The Silver Eagle

from their posts. The gods were in a cruel mood. There would be no easy divination tonight: just pain, and possibly death.

Initially, Vahram didn’t even ask any questions. This was about revenge as well as information-gathering. He waited patiently as his men tied Tarquinius’ wrists to an iron ring positioned high up on a pillar in the courtyard. Then he made a simple gesture with his hand. The beating that followed lasted for a long time. The three warriors changed places when their right arms grew tired from wielding the whip.

After a hundred lashes, Tarquinius lost count of the total. He lapsed in and out of consciousness, his tunic and flesh torn to tatters by the long, thin strip of leather with its weighted iron tip. Thick lines of blood ran down his back and on to his legs, congealing around his feet. Tidal waves of agony swamped his whole body. If the gag hadn’t prevented him, he would have bitten through his bottom lip. But he could not stop the involuntary shudders racking him, which made Vahram laugh.

‘Where’s your power now, soothsayer?’ he taunted.

Only the icy wind blowing through the courtyard provided Tarquinius with some relief, numbing his wounds somewhat. But its effect was also deadly. Through the haze of pain, the haruspex knew that if the ordeal continued for much longer, the cold and his injuries would kill him. Without the thick clothing that his tormentors were wearing, no man could last more than a few hours outside.

Vahram knew it too.

Dimly, Tarquinius felt himself being taken down and carried inside. Without ceremony he was dumped by the fire, which released fresh torrents of suffering. While one of the guards stoked the blaze, the others rubbed his feet and arms with blankets until he could feel them again. The haruspex’ extremities tingled and stung as sensation returned to them, and his spirits sank. The ministering that he was receiving proved that his suffering was not over. Vahram was obviously desperate for information and would not stop until he got it.

‘Ready to talk now?’

Tarquinius opened his eyes to find the primus pilus by his side. Vahram undid the gag so that he could speak. ‘What do you want to know?’ he whispered.

Vahram’s lips curved upwards in triumph. ‘Everything,’ he replied. ‘About my future.’

‘Your future?’ Tarquinius croaked. ‘And that of Pacorus?’

Nodding, the primus pilus grew bolder. ‘Who should lead the Forgotten Legion now?’ he murmured. ‘Surely not that cripple in the bed?’

In that instant it was all clear. The haruspex swallowed, his mouth bone dry. With the increasing possibility that Pacorus might survive, Vahram’s hopes were beginning to disappear. His hand was being forced and now the ambitious primus pilus wanted a sign so he could seize command of the Forgotten Legion. If Tarquinius gave it to him, Pacorus would die. And if he did not.

Behind the squat Parthian, the blaze was coming back to life. With new logs to consume, flames darted back and forth, searching for the best place to climb upwards.

Following the haruspex’ gaze, Vahram’s face grew eager. Neither spoke for some moments.

In the white light, the rider whom Tarquinius had seen before reappeared. This time, he got a clear look at his visage. It was definitely Vahram. Missing his right hand, he looked terrified. With huge effort, the haruspex kept his expression blank. He could not reveal this without losing his own life. Vahram’s temper was ferocious.

‘Well?’

His sensed dulled by the pain, Tarquinius could not think of a good response. He shook his head.

Snarling with rage, the primus pilus smashed him full across the face with a clenched fist.

The haruspex felt his nose break. Blood filled his mouth and he coughed up a great gobbet on to the carpet. ‘It is unclear,’ he muttered, his teeth stained red. ‘Lately I have been able to see nothing.’

Disbelief twisted Vahram’s face.

In his bed just a few steps away, Pacorus slept on.

‘Take him outside again.’

The warriors hurried to obey. Hauling Tarquinius upright, they dragged him towards the door.

‘Wait!’ They heard the distinctive noise of a dagger being unsheathed.

There was a long pause.

Looking over his shoulder at what Vahram was doing, one of the guards laughed.

Nausea filled Tarquinius. The primus pilus’ cruelty knew no bounds. Measured steps came closer. When the heated blade touched the deepest of the cuts on his back, the haruspex could help himself no longer. A moan ripped free of his mouth.

Pacorus stirred and Vahram realised that he had gone too far inside the chamber. Taking his hand away, he ushered his guards and their burden through the door. Tarquinius was tied to the iron ring once more.

And the red-hot tip was pressed into his flesh over and over again. Vahram leaned in constantly, whispering in the haruspex’ ear. ‘Tell me, and I’ll stop.’

Desperate to end his own suffering, Tarquinius could not. Except for two details, his normally acute mind had gone blank. Previously he had seen that Pacorus’ role in his and his friends’ future was vital, and tonight the fire had shown that the primus pilus’ life might be in danger. Revealing either of these to Vahram was foolish in the extreme, and he could come up with nothing else. So the torture would go on.

Thankfully the freezing temperature cooled the dagger quickly.

But the primus pilus went straight back inside to the fire.

Weakness overcame Tarquinius and he sagged down, unable to hold himself upright any longer. The rope binding his wrists tightened cruelly, but by now he didn’t even feel that. The pain from the whipping and his burns was threatening to overwhelm him.

Content to wait until their master returned, the guards lounged nearby, chatting idly.

The haruspex’ eyes opened, unfocused. He could feel his strength departing with each heartbeat.

A gust of cold wind hit his face, and he looked upwards.

The night sky of earlier had changed: any sign of the moon and stars had disappeared. Great threatening banks of cloud were building. Deep inside them, flashes of vivid light flared, portents of the storm to come. Loud rumbles could already be heard and the air was heavy with expectation.

A rush of adrenalin coursed through the haruspex’ veins.

Witnessing thunder and lightning was one of the best ways to see the future. The ancient Etruscan books that he had studied so many years before dedicated many volumes to just this type of natural phenomenon. Perhaps he would see something that would pacify the vengeful primus pilus. And save his own life.

Faster than the eye could see, a blinding bolt of light shot out of a cloud bank directly overhead.

His eyes opened wide with shock as a succession of images shot before them.

Scythian riders annihilating a much smaller Roman force.

Five legionaries with raised swords in a circle around Romulus and Brennus.

A corpse hanging from a cross.

A pair of men rolling and tussling beside the dim glow of a fire. In one’s hand was an arrow with a hooked point. Their unknowing companions slept on alongside. The second struggling figure was Romulus.

Light spilled from the bedroom as Vahram emerged, the heated knife clutched in his right hand. He swaggered closer, knowing that Tarquinius could not take much more.

‘Ready to talk?’ he asked softly.

Deep in a trance, Tarquinius did not answer.

Vahram’s lips peeled back with fury and he laid the blade against Tarquinius’ left cheek.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Tarquinius’ lungs filled with air and he screamed. Using the last of his energy, he soared upwards towards the lightning, which was now flashing from the clouds every few moments. Before the end, he had to know.

The arrow threatening Romulus was Scythian. It was covered with scythicon.

The voice came from a long way away. ‘I’ll give you one more chance,’ he said. ‘Should Pacorus die?’primus pilus’

Romulus’ face contorted with effort, but the other man was stronger. Slowly, the hooked point was pushed down towards his unprotected neck.