His energy utterly spent, Tarquinius plummeted down to earth.
It was over. All his predictions had been wrong. Romulus would not return to Rome.
Vahram had had enough. Lifting his dagger to the haruspex’ throat, he moved in until only a finger’s breadth separated their faces.
Bizarrely, Tarquinius smiled. Olenus had been wrong also. His journey would end here too, in Margiana.
The
Chapter X: Defeat
Margiana, winter 53/52 BC
‘Scum,’ hissed Optatus, his teeth clenched. ‘How dare you join the army?’
Romulus could not take his eyes off the arrow tip. If it even scratched his skin, he would die in screaming agony.
‘Death’s too good for you,’ whispered Optatus. ‘But at least this way will be painful.’
The burly veteran was using his right hand to push towards Romulus’ jugular, which meant that the young soldier’s weaker left arm had to try to prevent him. Stopping him from crying out, Optatus’ other hand was clamped over Romulus’ mouth. Even his sword arm could not remove it. And his enemy’s greater strength meant that the arrow’s hooked point was moving towards his neck with a slow, dreadful inevitability. Romulus struggled not to panic. If he did that, his life would be over. Faced with certain death, his desire to survive suddenly became overwhelming.
Bending his right leg with a jerk, he tried to knee Optatus in the groin.
‘Got to do better than that, boy,’ sneered the veteran, twisting his hips and avoiding injury.
Frantic, Romulus turned his head from side to side. His sword was just out of reach, as was the fire.
Optatus grinned viciously and leaned down on the arrow.
Desperation filled every fibre of Romulus’ being. By stretching out, it might be possible to kick over a burning log, and the noise of that might wake Brennus. He would hurt himself badly, but he could think of nothing else. Marching with burns to one foot could be no worse than death, Romulus thought grimly. The notion of staying alive until at least dawn was enough. Managing to hold the barbed point a few fingers’ width from his neck, he wriggled around, reaching out with his left sandal. It was no use, and terror filled Romulus once more.
Sensing this, the big veteran grimaced with effort and put all of his strength into stabbing Romulus with the lethal metal tip. Then his face changed. In a heartbeat, it went from surprised to relaxed, and he slumped down on top of Romulus, a dead weight. The arrow point buried itself in the ground less than a hand span from the young soldier’s left ear.
Staring at the shaft, Romulus’ eyes bulged with horror. Death had been so close.
Optatus was pulled off with a great heave to reveal Brennus’ grinning face crouched over him. ‘Looked like you needed a little help,’ he whispered, wiping blood off the hilt of his longsword.
‘You’ve only knocked him unconscious?’ whispered Romulus, aghast at Brennus’ restraint. ‘This is a Scythian arrow! The bastard was trying to kill me.’
‘I know,’ replied the Gaul with an apologetic shrug. ‘But we need all the men here to have a chance of breaking out.’ He kicked Optatus. ‘Even him.’
The veterans might not know it, but Brennus was right, thought Romulus bitterly.
Checking that Darius and the officers were still asleep, they dragged Optatus’ bulk back to the space he was sharing with Novius and the others.
Shaken, the little legionary jumped up as they dumped Optatus’ body beside their fire. ‘Wake up!’ he hissed at Ammias and Primitivus.
Their faces befuddled by sleep, his comrades jerked bolt upright.
Romulus and Brennus used their swords to cover both.
Novius regarded the pair warily: now it was they who had the advantage. Two against three, but he was the only one ready to fight.
‘He’s not dead,’ said Brennus coldly.
Novius’ face registered surprise, then shock. He knelt and laid a hand to Optatus’ neck. Finding a pulse, he nodded at Ammias and Primitivus. Both looked very relieved.
‘The scumbag should be though,’ added Romulus, throwing down the Scythian arrow. ‘This is what he came visiting with.’
Ammias flinched and Romulus saw that they had all known about it.
Novius’ expression turned calculating. ‘Why didn’t you kill him?’
Romulus and Brennus did not answer.
‘Whatever it was won’t save your skins,’ Novius sneered. ‘Being nice doesn’t entitle you to mercy.’
‘Dirty slaves,’ said Primitivus contemptuously.
Brennus growled deep in his throat, wishing he had not held back.
Romulus’ anger boiled up, but he did not respond. Keeping silent about the possible Scythian attack was about the only advantage they had. ‘Might as well get what rest we can,’ he said to Brennus. He turned and walked away silently, the Gaul by his side.
‘Fools,’ said the little legionary with a smirk of satisfaction. ‘They’ll be dead before we get back to the fort.’
While it was still dark, Darius had the men stand to. The moon had set, but the crystal-clear sky overhead was bright with stars. In the freezing air, no sound could be heard from the enemy camp. A party was sent out to gather as many javelins as possible. Although the Roman
Grateful that the long night was over, the two centuries waited for Darius’ orders. Brennus and Romulus took the time to stretch and rub their chilled muscles thoroughly. Many who saw them did the same. It was techniques like this which gave men the edge in combat.
Darius was in a better mood as he addressed his soldiers. ‘Leave your yokes behind. Without them, this should be simple,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll use a wedge formation to smash through to the track west. Remember your comrades who died here.’ He pointed at the barracks. ‘Kill as many Scythians as you can, but don’t stop.’
Teeth flashed in the darkness as men smiled wolfishly. They stamped their feet in anticipation.
‘Once through their lines, we double time it until I say stop.’
‘That won’t be long then, sir,’ piped up Gordianus from the safety of the ranks.
There was muffled laughter at his joke. Beside the fit, lean legionaries, Darius was a portly figure.
The senior centurion had the grace to smile. ‘I can run when needs must,’ he answered.
Romulus was pleased. This was more like the leader he was used to.
‘We wait for no one,’ said Darius fiercely. ‘Anyone who falls is to be left behind. Including me. Is that clear?’
Everyone nodded.
‘Good.’ Darius strode into the middle of the men, his guard by his side. ‘Form up outside the gate.’
Making as little noise as possible, the legionaries walked out of the fortlet. Without fuss, they positioned themselves into a large V-shape, with Romulus and Brennus at the apex. Not even Novius had protested when the pair demanded this honour; he did not realise it was to show the other soldiers that the two friends were no cowards. The wedge was a useful attacking formation and with men like these at the front, it had more chance of success. Once moving, it was extremely hard for an enemy to stop. But the point was also the most dangerous place to be. Being killed was very likely.
By now, their eyes had adjusted to the dim light. Past the scattered corpses, it was possible to make out the shapes of sleeping men around a few small fires nearby. Groups of hobbled horses stood behind, moving gently from foot to foot. Steam rose from the beasts’ thick coats. Still not a sound reached them from the Scythians.
Romulus grinned. Just like Darius’ refusal to believe in his vision, these warriors could not imagine an attack
