‘Then they both stayed to fight a rearguard action, sir,’ said Novius, bowing his head. ‘Saved our lives.’
Tarquinius studied the little legionary’s face intently, searching for evidence of lies. So far, his story sounded genuine. But he had noticed that Novius’ eyes kept flicking up and to the left. And malice oozed from him like bile from a cut gall bladder. The injured haruspex was unsure why, but he did not like Novius. Or trust him.
‘I see.’ Pacorus said nothing for a few moments. ‘And there were no more survivors?’
Novius glanced uneasily at his companions.
Vahram seized upon the look like a cat on a mouse. ‘There were!’
Ammias gave Novius the faintest of signals, as did Optatus.
The haruspex frowned at their move, which seemed rehearsed. Perhaps because they did not speak fluent Latin, the Parthians appeared not to notice. Had the trio fled the patrol before the final encounter, and watched from a hidden vantage point as their comrades were massacred? Tarquinius waited.
‘We were obviously done for, sir,’ the little legionary admitted. ‘Some men ran. It happens.’
‘Yet you did not,’ said Pacorus.
Novius was shocked. ‘Of course not, sir.’
Partially satisfied, Pacorus looked at Ishkan and the
It appeared they did, thought Tarquinius bitterly. He did not.
‘I need the names and ranks of any men who fled,’ said Pacorus at length.
Silence.
‘Unless you want a cross each.’
The commander’s threat hung in the air.
‘Forgive us, sir,’ grovelled Novius, genuinely afraid now. ‘We’re loyal soldiers.’
‘Names,’ said Pacorus. ‘Now.’
Novius swallowed hard. ‘I only got a good look at two, sir. Both plain legionaries, but not Romans.’
The commander glared. To him, the nationality of the men under his command was irrelevant.
‘Romulus, sir,’ said Novius hurriedly. ‘And a big Gaulish brute by the name of Brennus.’
Tarquinius bit back the retort which sprang to his lips. He would have given Novius the benefit of the doubt about any other men in the century. Now, though, it was certain that he was a liar.
Pacorus swelled with anger. How could he forget the young soldier who had refused to give him his shield? It was the last thing he remembered before being struck by the Scythian arrows. ‘Cowardly scum,’ he growled.
‘I know those men too, sir,’ Vahram hissed. His gaze strayed to Tarquinius, who instantly pretended to be unconscious. ‘They’re treacherous bastards. Friends of his.’ He jerked a thumb at the haruspex.
Novius understood enough Parthian to turn his head and see the figure lying by the fire. He smiled in malevolent recognition. It was their own non-Roman centurion, who had been left behind while they went on the patrol. Tarquinius’ battered appearance told its own story. ‘That’s right, sir,’ he said viciously. ‘And the centurion was always showing them extra favours.’
‘Did they escape?’ asked Pacorus.
‘Not sure, sir,’ answered the little legionary. ‘It was right in the middle of the fight, you see.’
Optatus and Ammias shook their heads in agreement.
The commander bared his misshapen, yellow teeth. ‘Let’s hope that the Scythians find the mangy dogs. Or that the gods deliver them to us once more.’
Novius bobbed his head ingratiatingly, concealing the gleam of triumph in his eyes.
The haruspex’ intuition told him the true story. It was the three ragged soldiers who had run from the massacre. Then, at the end, they had seen Romulus and Brennus fight their way free. He did not know whether to rejoice or to cry. His friends might be alive, but they were alone in the frozen wilderness with no supplies. Even if they managed to escape the Scythians, certain death now awaited them if they reached the fort.
And he could do nothing about it.
Utter helplessness swamped Tarquinius, and weakened by his wounds and the cold, he succumbed to unconsciousness.
Chapter XIII: Betrayal
Margiana, winter 53/52 BC
Romulus’ first awareness was of the terrible pain that filled his head. Great waves of it washed over him, utterly draining his energy. Then there would be a short lag phase before another hit. After an age, he felt able to move again. By gently wriggling them, Romulus could feel his fingers and his toes. They were not warm, but at least they still functioned. Aware that he was lying flat on a rough stone floor, the young soldier gingerly opened his eyes.
There was a low roof almost within hand’s reach. It was a cave. Turning his head, the first thing Romulus saw was Brennus’ muscular back, bending over a small fire. Relief filled him. They were still free. Mithras had saved their lives after all.
‘Where are we?’ Romulus croaked, his throat dry with thirst.
The Gaul spun on his heel, a wide grin splitting his blood-covered face. ‘Belenus be thanked!’ he cried. ‘I wasn’t sure if your skull had been cracked.’
Romulus lifted a hand to the back of his head and probed gently. ‘Don’t think so,’ he replied, wincing as his fingers found a fist-sized lump just above the hairline. ‘Damn painful though.’
‘Thankfully this took the worst of it,’ said Brennus, lifting a battered lump of bronze which Romulus vaguely recognised as his helmet. ‘I had difficulty getting it off.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was Primitivus,’ revealed Brennus, his breath visible in the chill air. ‘Crept up and hit you from behind. I slew the fool immediately, but you had already gone down.’
The veterans would stop at nothing. Romulus shook his head in confusion, releasing another wave of agony. ‘Are you injured?’
‘No,’ said the Gaul. ‘This is Primitivus’ blood.’
Romulus was very relieved. ‘How in Hades did we get away?’
‘With Primitivus gone, Novius and his mates tried to make a break for it. Two or three others ran too,’ said Brennus. ‘It distracted many of the Scythians. The remainder were busy attacking what few of our lot weren’t killed or injured. Somehow I was sure that it wasn’t my time to die. I wasn’t sure you were dead either, so I fell down and pulled Primitivus on top of me. The enemy cavalry drove forward, leaving us on open ground. The fighting went on for some time, and no one was looking back. It was just a matter of carrying you over the nearest rise and out of view. After taking a breather, I went up into the broken ground. Found this cave about half a mile away.’
The young soldier could only marvel at his friend’s strength. The distance Brennus had mentioned so casually would have crippled any other man. ‘What about the rest?’
The Gaul’s face darkened. ‘Gone,’ he said heavily. ‘I looked back once and there were maybe fifteen men still standing. But the Scythians were swarming around them like rats. They had no chance.’
Romulus closed his eyes. Even though the legionaries had recently made them outcasts, he felt genuine grief. They had been serving in the same century for over six months, and in the same army for over two years.
‘It wasn’t for nothing,’ growled Brennus. ‘They bought us enough time to escape.’
‘That makes it even worse.’
‘Our burden is heavier because of it,’ Brennus agreed, remembering his uncle’s sacrifice.
‘And just think what the Scythians will do to the bodies.’
‘Don’t think about that. Our getting away means that the gods have not totally forgotten us. We live to fight another day.’
‘True,’ admitted Romulus. ‘What about Novius and the others? Did they make it?’
Brennus’ face darkened. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope not.’
Without blankets, food or equipment, the friends had no choice but to leave the small cave behind. All it
