The Silver Eagle

provided was shelter and slight relief from the bitter weather. And news of the Scythian incursion had to be carried back quickly. The raiders would attack again soon, perhaps even at the fort. Using the bright stars to guide their path, they tracked steadily west. There was no sign of the enemy, meaning their escape had probably gone unseen. It was just as well. Brennus had retained his longsword, but all Romulus had to defend himself with was his pugio. Neither had shields. An encounter with the fierce warriors would have only one outcome.

The rest in the cave did not sustain Romulus for long on the freezing, difficult march. With his pounding headache, the young soldier was very grateful for Brennus’ broad shoulder to lean on. As time passed, his strength returned somewhat, as did his determination. Besides, marching was the best way to keep even slightly warm. Under their cloaks, their chain mail was an icy deadweight, while their exposed lower legs were chilled to the bone. Sweat condensed instantly on their brows, and the air was so cold that every breath hurt.

When the outline of the crucifix finally appeared, Romulus felt great relief. Reaching it meant that their suffering was nearly over. But by starlight, the frozen body was even more terrifying. It was impossible not to stare at it as they walked past. Flesh now picked from his bones, the legionary was little more than a skeleton. Even his internal organs had been consumed by the hungry vultures. Teeth grinned from a lipless mouth; empty eye sockets seemed to watch their every step. This time though, Romulus saw nothing beyond the bare bones. But the memory of what he’d seen before burned brightly in his mind. And Tarquinius had seen a path home. Mithras, he prayed. Help me return to Rome.

Brennus made the sign against evil. ‘Not a good way to go, eh?’

Romulus shook his head, making his headache worse than ever. ‘No bastard is ever going to do that to me.’

‘Nor me,’ swore Brennus.

Yet crucifixion was one of the punishments they might receive on their return. It was impossible to predict how the volatile primus pilus would react to their cataclysmic news. ‘What should we do?’

‘Trust the gods,’ Brennus advised. ‘Tell the truth. We’ve done nothing wrong.’

Romulus sighed, unable to think of anything else. Brennus’ faith carried him through situations like they were in now. Normally Romulus struggled with this simple approach. Here in god-forsaken Margiana, death seemed the only certainty in life. But they had survived the ambush, and he gave Mithras the full credit for that. Otherwise Brennus would have fought to the death. Afterwards, both of them would have been beheaded by the Scythians.

They tramped on in grim silence.

By the time the fort’s reassuring shape came into sight, the sky was lightening. This time, a vigilant sentry challenged the pair long before they reached the main entrance. Brennus’ bellowed answer, his simple horsehair- crested helmet and their obvious Roman uniforms were enough to see the gate opened. They had reached safety.

Or so they thought.

The pair received none of the welcome they might have expected when the portal creaked ajar. Instead the waiting faces were full of anger and contempt. The instant they had passed within, a ring of legionaries formed around them, their gladii and shields raised threateningly.

‘Hold on a moment,’ bristled Brennus. ‘What’s going on?’

‘The Scythians out there are the damn enemy, not us,’ added Romulus.

‘Really?’ spat a grizzled soldier with one eye. ‘Cowards!’

‘What?’ responded Romulus disbelievingly. ‘Brennus fought his way free. He saved my life!’

‘Liar,’ shouted another sentry.

‘You ran and left your comrades to die,’ cried a third.

‘Novius got back before us,’ Romulus whispered to Brennus, horrified. ‘The scabby shitbag!’ And Brennus escaped because the gods told him to, he told himself.

The Gaul gave him a resigned nod. Things were going from bad to worse.

‘Of course they fled,’ said the one-eyed man viciously. ‘They’re fucking slaves.’

‘I’ve never run from anyone,’ began Brennus angrily. Then an image of his burning village came to mind. I left my wife and child to die. The memory was a weeping sore in his soul. He fell silent.

A chorus of sneers met his weak protest and the Gaul hung his head.

Romulus was about to say more, but one look at the hard, closed faces all around was enough for the words to die in his throat. His pounding head made it even harder to concentrate, so he sealed his lips. Do not desert us, Mithras, Romulus thought desperately. Not now.

‘We should just kill them,’ shouted a voice from the back. ‘Get it over with.’

At this, the friends gripped their weapons and prepared to fight to the death.

‘Quiet!’ barked the optio in charge. ‘Pacorus wants to see this pair immediately. He’ll have something tasty for them up his sleeve, no doubt.’

Cruel laughter filled the air.

Romulus and Brennus looked at each other numbly. It seemed that their commander had survived, which meant that Tarquinius was still alive. Given their hostile reception, though, they might never see him again.

‘Take their weapons,’ said the optio briskly. ‘Tie their arms.’

Eager to obey, men swarmed in and stripped the friends of longsword and pugio. Neither fought back. Defenceless, their wrists were tightly bound behind their backs with thick rope. Urged on with kicks and taunts, they were frogmarched towards the headquarters.

The fort was just beginning to come alive for the day. A cock cried repeatedly from his roost near the stables for the mules. The smell of baking bread reached them from the ovens. Legionaries were emerging from their barracks, yawning and stretching. Throats were being cleared; phlegm spat on the frozen ground. Queues formed outside the latrines; men joked and laughed with each other. Few took any notice of the small party going past.

Until the one-eyed soldier took it upon himself to let everyone know.

‘Look who it is, boys!’ he roared. ‘The escaped slaves!’

The optio turned and glared, but it was too late. The harm had been done. Sleep- filled faces twisted with anger and insults were hurled through the air. More than one gob of spit flew in their direction. Over and over, the same phrases were repeated and Romulus burned with anger and shame to hear them.

‘Cowards!’

‘You left your friends to die!’

‘Crucify them!’

Men swarmed on to the Via Praetoria, surrounding the optio and his men. Jostling and shoving, they tried to reach the prisoners. The sentries did not put up much resistance.

Romulus shrank away from the mauling hands. Having survived the horror of the patrol, it was utterly demoralising to be on the receiving end of such vitriol. But dying at the hands of a lynch mob held even less appeal. Brennus, his shoulders slumped, barely seemed to notice. This is my reward for running from my family, he thought. The gods’ final revenge. There will be no cleansing redemption in battle.

‘Stand back!’ ordered the optio, using energetic swipes of his staff to beat the enraged legionaries on their arms and shoulders. ‘Anyone who harms them gets fifty lashes!’

Sullenly the soldiers moved away, allowing the group to continue its journey to the Praetoria. Even the Parthian guards there looked down their noses at the two friends. The reaction of those inside the imposing gate was exactly the same. The doorways of the offices and storerooms positioned on three sides of the square forehall soon filled with disapproving faces. The nerve centre of the fort, this was where the quartermaster and a host of junior officers and clerks worked to keep the Forgotten Legion running smoothly. Few of them ever saw combat, but their attitude was just as extreme as the other soldiers. Desertion during combat was one of the most cowardly acts a legionary could commit. Death was the only punishment.

Their lives depended on Pacorus as never before.

They were taken inside the large chamber which directly faced the entrance. The