The Forgotten Legion tflc-1

by Ben Kane

  The plan had gone spectacularly wrong.

  Jovina had accepted the present readily enough, even serving some acceptable wine. They had talked politely about the state of the Republic and the economy before Gemellus had brought up the topic of Fabiola.

  Jovina's face had gone cagey the moment the girl was mentioned. A queasy feeling had flared in his stomach, unsettling him, and he'd started badly by immediately demanding a cut of Fabiola's earnings. The sharp skills at bargaining which had been honed over two decades seemed to have evaporated overnight. Jovina had refused point blank and Gemellus had lost his temper. Beleaguered now on all sides by creditors, he had not forgiven the madam for duping him out of thousands of sestertii.

  Gemellus hadn't even had the satisfaction of wrapping his fingers around Jovina's scrawny neck. Before he could lay a hand on her, the enormous doorman had again materialised as if from thin air. Benignus had plucked the merchant bodily from his seat, and carried him to the door. The colossus had held Gemellus' arms while Vettius drove two powerful punches into his solar plexus, winding him completely. A moment later, he flew out the door to land face first in a fresh pile of mule dung.

  'Next time I'll tell them to cut your balls off!' Jovina had yelled.

  Scandal did not take long to move through the city. It would only be a matter of time before Gemellus' enemies heard the news of his public disgrace. The merchant's poor standing with certain influential members of Rome's financial underworld would be damaged even further. The frantic attempts he'd made to keep his lenders happy were all going wrong. Gemellus had managed to placate Crassus, his biggest creditor, but a number of the Greeks in the Forum had threatened to break his legs if he couldn't meet their extortionate weekly payments.

  If he wanted to fund the bestiarius' expedition, Gemellus would have to sell the house in the Aventine or even his beloved villa in Pompeii. This realisation darkened an already black mood. He stalked along stone-floored corridors to the room Romulus and Fabiola had shared with their mother. Throwing open the flimsy wooden door, Gemellus found Velvinna on an old cot, sobbing into the pillow.

  'Useless bitch. Why aren't you in the kitchen?'

  'I am sick, Master.'

  Gemellus was filled with disgust. Velvinna's once lustrous hair was matted with dirt. The features he had lusted after were etched with lines of worry and sadness. Although she was only thirty, Velvinna looked ten years older.

  'Get up and do some work!'

  'My children, Master. Where are my beautiful twins?'

  Gemellus pursed his lips. He was sick of Velvinna repeatedly asking the same question. It did not matter how many times she was raped. The merchant stalked over and grabbed her by the hair.

  There was not even the satisfaction of a whimper in response.

  'With any luck the boy is dead,' he spat. 'I didn't do so well with the little vixen though. She's making her new owner a fortune in the whorehouse.'

  Velvinna stared at him dully. It was almost too much to take in. 'Kill me, Master. I have nothing left to live for.'

  Gemellus laughed. The idea that she would have a reason to exist was most amusing. She belonged to him — he could sell or even kill her without any legal implications. Whether Velvinna cared about Romulus and Fabiola or not was entirely irrelevant.

  'I'll get a few hundred sestertii for you instead. The salt mines will take anything that breathes,' he said. 'I should have done it the same day as the brats. Now get back to work.'

  'And if I won't?'

  The merchant was so shocked that he released his grip on her.

  'Everything I held sacred has been taken. My virginity. My body. Even my children. There is nothing left.' For the first time in her life, Velvinna's face showed no fear. 'Sell me to the mines.'

  'Be ready at dawn!' Gemellus blustered, unsure what to say to a slave who requested certain death. Severe discipline and an incredibly harsh environment meant even the strongest of men survived only a few years digging salt. Someone as weak as Velvinna would last weeks at most.

  He turned to go.

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

  The merchant raised a hand, but something held him back.

  'Romulus will stand outside. And may the gods help you when he discovers my fate.'

  Memories of Fabiola's defiance and the hatred in Romulus' eyes as he stood in the yard of the Ludus Magnus were vivid in Gemellus' mind.

  Maybe she was telling the truth. Terror consumed him and he slapped Velvinna so hard that her head snapped back into the wall. She collapsed to the floor, the shallow movements of her ragged dress the only sign of life.

  He eyed Velvinna's bare legs and a flicker of desire stirred in his loins. The merchant considered taking her there and then, but the prophecy had shaken him. He closed the door softly and walked away. In the morning, he would take Velvinna to the slave market. She and the twins would be forgotten for ever.

  One day there will be a knock on your door.

  Chapter XI: Prophecy

  Rome, winter 56 BC

  Tarquinius was squatting by the steps of the great temple to Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill. He felt at home here, in a place where echoes of the Rasenna were still strong. It was also an excellent spot to watch goings-on; to assess the general mood in the city. The Etruscan had been coming every day for weeks. Built by his people hundreds of years before, this shrine was the most important place of worship in Rome. It was busy from sunrise to sunset. And with political uncertainty now ever-present, business was better than ever. The bitter cold could not keep worshippers away and the complex was crowded and noisy.

  Self-important priests stalked past, young acolytes scurrying at their heels; a group of lictores sat around, eyeballing anyone foolish enough to look in their direction. Small boys who had climbed the hill without parental permission gaped at the panoramic view of the sprawling metropolis. Ordinary citizens passed inside the doors to mutter their requests, ask for help with their problems, and curse their enemies. Stallholders roared and yelled, trying to sell food, wine and statues of Jupiter, as well as hens and lambs to slaughter as offerings. There were snake charmers, whores, jugglers, pickpockets; even a senator canvassing for votes amongst the wealthier devotees. All were here because of people 's constant desire to know the future.

  Tarquinius smiled. Judging from the number of tricksters and con-men about, there was little chance of an accurate prediction. It was the same outside every temple in the world. In all his years of travelling, Tarquinius judged that he had encountered perhaps two other genuine soothsayers and augurs. Only one had been from Italy. His lip curled with contempt. The Romans might have smashed every Etruscan city and stolen their entire culture, but they had never completely mastered the art of haruspicy. Unlike Olenus, whose ability to see the future had been uncanny.

  Eventually Rome draws you back. A desire for revenge.

  But Caelius, the reason for him to linger in the capital, was proving surprisingly hard to find. With the last of his fortune long spent and his latifundium seized by moneylenders, the redheaded noble had taken up a new career, hoping to renew his fortune. Tarquinius had been revolted to discover that Caelius was now a slave trader, following in the wake of destruction left by Caesar's army in Gaul. Despite many attempts at divination, the Etruscan had been unable to discover Caelius' exact whereabouts. So he had waited patiently in Rome for nearly twelve months, biding his time. If he kept searching, animal entrails or the weather would eventually reveal something. And they had. The man who had killed Olenus would return to visit the city within the year.

  Content with that thought, Tarquinius watched the nearby soothsayers plying their trade. Wearing blunt-peaked leather hats, the men were surrounded by clusters of eager supplicants with open purses. The Etruscan leaned back on his heels, studying the people 's faces. There was the barren wife, desperate to conceive a son; alongside stood the worried mother whose legionary son had not written home in an age. The
gambler with moneylenders on his trail; the rich plebeian eager to climb the social ladder; the spurned lover eager for revenge. He smiled. They were all transparent to him.

  The young lamb he had bought earlier bleated, taking his attention away from the crowds. Barely a month old, it was restrained by a thin cord round its neck that was attached to his wrist. The haruspex looked up, taking in the wind and the clouds above. It was time to see what lay in store for him.

  For Rome. Tarquinius picked up a short dark blade that he used for sacrifices and close-quarters fighting. Muttering a prayer of thanks for its life, he pulled the lamb closer, holding up its head with his left hand. A swift slash of the razor-sharp metal and the young animal collapsed, blood pouring from the gaping cut in its throat. It kicked a few times and lay still. Flipping the body over on to its back, Tarquinius sliced open the abdomen and let the loops of small intestine slither on to the cold stone. After a moment, seeing nothing of interest, he moved on, expertly cutting free the liver. Balancing it in his left hand, the haruspex raised his eyes to the sky once more. He had performed divinations countless times, yet the ritual still excited him. Not once in fourteen years had the results been the same.

  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 mystical 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.'