by Ben Kane
'How is he going to do it?' muttered Felix.
Romulus had also been racking his brains to work it out.
'Trust him.' Since Seleucia, nothing could shake Brennus' convictions.
The short Gaul grumbled and fell silent while Romulus craned his head, still trying to hear snippets of the conversation.
They waited for some time, swatting at flies and glaring at the nearby Parthians.
'Here he is!'
The merchant was approaching, followed by three companions, while a solitary guard took up the rear. Reaching the entrance, Isaac spoke briefly with the Parthian sentries before entering with his party.
Pacorus bowed graciously as the Judaean came inside. 'Parthia welcomes honest traders.'
'My thanks, Excellency.' Isaac responded more slowly. He was here under duress, but had to keep up the pretence.
Servants moved forward, offering wine, fruits and meat. The old man drained two cups without pause, then polished off a small plate of food. Chewing on a piece of lamb, he peered at Tarquinius curiously.
The Etruscan pointedly ignored him.
'How long has your journey taken?' Pacorus asked when it seemed his guest had eaten plenty.
'In total?' The Judaean cackled. 'Two years so far, Excellency. India. Scythia. Margiana.'
'Your camels are heavily laden.'
'It has been a good trip,' admitted Isaac grudgingly. 'And it might make a small profit. If I return safe to Damascus.'
'What are you carrying?' Tarquinius spoke for the first time.
The merchant frowned at the question. Unsure of the blond soldier's status, Isaac raised an eyebrow at Pacorus, who nodded.
'Myrrh, olibanum and silk. Some ivory and indigo.' These goods commanded huge prices in Rome, but Isaac made them sound utterly worthless.
'Anything else?'
Isaac's face took on a hunted look.
'Well?' Pacorus' voice was less friendly now. 'All goods must be declared to royal officials.'
'Some gemstones, Excellency,' he said reluctantly. 'Lapis, agate. A few diamonds.'
'Do you know much about jewels?' shot Tarquinius.
The Judaean's eyes flickered. 'I have some knowledge.'
'How much indigo?'
'Three modii.' Isaac's lips pursed at the interrogation and he turned to Pacorus for support. 'All taxes due were paid in full, Excellency. At Antiochia.'
The Parthian smiled.
'One modius would be enough purple dye for a thousand togas!' Tarquinius blew out his cheeks. 'Make you a wealthy man.'
'First the dyers in Tyre must be paid,' protested Isaac. 'They will rob me blind!'
'That will still leave a tidy amount, old man,' said Pacorus dryly.
'I risk my life crossing half the world, Excellency,' Isaac muttered. 'Can I not make a little money?'
'Of course,' Tarquinius laughed, raising both hands placatingly. 'What quantity of silk have you got?'
Sensing interest, there was an instant change in the merchant's demeanour. 'Over a hundred bales of the very best fabric,' he said slyly. 'Want to see?'
The Etruscan glanced at Pacorus, to indicate that the officer was in apparent command.
'Show us.'
Isaac spoke eagerly to his compatriots. Hurrying from the tent, the men quickly returned with two large cloth-wrapped bundles. Walking towards them, the Judaeans expertly unrolled the bales. Clouds of dust rose as the heavy covering came away, but the cream silk within was still clean. Even the tent's dim light could not dampen the glistening sheen from the fabric.
'Worth its weight in gold,' whispered Tarquinius, moving closer. He felt the sheet with a finger and thumb. 'Is it all the same thickness?'
Isaac began to extol the qualities of his merchandise.
Tarquinius dropped the pretence. 'We want the lot.'
The Judaean was shocked. 'All of it?'
He nodded.
'That silk is worth a fortune,' Isaac protested before bowing towards Pacorus. 'And I doubt very much if it is in your. price range.'
Tarquinius reached into his tunic. 'Look at this,' he said, opening the leather pouch.
Warily Isaac extended a grimy hand.
The ruby dropped into his outstretched palm.
'That should pay for everything,' said the Etruscan.
For a moment the Judaean was speechless. It was larger than a hen's egg.
Tarquinius chuckled knowingly.
'I'm not sure this is top quality,' Isaac raised the gem to the light, one eye closed. 'I can see some imperfections.'
'It is worth a king's ransom,' snapped Tarquinius. 'And you know it.'
'Take the ruby,' Pacorus' voice was cold. 'The silk is ours.'
'And the myrrh,' added Tarquinius.
Isaac knew when to take a bargain. 'Of course, Excellency,' he fawned. The stone had already disappeared into his robe. 'They are yours. The goods only need to be carried here from my camp.'
He turned to go.
'Stay,' said Tarquinius. There was no mistaking his tone. 'Until we have seen all the silk.'
The old trader stopped dead. 'Indeed, indeed.' He spat an order at his men, who scurried from the tent.
Tarquinius turned to Pacorus. 'It is strong and thick. And these bales should cover five thousand shields.'
'That's only half of them.'
'It will be more than enough.' The Etruscan stared at the commander, dark eyes piercing. 'I have already seen a mighty victory over the Sogdians.'
'They say you predicted the Roman defeat before Carrhae.'
'Weeks before.'
Pacorus smiled.
Chapter XXX: Margiana
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.'
