The Silver Eagle

reeled back in agony, Romulus’ gladius took him in the chest, and the warrior fell from view. The ranks behind were ready, however, and Romulus’ vision was immediately filled with snarling, bearded faces. Lowering his shield again, Romulus let the wedge’s momentum carry him forward. Although he could only make out Brennus and another legionary on either side, there were about a hundred men pushing behind them.

Swinging his sword wildly, a screaming Scythian threw himself at Romulus, who took the blow on the metal rim of his scutum. As his enemy raised his arm to repeat the blow, Romulus leaned forward and shoved his gladius deep into the man’s armpit. He knew the damage it would cause — sliding between ribs to slice lungs and large blood vessels, perhaps even the heart. The Scythian’s mouth gaped like a fish and a gush of arterial blood followed the blade out. Romulus grimaced with satisfaction as the corpse fell to the ground. Two down, he thought wearily. A few hundred to go. Yet, judging from the loud roars of encouragement from the men at the back, the wedge was still moving forward.

He pushed on.

A pair of similar-looking heavy-set men, brothers possibly, threw themselves at Romulus next. One grabbed the edge of his shield with his bare hands, pulling it down while the other stabbed forward with a long dagger. Romulus twisted to one side, barely avoiding the blade. A powerful slash followed, sliding off the cheek piece of his helmet and opening a shallow cut under his right eye. The first Scythian was still trying to wrest the scutum from him, so Romulus just let go. He couldn’t fight two enemies at once. Staggering under the unexpected weight of the heavy shield, the man was unbalanced and fell backwards.

That left his brother with the dagger, who smiled now that Romulus had no scutum. Dodging forward, he angled his blade at the young soldier’s unprotected lower legs. Romulus had to react fast. The Scythian was too close to stab with his gladius, so he used his shield hand, his left, to punch the other in the side of the head. As the man went down, half stunned, Romulus reversed his grip on the gladius. Gripping its bone hilt with both fists, he turned the blade and plunged it into the Scythian’s back. Iron grated off his ribs as it slid through to pierce a kidney.

An animal scream of pain rang out and Romulus stooped, twisting the blade slightly to make sure.

Struggling to his feet, the second warrior saw his brother writhing on the ground. Rage distorted his face as he threw himself bodily at Romulus. It was a fatal mistake. Using one of Brennus’ moves, Romulus let go of his sword with his left hand and stood, smashing the Scythian across the face with a stiff forearm. It bought him enough time to regain his gladius and step forward, dispatching his swaying enemy with a simple forward thrust.

Romulus turned his head, checking the situation on either side. On his right, Brennus was wading through Scythians like a man possessed. His sheer size intimidated before he even came to blows with each warrior. But the Gaul also possessed great skill with weapons. Romulus watched with awe as Brennus barged into a large Scythian, pushing him back several steps and knocking over two men in the ranks behind. While the warrior tried to defend himself, Brennus stabbed him in the belly. The Scythian fell and the Gaul leaped over him, cracking the bottom of his shield off the head of another man. Knocking the warrior unconscious, the blow also opened a deep cut in his scalp. Romulus knew exactly why. There was no end to Brennus’ tricks. As in the ludus, the rim of his scutum had been sharpened.

‘We’re nearly through!’ yelled Gordianus from his left, pointing with a bloody gladius.

Romulus grinned. Just three ranks stood between them and the road west.

They redoubled their efforts. After a few moments of cut and thrust, the last Scythians in their path had been dispatched. On the sides of the wedge, their comrades were still fighting past warriors, but the spirit had gone out of their lightly armed enemies. As the opposition melted away, the legionaries came to a gradual halt. Seven had fallen, twice that number had minor flesh wounds, but there were still nearly ninety men who could march. Chests heaving, faces purple with effort, they stopped to savour the view.

‘A bare track never looked so inviting,’ said Gordianus, wiping his brow. ‘Well done, lad.’

Full of gratitude at the other’s acceptance, Romulus did not reply.

Gordianus saw Brennus’ worried look. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

Above the screams of the injured and the battle cries of the Scythian infantry to their rear, Romulus heard the sound of pounding hooves. His skin crawled, remembering Carrhae.

‘Cavalry,’ he said in a monotone.

Alarmed, Gordianus’ eyes darted back to the track in front, which was still empty.

Questions from the other legionaries filled the air, but Romulus ignored them.

They could all hear it now.

Brennus stood calmly, thinking of his wife and son, who had died without him being there to defend them. Of his uncle, who had died saving him. Of his cousin, whose life Brennus had failed to save. Only death could assuage the guilt he felt over these losses. And if he saved Romulus’ life while doing so, he would not have died in vain.

When the first horsemen came into view, Brennus actually smiled.

They were followed by at least two hundred more. Wearing polished scale armour that covered their bodies right down to their thighs, the Scythians were armed with lances, short-headed axes, swords and recurved composite bows. Maximising the full dramatic effect of their appearance, the riders reined in their red-coloured horses and stopped. About two hundred and fifty paces of snow-covered ground separated them from the battered Roman soldiers. Enough distance to reach a full charge.

I have accurately predicted the future, thought Romulus bitterly. But I did not see this.

Nearby, Novius blanched. What chance had they now?

He was not alone in his reaction. Finally taking in what awaited them, Romulus’ spirits plummeted. The divination was my best. And last. We will surely die now. With infantry and archers about to engage them from behind, and the cavalry blocking their way forward, there was nowhere to go. Except to Elysium. From somewhere, Romulus summoned the dregs of his faith in the warrior god. Mithras! Do not forsake us! We are worthy of your favour.

‘How did those bastards get here?’ shouted the older optio. Scythia lay to the south-east, with a long range of mountains between it and Margiana. The communicating passes would be blocked by snow for months.

There was only one answer.

‘They came around the peaks, sir,’ replied Romulus. Only that could explain the Scythians’ presence in midwinter.

‘Why now?’ demanded the optio.

‘To catch us unawares,’ Brennus said. ‘Who would expect an attack of this size at this time of year?’

‘The gods must be angry,’ spat Gordianus, making the sign against evil. Without anger, he glanced at Romulus. They were now comrades again. ‘Have we some hope?’

‘Hardly any,’ he answered.

Fearful mutters rose as this passed back through the ranks.

‘Let’s hope that Darius’ riders made it back then,’ said Gordianus. ‘Or the whole legion could be in danger.’

Behind the wedge, the massed ranks of Scythians were closing in. Simultaneously, the lead cavalryman flicked his reins, forcing his horse into a walk. The trot would be next, followed by the canter.

Their fate was about to be sealed.

‘What are your orders, sir?’ asked Romulus.

The optio looked uncertain. Normally there was a centurion present to tell him what to do.

‘If the horses get any speed up, they’ll cut us to pieces, sir,’ said Romulus.

The optio’s eyes flickered from side to side. On the heights were yet more warriors, with archers ranked behind. Escape that way meant fighting uphill, while being showered with arrows.

‘Let’s hit them quickly, sir,’ said Romulus. ‘That way, there’s a chance of smashing through.’

‘Charge them?’ queried the optio disbelievingly.

‘Yes, sir.’ Romulus glanced back at his frightened-looking comrades. Being hit at the gallop by the