Margiana, autumn 53 BC
Spanning fifteen hundred miles, the journey from Seleucia had taken in all terrains and weather types. It had been an extraordinary experience for the legionaries, Crassus' campaign having provided little skill at survival in such environments. Encouraged by Tarquinius, surviving optiones and harsh Parthian discipline, the prisoners had toughened up beyond measure. Three months later, fitter than ever before, muscled, tanned dark brown, the men were recognisable only by their tattered uniforms. New cloth standards had been fashioned for each century and five thousand scuta covered with silk. Tarquinius had been busy each night, supervising the soldiers as they stitched multiple layers in place. Helmets and spear tips flashed in the sunlight; neat ranks marched in step for twenty miles every day. The trumpeters were still being used, but Pacorus had also trained the men to recognise new commands from the drums.
The Forgotten Legion was now an intimidating sight, but there had been no action on the long march. As the soldiers had soon discovered, few people lived in the vast emptiness of central Parthia. No one had complained. The memory of Carrhae was still raw.
Some weeks after the encounter with Isaac, the flat, arid terrain had been replaced by a range of hills covered in scrubby bushes and trees. Marching through them, the legionaries entered the green plains of Margiana. To their delight, there were frequent watercourses, fed from the mountains visible on all sides. This was inhabitable land, the polar opposite of the wastes left behind. It reminded Romulus of the countryside he had seen while journeying from Rome to Brundisium.
Water bottles were now full every day, the game plentiful and temperatures acceptable. Each night the men's bellies were stuffed with meat. The Parthian guards relaxed. Life had become more enjoyable. Even the cloud of vultures that had followed them all the way from Seleucia thinned out and disappeared.
The attention of the gods had been drawn away from the Forgotten Legion.
'You were right!' Felix stared at the verdant scenery with delight. 'Rivers. Fertile soil. There are farms here.'
'Told you,' answered Brennus with a smile. 'Trust Tarquinius.'
Felix shook his head in amazement.
Cultivated areas and clusters of low mud huts were common. Several villages had been spotted, but Pacorus did not enter them. He was deliberately keeping a low profile. There had been only one stop, lasting several days, near a small Hellenic-looking town surrounded by a protective wall.
Tarquinius and the Parthian had gone in alone, and had placed an order with every blacksmith to be found. Margianian iron was renowned in Parthia for its quality and was used to forge the cataphracts' armour. On the third afternoon they had returned, their mules laden with thousands of long spears. The weapons had immediately been issued to half the men and training had begun the next morning. New manoeuvres were taught, soldiers grumbling as they were organised into strange formations.
Nobody was told why. But Brennus and Romulus suspected. As usual, the Etruscan would not say.
Wishing to reach the border quickly, Pacorus led the Forgotten Legion in a northeasterly direction across Margiana until they had reached rolling grassland. Filled with abundant wildlife, the virgin green landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. Antelope were sighted daily, allowing hunting parties to provide the army with even more fresh meat. To vary their diet, Romulus and Brennus caught fish from streams.
Occasionally they saw encampments of large, round tents with pointed roofs. Herds of horses, sheep and goats spread out around the settlements, grazing the lush pasture. Men and boys on horseback kept watch over the animals. Just as Tarquinius had described, the tribesmen were squat people with yellow skin, black hair and slanted eyes.
'Outlandish-looking folk,' commented Brennus as they passed a sizeable group of tents. 'But they seem peaceful enough.'
The riders nearby reined in and watched impassively as the column marched past. Their rough cloth jerkins and trousers were covered in autumn mud and they carried only the ubiquitous bows and hunting knives. Few legionaries bothered to look. The locals were of no consequence.
Tarquinius nodded. 'They are practically settled. But the nomadic Sogdians who raid this area look very similar.'
Brennus stared curiously at the riders' flat noses and high cheekbones. 'I'll wager they've not set eyes on too many of us.'
'Or seen a man your size!' said Romulus.
They both laughed.
'Their ancestors would have.' Tarquinius always had more information. 'Alexander founded the city of Antiochia not far from here and it is still the capital of Margiana. Most of the trade from the east passes through its gates.'
'Local legends tell of mighty soldiers with pale skin and blond hair who crushed all before them.' Pacorus had overheard the comment as he rode by.
Those who could understand some Parthian looked round with interest.
'Greeks!' said Romulus, imagining the army that had marched so far from home, nearly three centuries before. As ever, the thought fired his imagination.
It was old news to Tarquinius.
'This area has only been under our control for a generation,' the Parthian officer continued. 'The inhabitants don't like us and rebellions are common. And tribes from the north think the grasslands are theirs to graze, the towns free to plunder. The Forgotten Legion's job is to teach them different.'
'Plenty of fighting then, sir?' There was a glint in Brennus' eye.
'Quite likely,' revealed Pacorus. 'And very soon.'
Romulus felt a surge of pride to hear the name being used and from their reactions, other men felt the same way too. They were still Roman soldiers. The eagle still led from the front. Holding on to their identity had been a crucial part of survival. Without it they were nothing. Prisoners with no future, banished to the ends of the earth.
'We are needed at the border,' Tarquinius said unexpectedly.
Pacorus' mouth opened. 'Messengers brought word this morning,' he admitted gloomily. 'Been a raid by Sogdian tribesmen. Thousands of the bastards. They've hit several towns north of the capital. Burned them to the ground.'
'The men are ready, sir.' The Etruscan indicated the silk on every shield, the long spears. 'If I could have a word. '
'Why?' asked the Parthian suspiciously.
'Got a surprise for the enemy.'
Pacorus beckoned.
Everyone watched with bated breath as the Etruscan broke ranks to confer with their commanding officer. Tarquinius spoke urgently, gesturing with his hands while the other listened. The conversation did not last long.
Pacorus barked an order at the trumpeters, who immediately signalled the legion with silk covers to halt.
'This plan had better work, soothsayer.'
'It will,' said Tarquinius calmly.
Moments later, the Parthian second-in-command led away the other half of the legion to the west, towards Antiochia. When the men with Tarquinius realised their comrades were not also heading for battle, insults filled the air. Soldiers marching away responded with laughs and jeers.
'Where are they going?' asked Felix.
'To defend the capital.' The Etruscan smiled. 'And set up camp. There 'll be no ditches to dig when we return.'
'From where?' said Felix dubiously.
'The river forming the border.'
Questions flew thick and fast as men clamoured to know more.
But Tarquinius would not answer and stepped back into line, fixing his eyes on the horizon.
Trumpets blared stridently and drums pounded. Officers listened, then roared the commands. The soldiers moved off, thousands of iron-shod sandals grinding the grass flat.
'Sons of whores have probably escaped.' Pacorus stared into the haze. 'We got here too late.'
Long grass extended south to the horizon. In the distance, a range of low hills ran from left to right. Clumps of trees provided the only variation in the panorama. Birds sang overhead, competing with the hum of countless insects. The air was still, carrying every sound. Some distance away, a herd of antelope nervously watched the soldiers. It did not take long for them to move away, grazing as they went. Bright sunshine lit up the fertile land, but there was no sign of human inhabitants. This was too near Sogdia.
It was fierce tribesmen from the bare steppes that the Forgotten Legion was waiting for.
'There's been no sign of their passage,' Tarquinius reassured him.
Behind the legion's massed ranks stood the Parthian guards, the trumpeters and drummers. At their backs ran a broad, swiftly moving river. Muddy tracks near their position led down the bank into the water, good sign of a crossing point. The hoof prints mostly led out, into Margiana. It was clear that few horses had passed north in recent days.
The Parthian glanced at the ford yet again.
'You said yourself it would take them three days to get here.'
Pacorus grunted irritably.
'Only been a couple.' Despite the nature of the relationship, Tarquinius was careful to address the Parthian respectfully.
Pacorus changed the subject. 'The men did well.' Marching over fifty miles in two days had been an ordeal. 'Are they still ready to fight?'
'Of course, sir.' Again Tarquinius indicated the long spears carried by the legionaries. Fitted with barbed iron heads, the thick shafts were twice the length of normal pila.
The swarthy warrior nodded with approval.
'Is this definitely the only safe ford?' asked the Etruscan, checking.
'For thirty miles in either direction.' Pacorus scowled. 'They must cross here!'
Tarquinius fell silent. He did not move for so long that the Parthian began shifting nervously in his saddle. At length the haruspex smiled.
'They will be here by early afternoon.' It was unspoken, but there was no doubt now who was more powerful. 'No later.'
'You are sure?'
'Yes.'
Pacorus eyed the nearest grove of trees. 'And the hidden men?'
'They will not move until the trumpets sound, sir.'
Silence fell. There was nothing more to do but wait.
As usual, Tarquinius was correct. The sun had just passed its zenith when the few scouts returned at a gallop. Shortly after that, a large dust cloud appeared in the distance. Laden with spoils, the Sogdians were returning to their homeland. They would be careless, arrogant with success. From conversation with Pacorus, the Etruscan knew it was unlikely there had been any opposition to the raid. Parthia's armed forces in Margiana were at dangerously low levels and towns to the south would have paid dearly for their lack of defences. The tribesmen would hardly be expecting to meet thousands of legionaries blocking the route north.
Nine of the cohorts were arranged in battle formation, a good distance from the river. Five were in the centre, a pair on each wing. Soldiers in each ranked sixty across, eight deep. Men in the front four rows held long spears, those behind carried pila and every scutum was covered in silk. Small gaps between the units left room to manoeuvre once fighting started. Acting as reserves, the Parthian warriors were situated to the rear while the tenth cohort was hidden in trees five hundred paces in front, slightly off to one side.
Bucinae sounded as the Forgotten Legion moved into final position. Cohorts on the flanks moved forward a short distance, creating a curve in the defensive line.
They were ready.
'They're coming!' Romulus peered anxiously through thick summer leaves. 'I can't see anything, though.'
'Patience.' Brennus sharpened his longsword with a whetstone. The Etruscan had managed to obtain the items from Pacorus, the blade a souvenir from Carrhae. The Gaul now wore it in a scabbard across his broad back while a gladius hung from his belt, vital for close combat. 'Plenty of time yet. Won't be our turn till the end.'
Romulus sighed, never having watched a battle from the sidelines before. The grove faced south, wide enough to conceal five hundred men from view. They could remain hidden until the Sogdians had engaged with the other cohorts.
The soldiers behind them were ready to fight, their faces set. It had been months since they had seen any action and most were eager to change that. The men had fought together under Crassus because it was their duty, but Carrhae and a fifteen-hundred-mile march had forged strong bonds between all of the prisoners. Now they would gladly fight and die for each other — because there was no one else.
Their stout commander Darius was one of the more likeable Parthians. He too had heard the trumpets. Riding over, he dismounted, tying his horse 's reins to a low branch. 'We will teach these dogs a lesson,' he said in poor Latin. 'For invading Parthian territory.'
Romulus grinned. Few of the new officers had bothered to learn their soldiers' language but Darius was an exception.
Brennus swung the longsword back and forth. 'Just let us at the bastards!' he replied, wondering if they had reached the end of the world. No one could win such a battle. Except Brennus.Tarquinius' words resonated through him. If the time was now, Brennus was ready.
Darius stood back a little, clearly awed by the Gaul's huge muscles and strange weapon. 'You are a Roman?'
'No!' Brennus swept back his pigtails angrily. 'I am an Allobroge, sir.'
The Parthian looked at him blankly.
'A Gaul. Different tribe, sir.'
'Why fight for Rome? Money?'
'That's a long story. We were slaves.' Brennus laughed, winking at Romulus. 'Gladiators.'
Darius rolled his tongue round the unfamiliar word. 'Gladi. ators?'
'We were paid to fight others while people watched. It is a sport in Rome.'
'Professional fighters! And now you are Parthian soldiers.'
Brennus and Romulus exchanged a glance.
The Sogdians arrived some time after the scouts. From their hidden position, Romulus and the others had a grandstand view of what transpired.
As predicted, there were several thousand tribesmen in the large war band. The column was fifteen or twenty men wide and extended back for some distance. Following in the rear came shepherds driving flocks of stolen sheep and goats, food for the coming winter. Yellow-skinned, black-haired and squat, the warriors halted their small, agile ponies not far from the grove. Most wore fur hats, leather jerkins and trousers and carried composite bows, round shields and swords. Every mount was heavily laden with bags of booty.
Consternation reigned when the raiders drew near enough to take in the Forgotten Legion. Yanking their reins back violently, the Sogdians pulled up, conferring in loud voices. The racket was audible even to the hidden cohort. Arms waved angrily, threats were made, weapons drawn. The warriors were not happy. It was not until a group of riders from the back galloped up that things calmed down.
One of the newcomers, a swarthy thickset figure with a beard, seemed to be in charge. Quarrelling men fell back in obvious deference when he spoke. The leader sat calmly contemplating the nine cohorts and conferring with his officers.
'He wouldn't have been expecting resistance this close to the border,' chuckled Darius. 'Been no troops here since the moment Orodes heard Crassus was thinking of invasion.'
The Sogdian leader was no coward. There was only a brief pause before he made a chopping gesture straight at the river. A group of two hundred warriors clad in metal helmets and chain mail waited with their chief while the remainder immediately rode forward in a sweeping curve that would carry them across the Roman front.
A flock of birds scattered into the air, startled by the noise of drumming hooves. Bows already half drawn, the bunched tribesmen charged at the Forgotten Legion.
An order rang out. Men in the front rank dropped to their knees, protecting the lower legs. Thousands of scuta clattered together as each cohort formed a testudo. It did not appear remotely threatening.
The riders smiled with contempt. Bowstrings were drawn taut as they came within killing range and grunts of effort accompanied the release. Hissing sounds reached Romulus as swarms of arrows flew towards the silk-covered shields. It was an awful noise, vividly evoking the carnage of Carrhae. But Tarquinius had trained the men well. Not a chink showed in the wall of fabric facing the archers.
The shafts landed in one great shower.
Romulus closed his eyes, unable to watch.
Brennus laughed, alarming him. 'By Belenus, look!' he whispered. 'It worked.'
Muted cheering was heard from the Roman lines. Sogdian arrows jutted from every scutum, but not one had gone right through.
Romulus was delighted. The Etruscan had related the tale of Isaac's silk and the ruby to them afterwards. Obviously the purchase had been well worth it.
Excited whispers broke out as the legionaries took in the impossible.
'Silence!' glared Darius. 'It's not over yet.'
Reluctantly the men obeyed.
The enemy leader was most displeased. Roaring with anger, he sent in another attack straight after the first. It made no difference. His riders withdrew without causing a single casualty, most of their shafts now wasted. As they fell back, the Romans began beating sword hilts off their scuta, mocking the enemy.
Access to the ford was still denied and there was no camel train for the Sogdians to replenish their arrows.
It was time for the heavy cavalry. The Sogdian shouted commands at the mailed warriors round him, then at the bowmen. Visors clanged down, curved swords were drawn, shields lifted high.
Darius looked worried. This was what had broken Crassus' soldiers once before. But there was no doubt in Romulus' and Brennus' eyes. The relentless training of the men by the Etruscan was about to pay off.
Intent on smashing straight through to the river, the armoured horsemen formed a great wedge and charged forward, followed by the entire contingent.
Tarquinius and Pacorus were ready.
As Romulus watched, each testudo broke up smoothly and both flanks moved forward, forming an even greater curve in the line. Four ranks of long spears emerged from every cohort, poking out in a bristling hedge of sharp metal. Men behind readied their pila in welcome for the raiders. It was a totally different approach to normal Roman tactics.
The Sogdians had never fought defenders in such close, disciplined formation. Any enemies who did not flee after one or two volleys always broke before a charge. Ignoring the Roman response, they thundered down on the armoured squares with whoops and yells. Dust rose in thick clouds, mounts' nostrils flared with effort, the ground shook.
'Horses will never ride on to that,' said Brennus, pointing at the dense network of metal and wood. 'They are too intelligent.'
'That haruspex is a genius,' exclaimed Darius as he saw what was about to happen. 'Carrhae would have ended differently if your general had listened to him.'
'He never got the chance, sir,' replied Romulus regretfully. 'Tarquinius was just a simple soldier then.'
'And now he fights for us. The gods must be thanked!'
A tremendous noise went up as hundreds of horses reached the Roman positions. Desperate to avoid the deadly iron points, they skidded to a stop, rearing up and unseating many riders. Those in the vanguard were driven on to the spears by the crush from behind. The air filled with Sogdian screams as men were impaled on the impenetrable wall of metal. Their steeds fared no better. In some areas legionaries were driven back, the lines buckling with pressure. But the sheer number of long shafts projecting forward was enough to withstand the combined weight of men and animals. The charge came to an abrupt halt. Dozens of warriors had been killed or wounded while the remainder milled about aimlessly, unable to reach the enemy.
'Time for a volley,' hissed Brennus. 'Only the ones at the front have chain mail.'
The words had barely left his lips when the soldiers with pila drew back and released. A dark cloud of javelins flew in a low arc overhead to rain down on the densely packed Sogdians.
At such close range and against men with no armour, the Roman pilum was deadly. Scores of Sogdians fell from the saddle to be trampled underfoot. Horses which had been hit spun in circles, kicking madly. Desperate to escape, others turned and bolted. Used to easy victories over poorly armed townspeople, it was too much for the tribesmen. The survivors turned and fled to safety.
There was little mercy for the fallen. As soon as the Sogdians were some distance away, legionaries darted forward into the piles of bodies, killing the wounded. The gruesome task completed, the ranks swiftly reformed, once more presenting an unforgiving wall of shields.
Romulus could barely contain himself. The new tactics adopted by Tarquinius were revolutionary. A buzz of excitement shot through his cohort as word spread to the back.
'The fool is going to try again,' announced Brennus.
The Sogdian chief was rallying his war band, preparing for another charge.
'The nearest ford is a day's journey away,' explained Darius. 'More, on tired mounts. They'll try again before doing that. Just what we want.' He turned to the nearby officers. 'Prepare to advance!'
Pacorus' trumpets sounded when the enemy riders had covered exactly half the distance to the legionaries. It was the signal they had been waiting for.
'Forward!' shouted the stout Parthian, urging his horse forward. 'Double time!' He trotted through the covering trees, out into the open.
Romulus, Brennus and five hundred eager men followed.
Totally absorbed in their attack, the Sogdians were not looking to the rear. Every rider pressed forward, those at the front attempting to cut a way past the long spears. As the tenth cohort pelted after Darius, the Roman flanks moved in closer, boxing in the tribesmen on three sides. Soon the entire force was involved in the fighting. There was no possible escape for the enemy.
Except to the south.
Swords rang on scuta, urging them on. The sound was coupled with shouts and cries, trumpet blasts, the scream of orders. As in the first attack, most horses had stalled, balking at the prospect of impalement. But the sheer momentum of the charge had carried a few warriors through the defensive shield wall, face to face with the Romans. Their mounts were quickly hamstrung, the riders hauled down and dispatched. Sogdian heads began to turn to the rear, seeking an escape from the lethal spears. Fear filled their eyes as some men saw what was about to happen.
Darius roared encouragement over his shoulder. 'Quickly! We must close the gap!'
Faces purple from running in full armour and carrying heavy scuta, the soldiers redoubled their efforts. Already they had covered more than half the ground.
'Spread out! Hundred men across. Five deep!'
Flowing smoothly, the cohort changed shape. Some of the running figures slowed while others increased their speed. It was one of many routines that had been practised countless times a lifetime before, when the legionaries fought for Rome.
Moments later, the first ranks reached the edge of the right flank. Locked in desperate combat, most Sogdians had still not seen the danger. Their chief was at the front of the melee, trying to batter a route through to the river.
Then the trap closed.
Darius' men were completely blocking the way out of the 'bull's horns'. Romulus grinned, remembering Cotta's lessons. Tarquinius was using the tactic employed by Hannibal at Cannae, when more than fifty thousand Romans had lost their lives.
Chests heaving, he and Brennus waved at the nearest soldiers.
Grinning broadly, they raised weapons in salute.
The Sogdians were dead men. In close combat, nobody on earth was as dangerous as the legionary. Every Roman knew it.
After the humiliation of Carrhae, it was exhilarating.
'Close order!' Junior officers pushed the men nearer to each other. 'Forward! At the double!'
Shields were raised, narrowing the gaps between till only the sharp blades of gladii protruded. The long spears had been too unwieldy to run with. Protected by bronze helmets, lines of hard faces were visible over the scuta. Romulus and his comrades advanced quickly, on to an enemy who was beginning to realise that there was no way out.
Screams of terror greeted the Forgotten Legion.
In the Roman centre, Tarquinius' eyes glinted.
Some of the Sogdians wheeled their mounts and charged at Darius' soldiers. Launched at the run, a swift volley of pila broke up the attempt to escape and soon there was no space for the horses to do more than turn on the spot. The cohort pressed closer, swords searching for homes in Sogdian flesh.
It was bloody and exhausting work. When the men in Darius' front ranks grew tired, they simply closed the shield wall completely. Held at bay by the press of bodies and the spears of the other three sides, the enemy could do nothing. But the Sogdians did not give in easily. Eager to fight still, many dismounted, shoving their way forwards on foot to hack at the legionaries.
Romulus fought with Brennus on one side of him and Felix on the other, each protected by the man on his left. The young soldier's sword felt like a living thing in his hand as warrior after warrior fell beneath it. Their lines moved forward relentlessly, compressing the Sogdians ever more tightly. Gladii stabbed back and forth, cutting deep with every stroke and covering their arms with blood. It was impossible to miss. Shrieks filled the air, rendering the officers' orders and the trumpets almost inaudible. It did not matter. The repetitive motion was hypnotic, its result absolutely lethal.
But the Sogdians were not completely beaten. Their leader finally managed to rally fifty of his mailed warriors together, using the space left by his own dead. Turning their horses' heads to the south, they drove forward at Darius' men. Attacking the legionaries without the long spears was their only chance of escape.
Romulus' eyes widened as the frantic mounts pounded straight towards them. The impact would be massive.
'Close order!' roared Darius. 'Rear ranks, move in tight!'
Scuta slammed off each other and the men braced themselves. But nobody backed away. This would be a minor setback only; the battle 's outcome was already certain.
And then the enemy was upon them. Horses crashed into the Roman shield wall, smashing it asunder. Romulus was thrown to one side, knocking his head as he went down. Half stunned, he fell on top of Felix. For a few moments he lay, unaware of his surroundings. Then he realised that the little Gaul was shaking his shoulder and shouting at him.
'Brennus!' Felix' eyes were wild. 'It's Brennus!'
Romulus' stomach lurched and he clambered to his feet, trying to make sense of the maelstrom of flashing swords, fighting men and sweating mounts all around him. Gradually he saw that somehow the rear ranks had not given way before the Sogdian charge. This amazing effort had confined the group of enemy warriors within the ranks of the cohort, creating a confusing mass of animals and humans. There were no longer discernible lines among the legionaries, no lines of battle. It was simply a matter of hacking at the nearest enemy.
'There!' cried Felix, pointing frantically.
Romulus took it in instantly. Brennus had also been bowled over by a horse and in the time it had taken him to get up, he had been surrounded by the Sogdians who were still trying to break out to freedom. At least ten riders ringed the Gaul, slashing downwards at him with long cavalry blades. He could see that Brennus was fighting more slowly than usual.
'Come on!' Romulus yelled, noting the deep wound on his friend's right arm. His sword arm. 'We haven't got long.'
Felix nodded grimly and together they launched themselves at the warriors, immediately hauling two from the saddle. The men were dispatched with swift gladius thrusts. Their horses turned and bolted, opening up the way through the melee. Romulus snatched a Sogdian lance from its dead owner and shoved it deep into the side of the rider nearest him. Keeping a firm grip on the shaft, he pulled it free as the screaming man fell away out of view. The young soldier used it to kill another warrior before a large Sogdian engaged him. Between sword thrusts, Romulus cast desperate glances at Brennus. The Gaul was holding his own. Only just. There were several new flesh wounds on his arms and face, but strangely Brennus did not seem scared.
Quickly, Romulus hamstrung his opponent's horse, hacking off the man's left arm as his mount went down kicking. Was this what Tarquinius had been sad about during the retreat from Carrhae: Brennus dying alone, surrounded by his own comrades? Fear constricted his throat. This could not be the time. Not Brennus. Not now.
By now, Felix had maimed another Sogdian and three of the others had been killed by legionaries on either side of them. Only the chief and one bodyguard remained. Seeing Romulus and Felix bearing down, the leader barked an order at his warrior, jerking his head in their direction. It seemed he wanted to kill Brennus.
As the Sogdian's trained horse reared up and struck out with its forefeet, the big Gaul smiled, confident he was out of range. But he was close enough for one hoof to catch the front of his helmet. Brennus instantly dropped to his knees, his eyes glazed. With a cruel smile, the chief drew back his lance. In slow motion, Romulus saw what was about to happen. But the bodyguard was between them. Without thinking, he threw himself forward, rolling between the Sogdian's mount's legs. He hoped Felix would see what he was doing and keep the warrior occupied. Romulus came up fast, drawing his dagger.
Incredibly, Brennus had managed to ward off one spear thrust but his reactions were painfully sluggish. The next blow would be the last. Romulus did not pause. He drew back his right arm and heaved forwards, throwing his knife at the small area of exposed flesh above the Sogdian leader's chain mail and below his helmet. It was an impossible shot, aimed at a man on a moving horse, in the midst of a pitched battle.
But the blade flew with all Romulus' force and skill. It flew with his love for Brennus. And drove deep into the chief 's neck. Killed instantly, the bearded warrior toppled from the saddle.
Romulus let out a huge breath. His heart was pounding wildly, but Brennus was still alive.
'Romulus?' Brennus mumbled. He smiled broadly and toppled over, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The young soldier darted to stand over his friend, ready to defend him against all comers. Fortunately the fighting had moved on as the remaining raiders were cut down one by one. He was quickly joined by Felix, who had left the bodyguard in a bleeding heap nearby.
'A fine shot,' said the little Gaul, respect in his eyes. 'Saved his life, I reckon.'
Romulus swallowed, imagining how he would have felt if the dagger had missed. But it had not. He laughed with relief. Today was a good day after all.
By the time the sun had begun to drop in the sky, it was all over. A small number of warriors had managed to break out, forcing through to the river. But the vast majority would never trouble Margiana again. Sogdian corpses were piled in heaps between dead horses. Spear shafts and bent pila jutted from bloody flesh, animal and human. Countless mouths hung slackly, dry eyes stared, loops of intestine spilled carelessly from open bellies. Clouds of flies covered the bodies and the ground was churned to mud, turned red in many places. Overhead, vultures and eagles were gathering.
As his battle frenzy faded away, Romulus found himself deeply troubled by the number of men who had been killed. After all, he had no quarrel with Sogdian tribesmen. But there was little he could do about it. Until he and his friends were completely free, they were soldiers in the Parthian army, and had to fight her enemies. It all came back to Brennus' advice from years before. Kill or be killed.
He kept silent as the legionaries reassembled by the river bank. Brennus and the other injured men were having their wounds attended to while others went downstream to wash off the blood and slake their terrible thirst. Close combat was exhausting work.
Pacorus was delighted. While his guards collected the booty from the dead, he sat on his stallion, gazing happily at the carnage. 'Many casualties?'
'Thirty or forty killed,' replied Tarquinius. 'Few dozen injured, but most will survive.'
'An outstanding victory!' declared the Parthian, his arrogance returning. 'Orodes will be pleased with my tactics.'
The Etruscan chuckled to himself.
'Other tribes will hear of this.' Pacorus waved his hands excitedly. 'Make them think again before threatening Parthia.'
There was a pause before Tarquinius spoke. 'The king of Scythia is a determined man. News of our success will not halt his plans to invade next year.'
Pacorus' smile disappeared. 'You have seen this?'
'And an attack by the Indians will follow soon afterwards.'
'With elephants?'
'Yes.'
The commander blanched. 'Normally we drive off those monsters with volleys of arrows.' His voice tailed off. Only a few dozen of the Parthian guards were archers.
Tarquinius stared east, waiting.
'Have you a plan, soothsayer?' The tone was pleading.
'Of course.' Tarquinius' dark eyes bored into him. 'But there will be a price to pay.'
There was silence as Pacorus stared at the piles of Sogdian bodies again. Without the haruspex, he would have no chance against new waves of invaders.
'Tell me,' he said heavily.
Late that evening, hundreds of celebrating legionaries packed the parade ground just inside the camp's north gate. As soon as the ramparts and defensive ditches had been built, Pacorus had rewarded his men with an issue of local spirits. The alcohol was disappearing fast as the victorious soldiers let the tensions of battle slip away. To fill their empty bellies, whole sheep were cooked on spits over great fires at one end of the open area. The bemused guards stood watching, content now that the prisoners had fought bravely for Parthia.
Roars of laughter, loud conversation and singing competed to drown each other out. Drunken figures fell unnoticed to the ground while their companions wrestled each other or played dice. It was the first time in many months that the Romans had had a real reason to rejoice, and they were going to make the most of it.
The men of the Forgotten Legion had no idea what the future might hold. It was probably death, but tonight they did not care.
The surgeon had stitched Brennus' wound and now a heavy bandage covered his upper right arm. It would be weeks before he could fight again but it did not mean he could not enjoy the night with a few cups of spirit. Beside him, Romulus swigged his allotted measure happily, remembering the night in Publius' tavern. And Julia. Neither man had drunk much when Tarquinius appeared at the edge of the raucous gathering. Beckoning to them, the Etruscan led the way to the eastern gate. They followed curiously. Sentries saluted and waved them through the portal with broad smiles. Nobody would question the haruspex after the stunning victory that day. Everyone knew it was thanks to Tarquinius.
The three friends walked in silence along the river bank until they were a good distance from the marching camp and the sounds of revelry. A gentle breeze cooled the sweat on their faces and ruffled the water flowing past. It was a beautiful night with a clear, glittering sky. Far to the east lay a range of snow-covered peaks, visible now the heat haze had gone.
'The Qilian mountains,' said Tarquinius, halting by a grassy knoll. He flopped down, patting the ground beside him. Comfortable in each other's company, the soothsayer, warrior and young soldier sat back, watching shooting stars pass across the heavens. Spending time with his mentors at this time of day was a routine that Romulus had grown to love.
'Remember when I told you it took years to become a great fighter?' said Brennus suddenly.
Romulus nodded, recalling his burning desire to be the best in the ludus. So that he could kill Gemellus. An age ago, in Rome.
The Gaul threw a massive arm round his shoulders. 'I was watching you fight today,' he said with a smile. 'You're nearly there. A year or two and you'll be better than me.'
Romulus was astonished. 'I could never be as strong as you.'
'Not as strong, maybe. But more skilful.' There was real respect in Brennus' eyes.
Romulus met the look squarely. 'Much of it is thanks to you.'
Brennus tightened his grip. 'You're like a son to me,' he growled.
Emotion welled up inside Romulus and he hugged the Gaul fiercely.
In the darkness they could not see Tarquinius' face. But Romulus did not care. He felt huge relief that Brennus was still alive. Still with him.
For some time no one spoke, and they listened happily to the bats that were swooping and diving over the river. The land was at peace, delivered from the Sogdians by the Forgotten Legion's courage.
Having witnessed Brennus survive against all the odds, Romulus imagined returning to Rome one day and finding his family. It seemed possible now.
Brennus felt contentment at the thought of how similar Ultan's and Tarquinius' predictions had been. His guilt and pain were greatly eased, for it was proof to him that the gods would deliver his redemption one day. Not here. At the edge of the world.
With memories of Olenus uppermost, Tarquinius asked that his urge to discover more about the Etruscans' origins be fulfilled. Strangely, his once constant thirst for knowledge had been diminishing for some time and the haruspex knew it was due to the growing emotions he felt for his companions. Since Olenus he had loved no one. But without Tarquinius becoming aware of it, the brave, generous Gaul and the eager young man had become very dear to him. Romulus felt like. what? A son to him. He laughed. How very human; how very. ordinary; but how good that felt.
The others looked at Tarquinius questioningly but he was deep in thought.
How could he have forgotten Olenus' words? You will pass on much information. Romulus had been right there under his nose all along. Someone he could begin to instruct in the ancient art. A tiny sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips and he began to speak at last.
'Our journey will continue for years.' His eyes turned to the horizon, and their gaze followed his.
East.
'There will be more battles. And mortal danger.'
The hairs on their necks prickled, but neither Romulus nor Brennus asked more.
They were alive. For the moment, that was enough.