The Road To Rome

Chapter XVIII: Father and Son

'Romulus!'

He turned his head, searching for Sabinus' voice. Incredibly, his comrade was on the back of a horse beyond the nearest Numidians. How Sabinus had got there, Romulus had no idea, but he'd never been more pleased. Slashing at another rider, he managed to barge around one mount and then another. Sabinus' last spear took down a further warrior, creating terror in the enemy ranks. There were so many angry Numidians trying to get at Romulus that all was chaos, but within four or five heartbeats, he was by Sabinus' side. Spurred on by pure adrenalin, he took the legionary's outstretched arm and leapt up behind him.

Urging the horse on with his knees, Sabinus directed it around the side of the milling Numidians. They headed straight for the Twenty-Eighth. Most of the enemy cavalrymen had yet to realise what had gone on. However, four of Petreius' party gave chase, and Romulus' hopes, which had soared, fell again. A horse carrying two could never outrun those with single riders. The dun-coloured beast labouring beneath them was worthy enough, but it wasn't Pegasus. Sabinus cursed and drummed his heels against its ribs — to no avail.

The chasing Numidians drew closer and closer, shouting insults as they came. A spear flew lazily through the air, landing just behind them. It was followed by another, which shot past to impale itself in the sand ten steps in front. Romulus glanced back, and his mouth opened in horror as a third javelin scudded in, striking their mount in the rump. Its head went up in shock, and its gait altered, slowing almost to a walk.

Sabinus knew instantly what had happened. Throwing his right leg over, he dismounted. 'Come on!' he shouted.

Romulus didn't need any prompting. Half climbing, half falling, he got down. The horse stumbled off, the javelin still protruding from its hip. Romulus had no time to pity it. The Numidians were closing in fast, throwing spears at the ready. Perhaps fifty paces separated them.

The pair looked at each other. 'Run for it, or fight?' Romulus asked.

'They'd ride us down like dogs,' snarled Sabinus. 'We fight!'

Pleased by his comrade's reaction, Romulus nodded.

They moved to stand side by side, and prepared to die.

Two spears whistled by, but missed. That left four Numidians, each of whom had one or two shafts left. The enemy riders were expert shots from close range, and Romulus knew that, without shields, the chances of not being injured or killed in the next few moments were slim to none.

That was until he heard the strident clamour of bucinae ring out behind him.

The Numidians saw what was happening before Romulus did. Their faces creased with anger, and they pulled up. One threw a spear in a last futile gesture, and then the four horsemen turned and fled.

Romulus looked around and saw a wedge of legionaries charging towards them, their shields raised high. In their midst was Atilius. He gasped with delight. The senior centurion must have been watching to see how they got on. There could be no other explanation for their rescue. Followed by Sabinus, Romulus trotted over.

'Didn't know you could ride,' he muttered.

'I grew up on a farm,' explained Sabinus. 'We always had a few nags about the place.'

Romulus clapped him on the shoulder. 'I owe you one.'

'My pleasure.' Sabinus grinned, and Romulus knew he'd made a comrade for life.

Atilius halted his men as the two pounded in. 'Get inside,' he ordered, shoving legionaries aside. 'There's no time to waste.'

Gratefully they obeyed, and the wedge did a swift about-turn. Romulus glanced at the Numidian lines. To his surprise, the enemy cavalrymen were not trying to attack. Instead, they were milling around, shouting at each other. A few had even galloped off to the south. It didn't take much for fear to spread, thought Romulus. It was like watching the ripples in a pool after a stone went in. Riders looked at the ones who'd gone, and then followed. Then a few more did the same. Before the wedge had rejoined their comrades, the entire mounted force had disappeared in a great cloud of dust.

'You killed Petreius then?' asked Atilius.

Romulus flushed. 'No, sir, just wounded him.'

'It was a good enough effort. He must have fled the field,' the senior centurion said with a satisfied grin. 'Look! The whoresons have lost their taste for a fight.'

Romulus stared at the Numidian infantry, who were fleeing en masse from the centre. The cavalry on the far flank wouldn't stay and fight now, when all their companions were running away. With daylight fading, it meant that they had won the vital respite Caesar's cohorts needed to retreat safely. Romulus let out a gusty sigh, realising that he was exhausted. Yet his satisfaction over what he and his comrades had managed was far stronger than his aching muscles.

'It was well done.'

Romulus looked up to find Atilius' gaze upon him. 'A joint effort, sir. I couldn't have done it without Sabinus here, and Paullus too.'

'Is Paullus dead?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Many good legionaries have fallen today,' said Atilius sadly. After a moment, though, his face cleared. 'Thanks to you both, many will live to fight again. Caesar will hear of this.'

Romulus thought his heart would burst with pride. The Pompeian forces soon called it a day and pulled back to their camp. With night fast approaching, the battle could no longer be conducted effectively. Labienus had failed to annihilate the foraging party, and missed a golden chance to capture or kill the Pompeians' greatest enemy: Caesar.

As a result, the journey back to Ruspina was uneventful. In good order, Caesar's men marched and sang, aware that they'd had a lucky escape. Romulus couldn't get over Caesar's tactics, which had been both stubborn and courageous. Few leaders would have had the self-belief to continue fighting in such a desperate situation with fearful, inexperienced troops. Making his cohorts face different ways had been improvisation of the finest quality, as had the decision to launch a last ditch counter-attack. Crassus, the only other Roman whom Romulus had served under, had possessed little of the ability which shone from practically every action of Caesar's.

The next day, he and Sabinus were ordered to Caesar's headquarters and Romulus' excitement reached fever pitch. Atilius had been as good as his word, commending them both for bravery, and Romulus a second time for his initiative and effort in wounding Petreius. The senior centurion told them both about it just before they'd turned in, which meant that neither man slept well. They rose long before dawn, cleaning and polishing the kit they'd stripped from dead legionaries the previous evening. The battlefield had been littered with corpses, so it hadn't been hard to find mail shirts and helmets which fitted.

'What do you think he'll say to us?' asked Sabinus, combing out the horsehair crest on his helmet.

'How should I know?' Romulus retorted with a grin.

'You've met him before.'

Romulus didn't talk about receiving his manumission, but, like everyone else, Sabinus would have heard the story. All the same, his comrade's awe came as a slight shock to him. It wasn't that surprising, though, he supposed. Very few ordinary soldiers ever met Caesar directly. It wasn't as if the general went about the camp every night, swapping stories over a few cups of acetum. Caesar held a status not far short of divine among the ordinary rank and file, so to have held a conversation with him was unusual. Romulus felt a surge of pride at this. 'Caesar's a soldier,' he said. 'So he appreciates courage. I imagine he'll say that and give us each a phalera.'

Sabinus looked pleased. 'Some extra cash would come in handy too. My wife's always bitching about how little I send her.'

'You're married?'

Sabinus grinned. 'Chained to, more like. Have been for ten years or more. Three kids living, last time I was home. She keeps the farm going with the help of a few slaves. It's only a little place, about halfway between Rome and Capua.' He caught Romulus' wistful look. 'You'll have to come and stay when we're demobbed. Help me take in the crops, roll a slave girl or two in the hay.' He winked. 'If we survive that long, of course.'

'I'd like that,' said Romulus. The idea of having a wife, a family, a place to go back to was immensely appealing. As a former slave, he'd never really thought about such things, but it was easy to see how much it meant to Sabinus, despite the deprecating remarks. What have I to look forward to? Romulus wondered. Other than finding Fabiola and killing Gemellus, precious little. Where would I live? What could I do? Greatly disquieted by these thoughts, he was grateful for the arrival of Atilius. They both scrambled up and stood to attention.

The senior centurion studied them with a practised eye. 'Not bad,' he said. 'You almost look like soldiers now.'

This was the nearest Atilius got to praise, and they both grinned self-consciously.

'Come on then,' he ordered. 'Can't keep the general waiting, can we?'

'No, sir.'

The other members of their contubernium muttered their good wishes as the pair scurried after Atilius like eager puppies.

It wasn't a long walk to the principia, the headquarters, which was situated at the intersection of the Via Praetoria with the Via Principia. These, the two main roads in the massive camp, ran north-south and east-west respectively. The area in front of the huge pavilion which operated as Caesar's office and command centre was already filled with hundreds of legionaries, come to witness the awards ceremony. There was no sign of the general yet, but his senior staff officers were grouped by the tent's entrance. Resplendent in their polished cuirasses, gilded greaves and feathered helmets, they looked magnificent. Twenty hand-picked soldiers from Caesar's party of Spanish bodyguards stood along the pavilion's wall, their irregular dress and weapons at odds with the rest of those present. Every legion's eagle was present, held proudly upright by its aquilifer. The general's own standard, the red vexillum, was also on prominent display. A quartet of trumpeters watched keenly to see when Caesar would emerge.

A short distance from the entrance stood a number of legionaries and officers. Their awkward stance told Romulus that these must be the others up for a decoration. Sure enough, it was to the end of this line that Atilius urged them. 'Good luck,' he whispered.

'What shall we do, sir?' asked Sabinus desperately.

'Salute, accept your award and thank Caesar,' Atilius muttered. 'Then wait to be dismissed.'

They shuffled into place, nodding at the other candidates.

The trumpeters lifted their bucinae and sounded a sharp burst of notes.

'Attention!' cried one of the senior officers.

Every man present snapped upright.

Romulus and his companions were well placed to see Caesar stroll out into the morning air. Dressed in his scarlet cloak, gilded breastplate and leather-bordered skirt, he wore a gladius with an ornate gold and ivory hilt and a scabbard inlaid with silver. A highly polished crested helmet and calf-length leather boots completed his attire. His thin face and long nose gave him a regal air. Caesar looked every part the general.

'At ease,' he said calmly.

Everyone relaxed except Romulus and the other men in the line.

Caesar walked forward and raised his hands. At once an expectant hush fell over the whole gathering. 'Comrades,' he began. 'Yesterday was a long day.'

'That's putting it mildly, Caesar,' shouted a wag from the depths of the assembled men.

A loud gust of laughter rose into the clear air, and Caesar smiled. He liked this badinage with his men: it increased the bond between them. 'It was a hard fight, against terrible odds,' he admitted. 'The enemy did his best to annihilate us. But he did not succeed. Why?' Again Caesar paused, and Romulus saw his art, how the man was a master of oratory as well as a great military leader. He glanced at the men around him, and saw how they were hanging on the general's every word.

'Why?' Caesar repeated his question. 'Because of you.' He pointed dramatically at a legionary near him. The man grinned delightedly. 'And you. You and you.' His forefinger stabbed at a second soldier, and then a third and fourth. 'All of you fought like heroes!'

He let the cry swelling in every man's throat burst forth and, smiling, strode forward to the line where Romulus and Sabinus stood. The cheer went on and on, with the watching legionaries now drumming their swords off the metal rims of their shields to create a deafening wall of noise. Eventually, a single word rose above the crescendo, and Romulus struggled not to shout it himself. 'Cae-sar! Cae-sar! Cae-sar!' the soldiers cried.

The man is a genius, thought Romulus, his own pride brimming over. There's no mention of Caesar's own ability, of the hours of fear and the terror, of the order to stay within four steps of the standards. Just stirring words to make every soldier here think he's as brave as Hercules. It works, too. Romulus had never felt so glad to be a Roman legionary. Shoving back his shoulders, he looked down at his mail shirt and polished scutum boss, hoping that he looked respectable enough to meet his leader.

Eventually the din died away.

Caesar stepped up to the first man in the line, who saluted with alacrity. 'Who is this?' he demanded.

'Centurion Asinius Macro, sir,' boomed one of the senior officers. 'First Century, First Cohort, Fifth Legion. Risked his own life on multiple occasions yesterday, most notably to rescue a section of his men who had been cut off by the enemy.'

Caesar half turned, and a slave stepped forward bearing a bronze tray covered with decorations and leather purses. Picking a gold phalera, Caesar fastened it among the others on Macro's chest harness. He muttered a few words of congratulation, and handed over a purse before moving on, leaving the centurion beaming in his wake.

The process was repeated with each man: an announcement of his name and rank, and what he'd done to deserve his award. All the while, the watching legionaries shouted Caesar's name over and over. The atmosphere was electric, helping to dispel any lingering fears about the previous day from their minds. When Caesar reached Sabinus, Romulus had difficulty in not looking sideways. His pulse began to race. As with the others, their general clapped Sabinus on the shoulder and awarded him a silver phalera and purse. Finally he moved to stand before Romulus.

He snapped rigidly to attention.

'Legionary Romulus, First Century, Second Cohort, Twenty-Eighth Legion,' cried the officer.

'And his reason for standing here?' asked Caesar.

'It was his idea to try and kill Petreius, sir,' Atilius answered. 'In just their tunics, he and two others crossed the battlefield to infiltrate the Numidians. They didn't succeed completely, but legionary Romulus injured the whoreson. The enemy broke and ran, when just a few moments earlier, Petreius had been successfully rallying them. If it hadn't been for Romulus' action, our counter-attack would have been a complete failure.'

Caesar raised his eyebrows. Of course he'd already heard the story. 'You vouch for this man?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Atilius confidently.

'Used to be in the Tenth, didn't you?'

'I did, sir.'

Caesar nodded. 'I heard about your little javelin throw yesterday. Well done.'

Atilius beamed. 'Thank you, sir.'

Caesar turned back to Romulus. 'A worthy deed, it seems.' He frowned suddenly. 'Have we met before?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Romulus, his cheeks flushing.

'Where?'

'In Rome, sir. You granted me my manumission at the arena.'

Recognition flared in Caesar's eyes, and he smiled. 'Oh yes! The slave who killed the Ethiopian bull.'

'Yes, sir,' answered Romulus, his face burning now.

'Killing wild beasts is not your only skill, it seems.'

'It was an honour to take part in the attempt, sir. Sorry that I didn't kill Petreius.'

Caesar laughed. 'Never mind, man! He ran away, and his men followed. That's all we needed, and it's thanks to you. There'll be another day to settle the matter.'

'Sir.'

Taking a gold phalera from the tray, Caesar attached it to Romulus' mail. 'Continue like this and you'll end up an officer,' he said, handing over two heavy purses. 'Caesar does not forget good legionaries like you.'

'Thank you, sir!' Grinning from ear to ear, Romulus thumped a fist off his chest in salute.

The general gave him a friendly nod and returned to his senior officers.

'I give you — Caesar's bravest soldiers,' cried one of the trumpeters. He lifted his instrument and blew a short fanfare.

A rousing cheer went up, with Romulus' voice straining itself hoarse among them.

Then, followed by his subordinates, Caesar entered his headquarters. It was where he stayed for the following few weeks. Although enemy activity in and around his camp at Ruspina was vigorous, Caesar calmly ignored it all. With the defences of the camp being increased daily — every craftsman available was making sling-shot balls and javelins, catapults were mounted on every guard tower and the walls were fully manned day and night — Caesar had the confidence to remain out of sight, receiving reports and issuing his commands in response. His assurance was proved correct by the Pompeians' failure to attack. Even when Labienus' forces were reinforced by the arrival of Metellus Scipio and his army, Caesar's enemies did not act.

More legions and cavalry arrived from Italy, bringing with them much needed supplies. There were regular skirmishes with the Pompeians, but none were decisive. Caesar's attempt to take the town of Uzitta, which was the main source for his enemy's water, failed, but the Pompeians lost many soldiers in their unsuccessful attempts to dislodge Caesar's forces from their positions. Eventually, realising that there was little gain to be had from continuing the siege, Caesar led his ten legions off towards a settlement by the name of Aggar. They were harassed all the way by the Numidian cavalry, and struggled at one stage to move a hundred paces in more than four hours. What helped the beleaguered soldiers then was the knowledge that if they stuck together and did not break ranks, the enemy horse was able to do little more than injure a few men with their throwing spears.

Romulus was pleased when new training began for all the legionaries, teaching them how to fight alongside their cavalry. Three hundred men from each legion were then picked to remain in battle order each day, their purpose to act as close support for their horsemen whenever a skirmish began. In this way, the probing Pompeian attacks were resisted more easily. On a number of occasions the frustrated Scipio offered battle, but each time Caesar refused it. Although he knew that his general was waiting for the best moment to fight, Romulus began to grow impatient as time dragged by. He lost count of the times both armies faced each other, ready to fight, only to march away a few hours later.

Romulus was pleased that his comrades shared his sentiments. Fully part of his contubernium and century now, he sat around each night gossiping, wondering when the campaign would end. It seemed that everyone wanted the conflict to cease now. For some of the veterans who'd crossed the Rubicon with Caesar, the war had gone on for more than three years, and while he didn't say so, Romulus had been on campaign since he'd left Italy nearly a decade before. A sense of weariness that he'd never acknowledged before was awoken by the conversations about home, family and planting crops. Romulus' loyalty to Caesar was unswerving, but he too began to wish for a quick victory in Africa. Only Hispania would then remain as a potential campaign before they could all be demobilised. Yet Romulus' desire to leave the legions was always underpinned by his doubts as to what he'd do with his life. In some ways, dying in battle would be a simple way out.

It wasn't until Caesar's legions abandoned their attack on Aggar and made a night march to begin the siege of the coastal town of Thapsus that things started to look as if they might change. The fortifications had barely been finished on the first evening when news came of the Pompeian army's arrival. Scipio had come in hot pursuit. The ground around Thapsus was flat, facilitating a hard face-to-face encounter. At first glance, the situation didn't look good. The enemy outnumbered them in all parts of the army: infantry, skirmishers and cavalry; they also retained more than a hundred elephants, while Caesar had none. However, more than half of Caesar's men had fought under him for a decade or more, while the majority of the Pompeians were new recruits. Enemy deserters had also revealed that the elephants had only recently been captured and were thus not hardened in combat.

As well as sitting on the coast, Thapsus was protected by a large salt-water lagoon and an inward-pointing tongue of sea, which meant that it could be attacked in only two places. Shrewd to the last, Caesar had ordered a fort constructed on the route which afforded the best options to attack the town. This left a spit of land a mile and a half wide which ran between the sea and the lagoon as the only way to approach his forces.

As Romulus and his comrades had discovered at dawn, it was an avenue which Scipio had taken. Word had come from the outlying positions that a large army was advancing towards Thapsus in triplex acies formation. The classic three lines of soldiers used by most Roman generals, it had been strengthened by the presence of Numidian cavalry and the feared elephants on both flanks. In a surprise move, though, half the Pompeian army — including most of the Numidians — had been left to cover the second route by the fort. Consequently, Caesar's veterans now almost equalled their opponents. To the understandable delight of his entire army, the wily general did not attempt to avoid battle this time.

Instead his legions had marched out to meet the enemy.

The opportunity was too good to miss. By mid-morning that day, the two forces filled the spit of land entirely. Facing each other from a distance of no more than a quarter of a mile, they eyed each other closely, wondering what would transpire. The Twenty-Eighth, with Romulus in its midst, formed part of Caesar's centre along with two other less experienced legions. His veterans from the campaign in Gaul, including the Fifth and the famous Tenth, were stationed on each wing, supported by hundreds of slingers and archers. Outside these were the horsemen, although the presence of water on both sides meant that any cavalry action would be limited. There simply wasn't enough space for them to manoeuvre.

Another reason to fight today, thought Romulus. Leaving the brunt of the fighting to the legionaries took away the advantage of the enemy's Numidians. Caesar's men were facing a greater number of Pompeian troops, but they were known to be inexperienced. There were about sixty elephants on each flank, and a large number of cavalry. None of this was causing much concern in Caesar's lines either. Five cohorts had been trained how to fight the massive beasts using their pila, and both they and the missile troops were aware of their vulnerable spots. Romulus eyed the eager-faced men around him. In a marked difference from Ruspina, confidence oozed from them. It was even more exaggerated among the veterans on the wings. Already their ranks were swaying backwards and forwards like reeds in the wind. Only the blows and curses of their officers was keeping them in line.

The day was to continue in this bloodthirsty vein. As Caesar prepared to address his men, his officers began beseeching him to allow the attack to start. Atilius and other cohort commanders were no different, breaking ranks to walk by the side of the general's horse and pleading for the honour of charging first. Smiling, Caesar told the senior centurions that the time would be right very soon. He had not anticipated the eagerness of the Ninth and Tenth legions on the right flank. Bullying their trumpeters to sound the advance, they ignored their centurions and pelted forward towards the enemy.

Romulus watched, first in amazement and then with growing impatience. Surely they had to join in? Otherwise the veterans' impetuous action could cost them dearly. His emotions were mirrored by the nearby legionaries. Despite the centurions' liberal use of their vine canes, the entire legion moved forward a good fifty paces towards Caesar.

With Atilius and his companions still by his side, their general took this in.

Pausing, the men of the Twenty-Eighth held their breath.

To Romulus' delight, Caesar shrugged, and then grinned. 'It's as good a time as any. Felicitas!' he shouted, turning his horse's head. Drumming his heels into its sides, he headed straight for the enemy.

Atilius and the other senior centurions looked to their men. 'You heard the general!' bellowed one. 'What are you waiting for?'

Romulus, Sabinus and thousands of others answered with a deafening, incoherent shout. The cry was echoed by the entire army, which broke into a run towards the Pompeians. Soon it was possible to see the still stationary enemy already quailing at the ferocity of their attack. This of course increased the Caesareans' determination, and they crashed into their opponents' lines like Vulcan smiting a piece of metal. First to hit the Pompeians were the Ninth and Tenth, who used their javelins to great effect. Thrown in dense volleys, they caused instant panic among the war elephants, which turned and stampeded back through their own lines. Without pausing, the veterans crashed into the bewildered ranks behind, breaking them apart like so much firewood.

The enemy troops did not know how to react, and the same story was shortly repeated all along the battle front. Spurred on by the success of the Ninth and Tenth legions, every soldier in Caesar's army flung himself at the Pompeians like a man possessed. Unprepared for this fervent zeal, their adversaries simply broke and ran. Dropping their weapons, they turned and fled along the spit. The narrow bridge of land, which had seemed so perfect for an attack, soon became a perfect killing ground. There was no escape to either side, and the Pompeians could not run fast enough to outstrip the enraged Caesarean legionaries. No quarter was spared, and thousands of the enemy died pleading for their lives.

It was almost as if every man was trying to end the civil war himself, thought Romulus as he watched his comrades cut down every soldier they encountered. It didn't matter whether they tried to fight, to run or to surrender. Wounded, whole or unarmed, they were slaughtered anyway. More than one Caesarean officer who tried to intervene was killed, and Atilius wisely let his legionaries do what they would. Although Romulus knew his comrades' reasons — they were sick of defeated Pompeians who had been pardoned by Caesar reneging on their words and rejoining the struggle — he could not bring himself to kill defenceless men. After their initial charge, when he'd downed a number of Pompeian soldiers, Romulus just ran alongside Sabinus and the rest, doing little other than watch the battle turn into a rout. His companions were so consumed by battle rage that they didn't even notice.

It was perhaps for this reason that Romulus saw the elephant before anyone else.

Terrified by the number of javelins and arrows launched by Caesar's legionaries and missile troops, almost every one of the great beasts had turned and run away. From what Romulus could see, they hadn't stopped yet. Except for this one. With numerous pila sticking from its thick, leathery skin like so many pins in a cushion, the elephant had done an about-turn and was now charging through its own retreating soldiers towards Caesar's lines.

Towards the Twenty-Eighth.

Bugling with pain and anger, it was smashing men out of its path like twigs. Its mahout was long gone, probably brought down by a spear or arrow, so the elephant was rampaging wherever it wished. Maddened now beyond reason, it killed everything in its path. The reactions of the Pompeians as they saw it coming varied, Romulus saw. Some panicked and ran towards the Caesareans, desperately pushing their comrades out of the way. Others managed to remain calm, throwing their pila at its eyes or trunk in an attempt to head it off. Another group froze on the spot, unsure what to do when faced with such a leviathan. All of these strategies were limited in their success, and Romulus' heart raced as he wondered what he would do.

The elephant surged through the last of the Pompeians' ranks, and directly into the middle of the Twenty-Eighth, which was close behind. Men flew screaming into the air as they were struck by its swinging trunk. Others were trampled into the sand, and an unlucky few were simply gored to death. In vain legionaries hacked at the beast with their gladii, wishing for the axes of the specially trained cohorts. Tarquinius and his deadly double-headed weapon popped into Romulus' mind. In the same heartbeat, he remembered Brennus. Old guilt burst forth like the rotten fluid in the centre of an abscess, dragging Romulus' spirits to the depths. No matter what hope there was of returning to Rome, how could he have left his blood brother to die?

It was as if the elephant sensed his mental anguish. Lifting a screaming soldier on one of its tusks, it threw him high into the air before its piggy eyes settled on Romulus and his comrades. Swinging its trunk to and fro like a flail, it made straight for them. By this stage, the legionaries were so scared of the great beast that a path opened in front of it. Pushing and shoving, men scrambled out of the way. The sooner it could escape through their lines, the better.

Romulus didn't move. Instead he turned to face the elephant.

'Come on,' Sabinus shouted. 'Let's go.'

In reply, Romulus threw his scutum to one side. He looked at his gladius, wishing it had the length of Brennus' longsword. It would have to do, though. Who was he to run from the gods' punishment? That was why the elephant was charging straight for him: it had to be. 'Very well,' Romulus muttered and took a step forward. He had no idea what to do when the creature reached him, but he was going to die facing it like a man. No more running, he thought, the agonising memory of Brennus' last battle cry tearing at his soul.

His ears filled with the elephant's bugling, which was deafening at this range. Dimly, Romulus realised that he was not alone. He shot a glance to his right and was dismayed to see Sabinus there, his sword and shield ready. 'Get out of here,' he shouted. 'This is my fate.'

'Fool! I'm not leaving now,' Sabinus retorted. 'Imagine the abuse I'd get for deserting you.'

Romulus had no time to reply. The elephant was only a few steps away. Raising his gladius, he lunged forward at it. To his surprise, it ignored him completely. Sidestepping neatly, it barged past, knocking him down in the process. Winded, Romulus was thrown backwards. He looked on in horror as the elephant grabbed Sabinus with its trunk and bore him aloft. Sabinus screamed in fear. With both arms held by his sides, he was as helpless as a swaddled baby.

'You were supposed to take me!' Romulus shrieked.

Oblivious, the elephant swung Sabinus high and low, all the while trumpeting with anger.

Romulus jumped to his feet. Thankfully, he hadn't let go of his sword. Without thinking, he ran at the enormous creature. A slash at the nearest foreleg drew a furious squeal, but the animal didn't release Sabinus. Instead it swung its head at Romulus, forcing him to dodge out of the way or be smashed asunder by the sheer weight of its bony skull. A fierce lunge with its tusks followed, and Romulus shuffled further away, trying not to lose his footing on the carpet of dead men and weapons. It was hopeless. The elephant was invulnerable to ordinary weapons. Soon it would kill him. Then he caught a glimpse of Sabinus' face, distorted with sheer terror, as it shot past. New energy filled Romulus at his comrade's plight. He couldn't just give in.

Raising his gladius, he ran in as the trunk went by yet again. Getting far nearer to its bulk than he felt comfortable with, Romulus slashed down with the iron blade. He made good contact with the trunk, cutting a long wound which made the elephant bugle in pain. Blood sprayed through the air as it went on the attack, lunging at Romulus with its head and tusks. He sensed that it was wary now, though, keeping Sabinus and its trunk raised in the air. Encouraged, he jumped up and hacked a chunk of flesh from the underside of the trunk. There was another deafening trumpet of distress. More blood showered over Romulus, covering him from head to toe. To his surprise, the elephant stopped dead in its tracks, lowering its wounded trunk. Sabinus moaned with fear, but Romulus redoubled his efforts. He had a chance! He chopped back and forth with his gladius, no longer watching to see what the beast did. His arm moved in a blur, delivering two, four, six cuts. His ears rang with the thunderous noise of the elephant's pain, but he did not let up for a single heartbeat.

Romulus had never been more grateful for the time he spent carefully sharpening the double-edged blade. The iron was usually sharp enough to shave the hairs off his forearm, and now it proved its worth for evermore. Sabinus dropped to the ground amid a mist of arterial blood and the elephant stepped back. Utterly consumed by the agony of its injuries, it swung around and charged whence it had come.

Romulus grabbed Sabinus, whose face was as white as the fuller's chalk used on togas. 'Are you hurt?' he demanded.

Struck mute by terror, Sabinus shook his head.

Grinning like a fool, Romulus helped him up. 'It's all right,' he muttered. 'You're safe now.'

When Sabinus' voice returned, it was shaking. 'Truly you must be blessed by the gods,' he whispered. 'Who else could injure a beast like that?'

The enormity of what he had done suddenly hit Romulus. By driving off an elephant with just a gladius, he raised the question of what Brennus — who was far stronger than he — might have done with a longsword. At once Romulus' relief at saving Sabinus was washed away beneath a renewed wave of bitterness and guilt.

Was Brennus still alive?