The Silver Eagle

he listened to the haruspex’ account of what had happened. Of course no mention was made of returning to Rome.

When Tarquinius finished, no one spoke for some moments. It was hard to tell if the Parthians believed his story. Romulus felt very uneasy. But the die had been cast. All they could do was wait. And pray.

‘Very well,’ said Vahram at last. ‘Things could have happened as you say.’

A slow breath escaped Romulus’ lips.

‘Just one more thing, haruspex.’ Vahram’s hand fell lightly to his sword. ‘Did you know this would happen?’

The world stopped and Romulus’ heart lurched in his chest.

Again everyone’s eyes were fixed on Tarquinius.

Vahram waited.

Incredibly, the haruspex laughed. ‘I cannot see everything,’ he said.

‘Answer the damn question,’ growled Vahram.

‘There was great danger, yes.’ Tarquinius shrugged. ‘There always is in Margiana.’

The tough primus pilus was not satisfied. ‘Speak clearly, you son of a whore!’ he shouted, drawing his sword.

‘I thought that something might happen,’ admitted the haruspex. ‘But I had no idea what.’

Romulus remembered the watching jackal and how he and Brennus had stayed away from the fire to study it. A decision which had saved their lives. Was that not proof of a god’s favour? He looked at Mithras crouching over the bull and trembled with awe.

‘That’s all?’ demanded Vahram.

‘Yes, sir.’

Romulus watched the primus pilus’ face carefully. Like that of Tarquinius, it was hard to judge. He did not know why, but suspicion filled him.

‘Very well.’ Vahram relaxed, letting his blade drop to his side. ‘How long will it be before Pacorus recovers?’

‘He may never do so,’ replied the haruspex levelly. ‘Scythicon is the most powerful poison known to man.’

The senior centurions looked anxious and a vein pulsed in Vahram’s neck.

Pacorus moaned, breaking the silence.

‘Examine him again!’ barked one of the younger officers.

Tarquinius bent over the bed, checking Pacorus’ pulse and the colour of his gums. ‘If he lives, it will take months,’ he pronounced at last.

‘How many?’ asked Ishkan, a middle-aged man with jet-black hair.

‘Two, maybe three.’

‘You will not leave this building until he is well,’ the primus pilus ordered. ‘For any reason.’

There was a growl of agreement from the others.

‘My century, sir?’ Tarquinius enquired.

‘Fuck them!’ screamed Ishkan.

‘Your optio can take charge,’ the primus pilus said curtly.

Tarquinius bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Brennus and Felix relaxed. A reprieve had been granted, but Romulus was not happy. Later he would realise, bitterly, that the feeling had been intuition.

‘We’ll leave you to it.’ Vahram turned to go, and then swiftly spun on his heel. Snarling silently, he rushed at Felix with his sword raised. The little Gaul had no time to reach for his own weapon. Nor did his friends.

Vahram ran his blade deep into Felix’ chest. The lethally sharp iron slipped between the little Gaul’s ribs to pierce muscle, lungs and heart, emerging red-tipped from his back.

Felix’ eyes widened with horror and his mouth opened. No sound came out.

The senior centurions’ faces were the picture of shock.

Tarquinius also looked stunned. He had forgotten the heavy price that gods often required. They gave nothing away free. Normally, he would have sacrificed an animal when seeking important information. Tonight, Mithras had revealed much without any obvious payment. Anguish filled the haruspex. How could he have been so stupid? Elated at seeing a vision, and at the mere possibility of returning to Rome, he had failed to consider what might follow. Was Felix’ life worth that much?

And then Tarquinius’ vision filled with the image of Romulus, standing on the deck of a ship, sailing into Ostia, Rome’s port. After the drought of the previous few months, it felt like a rainstorm. Felix had not died in vain, he thought.

But Romulus knew none of this. Grief flooded through him. Felix was completely innocent; he had not even been at the Mithraeum. In reflex, Romulus drew his weapon and took a step towards the primus pilus. Brennus was right behind, his face fixed in a rictus of rage. They were two against eight, but at that exact moment, neither cared.

Vahram extended a hand and pushed Felix backwards, letting him fall lifeless to the floor. A gush of blood accompanied the blade’s withdrawal from his thoracic cavity. It formed around the little Gaul’s body in a great red pool.

Weeping fat, angry tears, Romulus swept forward, ready to kill. It was six steps to Vahram. Two heartbeats.

Tarquinius observed in silence. Romulus would decide his own fate. So would Brennus. It was not for him to intervene. Romulus’ journey back to Rome was not his only possible path. Perhaps, like many gods, Mithras was fickle. Maybe they would all die here tonight.

But Vahram did not even lift his bloodied sword to defend himself.

Disturbed by the squat primus pilus’ calm, Romulus managed to pull himself back. As he had learned at the Mithraeum, gut reactions were not always the best. Killing Vahram now would burn all their bridges. It was also a sure way to die. But there was another option: walking out of here. If he did that, then Felix could be avenged — later. Somehow Romulus was sure of this. Quickly he held out an arm to halt Brennus’ attack as well. Remarkably, the Gaul did not protest.

This is not a battle that no one else could win, Brennus thought, remembering the haruspex prophecy. I will know when it is.

Tarquinius exhaled with relief. Thank you, Mithras!

‘You show intelligence,’ Vahram snarled. ‘Twenty archers are waiting outside.’

Romulus scowled. All of them had been outwitted — even Tarquinius.

‘If one of us calls out, they have orders to kill you all.’

Romulus lowered his weapon, followed slowly by Brennus. He glanced at the statue of Mithras and made a silent vow to himself. Gods willing, my day will come, the young soldier thought savagely. For Felix, just as it will with Gemellus.

‘Get back to barracks,’ Vahram snapped. ‘And consider yourselves lucky not to be crucified.’

Romulus’ fists clenched, but he did not protest.

Great Belenus, Brennus prayed. Take Felix straight to paradise. I will see him there.

Vahram was not finished. He pointed a stubby finger at Tarquinius. ‘If Pacorus dies, so will you.’ His eyes glinted. ‘And both of your friends here.’

Tarquinius’ face paled. The primus pilus was repeating, albeit unknowingly, Pacorus’ threat. It was the vivid vision of Romulus entering Ostia which gave him strength. He himself might not return to Rome, but his pupil could. Quite how that would happen, Tarquinius was not sure. All he could do was believe in Mithras.

Romulus’ heart sank. Judging by the haruspex’ response, the chances of Pacorus surviving were slim to none. Like mist dispersed by the rising sun, the promised path to Rome vanished again. What hope had they really?

Brennus quietly led him away from Felix’ body, but Romulus turned in the doorway and looked back.

Have faith in Mithras, mouthed the haruspex, inclining his head towards the small statue on the altar. He will