared at the silver eagle. She had rarely been so close to one before, and was deeply stirred by it. Since her homa-induced vision, the metal bird had come to represent not just Rome, but the last of her hopes that Romulus was still alive. Tears pricked the corners of Fabiola’s eyes, but she wiped them away. This was her private grief and she had no wish to share it again with Brutus. Thankfully, her lover was out of earshot, conferring with Caesar and another staff officer.

It was not long until they were ready. To light their way, every fourth man had been issued with a pitch- soaked torch. Marching in darkness might have attracted less attention, but soldiers needed to see enemies to kill them. Seeing each other’s faces also helped to keep up morale. Caesar was well aware that the setbacks of the previous weeks had dented his legionaries’ usual confidence. He gave a short but stirring speech, invoking Mars and Jupiter, and reminding his men how they had defeated far greater armies than faced them here.

A cheer rose into the air, but was instantly quelled by the centurions.

Without further ado, the gates were opened, and two cohorts marched out to clear the barricades on each side of the entrance. Following the blast from an officer’s whistle to sound the all-clear, the third unit emerged, led by the aquilifer carrying the eagle. This was followed by Caesar, Brutus and Fabiola, the senior officers and a hand-picked century of veterans. Also in their midst were Docilosa and the faithful Sextus. The fourth cohort was last to exit. At once the doors slammed shut behind them.

Fabiola felt a tremor of fear. They were on their own.

Beside her, Brutus’ eyes were glinting in the dim light. Seeing her apprehension, he kissed her cheek reassuringly. ‘Courage, my darling,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll be at sea within the hour.’

She nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on the silver eagle. Torchlight bounced and reflected off its polished wings, giving it a distinctly forbidding air. It was a powerful talisman, and Fabiola took strength from it. From the fervent looks being thrown in the eagle’s direction, it was clear that many of the men did too. Even Docilosa was muttering a prayer to it.

In close formation, the legionaries headed towards the harbour. Thanks to Alexandria’s wide avenues, they were able to move at double pace. Impressive buildings passed by on either side: temples and government offices. They were constructed on a massive scale, greater than most similar structures in Rome. Rows of thick stone columns formed their porticoes, each the height of many men. Even the doorways were enormous. The walls were inscribed with hieroglyphs from floor to ceiling: dramatic representations recounting the country’s glorious past. Immense painted statues of the half-human, half-animal Egyptian gods stood before many buildings, their dark eyes blankly watching the passing soldiers. Fountains pattered to themselves and the palm trees moved in a gentle breeze.

Not a person was to be seen. All was silent.

It felt too good to be true.

It was.

Rounding a corner on to the quayside, they found their path had been blocked by waiting lines of heavily armed enemy soldiers.

Many were dressed similarly to Caesar’s men, which felt disconcerting to Fabiola. Yet the reason was simple, according to Brutus, her adviser on all things military. After a series of humiliating defeats a century before, Egypt had stopped using its Macedonian-like hoplites in favour of troops trained like legionaries. In addition, a Roman force which had arrived in Alexandria seven years before had largely gone native. This meant that recent confrontations between the two sides were often evenly matched. If anything, it was the Egyptian soldiers who had had the advantage, fighting as they were to dislodge the Romans from their own city. And tonight, even more forces had been gathered. Behind the enemy legionaries stood rank upon rank of slingers, archers and Nubian light skirmishers, their weapons ready. This was to be a crushing defeat upon the invaders.

Caesar’s lead cohort ground to a sudden halt, forcing the units behind to stop.

Fabiola’s first view was across the water to the lighthouse. It was a dramatic sight, one which never failed to impress. Built on a projecting spur of Pharos Island, the immense white marble tower was awe-inspiring. A single- storey complex surrounded its great base, which was square. Statues of the Greek gods and mythical sea creatures decorated the whole outer surface of this building. Entrance to the lighthouse itself was gained by a wide ramp, which was visible above the outer complex. Even now, Fabiola could see laden mules toiling up it, carrying firewood for the huge fire which burned high above. Many floors up, the second section was octagonal, with the final part being circular. The room at the very apex was formed by supportive pillars, and contained vast polished bronze mirrors. These reflected sunlight during the day and flames at night. On the roof of this chamber was a large statue of Zeus, greatest of the Greek deities.

Fabiola eventually tore her eyes away. The blaze at the top of the Pharos illuminated the main harbour quite well. Grand buildings and warehouses lined the quayside. A dense forest of masts clustered together, belonging to the Egyptian fleet which had been ferrying soldiers into the city. The water was so deep that even the largest vessel could moor here. Groups of sailors filled the ships’ decks, shouting and gesticulating at the confrontation about to be played out before them.

Craning his head from side to side, Brutus cursed loudly and vigorously.

The Egyptians had chosen the site for their ambush well. Thanks to a high curtain wall on the right-hand side, there was only room for two cohorts on the dock. The others were trapped in the wide thoroughfare which opened on to the harbour. The instant that these men came to a halt, loud battle cries filled the air. From the rear came the familiar hissing sound of arrows, followed immediately by the screams of those who had been hit.

‘The bastards must have been hiding in the side streets, sir,’ shouted Brutus.

‘To prevent us withdrawing,’ said Caesar calmly. ‘The fools. As if I would run away!’

‘What shall we do, sir?’

Before he could answer, guttural orders from the Egyptian officers rang out. A volley of stones flew into the night sky, causing heavy casualties among the unprepared legionaries. Following close behind came a shower of javelins, invisibly arcing up and then scything down in a second torrent of death. Scores of men were hit, many fatally. Others had an eye taken out, or were simply knocked to the ground, wounded or concussed.

Ten steps from Fabiola, a centurion collapsed. He kicked spasmodically and then lay still.

She stared at him in horror.

The officer had just taken off his horsehair-crested helmet to wipe the sweat from his brow. Now an egg- shaped depression visible through his short hair was leaking a mixture of blood and clear fluid. His skull had been smashed.

‘Shields up!’ roared Caesar.

Grabbing a discarded Brutus darted to Fabiola’s side and drew her to him. With it over her head, she was able to witness the Roman legions in action at first hand. Although the volleys of missiles had caused many casualties, the other soldiers did not panic. The gaps in the ranks closed swiftly, and the next stream of stones and javelins clattered down harmlessly on their shields.scutum,

‘We can’t stay here like this,’ said Fabiola. ‘They’ll slaughter us.’

‘Wait.’ Brutus smiled. ‘Watch.’

‘Those with torches, hand them to the men behind. To the second cohort,’ ordered Caesar. ‘Quickly!’

His command was obeyed at once.

‘Front ranks,’ Caesar shouted. ‘Ready your pila! Aim long!’

Hundreds of men drew their right arms back.

‘Loose!’

The Roman response rose up in a steep trajectory, flying high over the Egyptian legionaries. As Fabiola