The Forgotten Legion

by Ben Kane

  Tarquinius had never tried to divine what had scared Olenus so much in the reading at the cave.

  He could guess what it was.

  A flock of starlings flew overhead and his eyes narrowed as he judged their number. Conflict was coming. In the spring. Tarquinius waited, counting his heartbeat to estimate the speed of the air moving overhead. The mounds of dark clouds being swept along were huge, promising rain. It would come across a great river. From Germania. And Caesar would retaliate, to demonstrate that those who struck at Rome never go unpunished. Far to the north, the youngest member of the triumvirate was burning a bright trail. Determined to outshine both Crassus and Pompey, Julius Caesar had crushed the tribes of Gaul and Belgica, making sure that regular news of his outstanding victories reached the Roman public. It seemed he was not about to rest on his laurels.

  When he was satisfied there was nothing more to observe in the air above, Tarquinius bent his head to study the liver closely. What he saw did not surprise him. It was all routine, just as it had been for many months. He could see no signs of Caelius in Rome; the surly landlord who owned his one-room garret above an inn would soon die of food poisoning; thanks to a poor harvest, the price of his favourite wine would climb sharply.

  The gall bladder was less full than normal and Tarquinius pushed at it with a finger to check that there was nothing there. He frowned, bending closer. There was something . . . a trader of some kind . . .

  'How much for a reading?'

  Startled, Tarquinius looked up to find a short, fat man in a grease-spotted but expensive tunic standing over him. He was middle-aged, with a red face; an unpleasant expression twisted his lips in a permanent sneer. A plump hen hung by its feet from one hand, a small amphora from the other. As with any citizen who valued his safety in Rome, a knife hung from a long strap over the newcomer's shoulder.

  Tarquinius did not answer immediately. Since the episode with Gallo, he had been careful to avoid human contact when at all possible. Had it been a mistake to kill the lamb? He took a quick look at the liver again. No. He relaxed. 'Why not ask one of the others?' Tarquinius indicated the nearby soothsayers.

  There was a grunt of derision. 'All bloody liars, aren't they?'

  'And I am not?'

  'Been watching you. You're making no attempt to do business.' He pointed at the lamb's liver. 'And you're divining for yourself. Means you know what's what.'

  'I don't normally sacrifice for strangers.'

  'Work for some patrician bastard, eh?' growled the fat man. He spat a curse and turned to go.

  'Wait,' said Tarquinius suddenly. 'Are you a merchant?'

  'I might be. What's it to you?'

  'Five aurei.' There was no compromise in Tarquinius' voice.

  The merchant blinked. It was an extortionate amount of money for an augur to charge, but without arguing, he rummaged in a battered purse.

  'Here,' he said, passing over five gold coins. 'This better be good.'

  The Etruscan palmed the aurei and gently took the hen from him. It looked up with a beady eye, unaware that it was about to die. 'What age are you?' he asked.

  'Fifty-one.'

  'And you reside . . .?'

  'On the Aventine.'

  Tarquinius pursed his lips. 'Name?'

  'Gemellus. Porcius Gemellus.'

  'Why are you here?'

  The fat man snorted. 'What do you think? To know what the bloody future holds for me.'

  Tarquinius moved to one side, away from the dead lamb. Holding the hen down on the cobbles, he intoned a prayer of thanks to Jupiter. Then he slit its throat and watched as the blood drained out, filling little cracks between the stones. It flowed west: the direction where malevolent spirits lived. It was not a good start.

  'Well?'

  Without answering, the haruspex gutted the bird and laid out its entrails on the ground before them.

  Gemellus watched silently, his jaw clenched.

  Tarquinius' lips moved as he pondered the meaning of what he was seeing. It was no surprise that the merchant wanted guidance. He took a deep breath and began. 'I see problems in business. Financial worries.'

  Gemellus was unsurprised. 'Go on.'

  'But you need not worry about your biggest creditor.'

  'Crassus?' said the merchant sharply. 'Why not?'

  'He will take up a new post in the east,' said Tarquinius. 'And never return.'

  'You're sure?'

  Tarquinius nodded.

  'The prick is going to die in Syria!' cried Gemellus, barely able to conceal his glee. Several people nearby looked over at the mention of the word. It was common knowledge how much Crassus wanted the governorship of Rome's easternmost province.

  'That was not what I said,' said the Etruscan mildly. 'I said that Crassus would never come back to Rome.' It is Parthia where the arrogant fool will meet his fate. And I will witness it. 'That's good enough.' Gemellus smiled broadly. 'Anything else?'

  Tarquinius probed the hen's liver, searching. 'Moving water. Waves? A storm at sea,' he pronounced.

  The merchant looked confused.

  'Ships full of beasts . . .'

  Gemellus froze.

  There was a delay as the haruspex peered at the channels of blood between the paving stones. 'Sink as they cross the sea.'

  'Not a second time!' whispered Gemellus, his voice trembling. 'It cannot be true.'

  Tarquinius shrugged. 'Only telling you what I see.'

  'I sold my villa for nothing? For nothing?' Gemellus sagged down, as if the weight of the world had landed on his shoulders. 'There'll be no money to pay those fucking Greeks either.' He took a great swig from his amphora and turned to go.

  'Wait.'

  The merchant stopped, but did not look back. 'There 's more?'

  'One day there will be a knock on your door,' said Tarquinius.

  Gemellus spun round, his face pinched with terror. 'Who stands outside?'

  Tarquinius concentrated for some moments. 'It is unclear. A man. A soldier, perhaps?'

  Pulling his dagger, Gemellus shuffled closer. 'If you're lying,' he hissed, 'I'll cut your throat and feed you to the dogs.'

  Tarquinius lifted his cloak and laid a hand on an unsheathed gladius, lying there for just such an occasion. It was easy to conceal and attracted less attention than the battleaxe. The sight of polished metal was enough. Gemellus spat on the ground and walked away, making the sign against evil.

  Tarquinius glanced down at the dead hen, but could not see who it was that had scared the merchant so much. He shrugged again.

  Not everything could be predicted accurately.

  Chapter XII: Friendship

  Nine months pass . . .

  The Ludus Magnus, Rome, late summer 55 BC

  Romulus spun to one side, hacking at Brennus as he swept past.

  The Gaul parried the blow with some difficulty. 'Getting better by the day,' he grinned. 'You're strong too.'

  Romulus lowered his sword, panting. 'I still can't beat you.'

  The big warrior smiled. 'That might take a while yet.'

  'I'm a better fighter now,' Romulus said defensively.

  'You are. And still not even fifteen.'

  'I want to be the best.'

  'It takes many years to become a top gladiator,' replied the Gaul. 'You've come a long way, Romulus, and survived a serious injury too. Be patient. You have courage and strength and just need more experience.'

  Romulus gazed round the baking hot yard. It was the centre of his world – unlike the Gaul, he was rarely allowed into the city – and claustrophobia was inevitable. There had to be more to life than weapons training, lifting weights and occasional fights in the arena. Even Cotta's lessons in tactics frustrated Romulus now, tantalising him with information about countries and places that he never saw. And outside the ludus' walls, great things were happening. News had reached Rome of Julius Caesar's recent punitive expedition against the barbarians in Germania. Now the rumours were that he intended to invade the my
stical isle of Britannia. Every fresh piece of information about Caesar's campaigns sparked Romulus' imagination.

  He wanted to be free – to throw off the chains of slavery. To discover the world.

  Brennus' voice brought him back down to earth. 'Most men haven't got your balls and it shows in the way they fight. But you're like me. Nothing matters except victory!' He thumped his bare chest and laughed. 'Gauls fight with their hearts!'

  Romulus scuffed the ground with a dusty foot, glad of the encouragement. For eighteen months, Brennus had been a good friend and teacher to him, building up his confidence and skill with weapons. Although he would never forget Juba, the Gaul had slowly come to take his place in Romulus' heart.

  'Use your mind too. Anticipate what your enemy will do. Remember Lentulus.'

  He flushed, determined never to be caught out again.

  Brennus clouted him affectionately. 'Keep it up and you might end up with a rudis one day, like him.' He pointed at Cotta, who was breaking in his latest recruit.

  The mention of freedom instantly brought back thoughts of his mother and Fabiola. 'I still want to show that bastard Gemellus a few tricks.'

  'Forget him.' Brennus' voice changed, the laughter gone. 'Unless the gods are truly generous, you will never get the chance for revenge on those who hurt you.'

  Romulus could sense real pain in the Gaul. His friend never spoke about the past, but Romulus suspected Brennus had suffered terribly before becoming a gladiator. 'Did something like that happen to you?' he ventured.

  Brennus was silent. The candid question stirred memories, unsettling him. Brac. Liath. My son. He swept an uncharacteristically wild overhand blow at Romulus.

  'Never let anger control you.' Romulus skipped neatly to one side and lunged forward, forcing the Gaul to retreat several steps.

  Brennus laughed. 'Trying to teach me? Eat this!' With a sweep of his sandal, he kicked a cloud of sand at Romulus' face.

  The young fighter saw the move coming just a fraction too late. Yellow grains filled his vision. He dodged to the left, knowing the big man had bested him.

  'Dead meat,' said Brennus, pricking Romulus' throat with the tip of the blade.

  He rubbed angrily at reddened eyes, coughing to clear his throat.

  'Watch your enemy's expression.' Brennus poked a thick finger at him. 'He'll always give away something. A frown, a sideways glance. Use it to predict what he does.'

  'I knew you were going to do that.'

  'Doesn't matter this time,' replied the Gaul with a grin. 'It wasn't real.' He sheathed his sword, brushing the sand off. 'That's enough for now. Let's go and wash.'

  For once Romulus was glad to relax. He followed Brennus across the yard, determined not to be caught out again. Several men greeted them as they walked by. The duel with Lentulus had earned Romulus considerable respect, which helped preserve the uneasy truce that had been simmering since the fight over Astoria. The majority had not cared about the murmillones' deaths, but would not take sides either.

  Undeterred, Figulus and Gallus had been busy stirring up discontent among a select few and eventually it had become noticeable. At first it was only small things – vinegar poured in Brennus' wine, a foot stuck out to trip Romulus, straying hands touching Astoria's breasts. Tension had been rising steadily and Romulus had taken to wearing a dagger again at all times. The security he had felt for months after becoming Brennus' friend was being eroded day by day. He fought his worries by pushing himself to new levels of fitness and sparring with the Gaul at every opportunity.

  Brennus scratched his thick blond curls. 'I'm surprised Figulus and his cronies haven't made a move before now.'

  'They're scared of you.'

  'And you!'

  Romulus was delighted.

  Quickly checking that the lanista was not about, Brennus roared at the small group in the far corner of the yard. 'Anyone feel like taking us on today?'

  There were plenty of stares, but nobody spoke.

  'It won't be an open fight. There aren't enough of the bastards.'

  'I know.' Brennus nudged him. 'Still, doesn't do any harm to give them a warning.'

  The big man's attitude was heartening and Romulus pushed open the door of the baths with a smile.

  All would be well.

  A month later it became clear when the showdown would be. Early one morning, Memor ordered all gladiators to gather together in the yard. It was an odd demand.

  The air was already warm even though it was not long after sunrise. Rome had been baking in late summer heat for some weeks. Like most, Romulus and Brennus got up before dawn to exercise while it was still cool. There had been time to complete a full set of weights training before the gathering. The men talked eagerly as they waited. No one knew what was going on.

  When Memor appeared, he had a strange smile on his face.

  'You're probably all wondering why I called you here.' He paused.

  'What is it, Memor?' shouted a fighter near the back.

  'Milo needs us to keep Clodius in line again!' cried another.

  There was a roar of approval. During the previous spring, with bloodshed on the streets escalating, the tribune Milo had been accused by his rival Clodius of using violence. The action showed breathtaking gall and the trial in the Forum Romanum had been abandoned when a full-scale riot had broken out. Milo's men had quelled the trouble, but with great difficulty. More unrest had followed, providing many gladiators with regular periods outside the ludus.

  There had been further need for their services when the consular elections had taken place only a few months before. As Pompey and Crassus blatantly acted together once more to secure the posts for themselves, public disturbances had soared. The travesty of democracy had not stopped there. Pompey was now the effective ruler of Hispania and Greece; Crassus had his governorship of Syria. Caesar had also done well, being granted consular powers over the provinces of Illyricum and Gaul. The triumvirate 's shameless and open criminal behaviour had enraged the people and widespread mayhem had followed.

  'No,' Memor snapped dismissively. 'Pompey Magnus has added an extra day of entertainment to his celebratory games.'

  'Chariot races!'

  'And you have a good tip for us!' added the wit in the crowd.

  Everyone laughed.

  Even Memor's lined face cracked into a smile. 'Better than that,' he replied. 'An opportunity to show that the Ludus Magnus is truly the best in Rome.' The lanista raised his voice. 'General Pompey wants a special contest! Two groups of fifty against each other.'

  'We haven't got a hundred gladiators,' said a murmillo, looking confused.

  'Fool!' snapped Memor. 'Fifty of you versus the same number from the Dacicus school.'

  'What a fight!' Brennus bared his teeth expectantly.