by Ben Kane
‘Stand back!’ ordered the optio, using energetic swipes of his staff to beat the enraged legionaries on their arms and shoulders. ‘Anyone who harms them gets fifty lashes!’
Sullenly the soldiers moved away, allowing the group to continue its journey to the Praetoria. Even the Parthian guards there looked down their noses at the two friends. The reaction of those inside the imposing gate was exactly the same. The doorways of the offices and storerooms positioned on three sides of the square forehall soon filled with disapproving faces. The nerve centre of the fort, this was where the quartermaster and a host of junior officers and clerks worked to keep the Forgotten Legion running smoothly. Few of them ever saw combat, but their attitude was just as extreme as the other soldiers. Desertion during combat was one of the most cowardly acts a legionary could commit. Death was the only punishment.
Their lives depended on Pacorus as never before.
They were taken inside the large chamber which directly faced the entrance. The optio made his report to the centurion who had been in charge of the fort overnight. Immediately a runner was sent to fetch Pacorus and the senior centurions.
Romulus found himself looking over at the shrine, where the legion’s silver eagle and its other standards were kept. Positioned to one side of the main offices, it was guarded night and day by a pair of sentries. Heavy curtains obscured the standards from view. He longed to prostrate himself before the metal bird and ask for its help. Here, in the centre of the fort, was where its power was strongest. But it was a faint hope. No one was about to let a slave accused of running from the enemy pray to the most sacred item belonging to the legion.
Instead, Romulus pictured the silver eagle in his head. With its protectively outstretched wings, it was a powerful symbol of Rome. He did not cease praying to Mithras though. Surely the god would understand the importance of the bird to him? He was a Roman soldier and followed the legion’s symbol with fierce pride. That did not diminish his belief in the warrior god who regarded all men in the same light. Equally, Romulus felt that the eagle would value his courage over the fact that he was a slave.
‘So!’ Pacorus’ voice reached them first. ‘The cowards have returned.’ Accompanied by Ishkan, Vahram and all the other senior officers, the legion’s commander stalked into view. A large party of warriors trotted behind them. Only Darius was missing. The early hour had not stopped any of the Parthians from wanting to be present. Romulus was struck by how ill Pacorus still looked, but twin red points of anger marked his hollow cheeks. Rage was giving him the energy to be here.
There was no sign of Tarquinius, the man whose hard work had brought Pacorus back from the brink. Disappointment swamped Romulus. Another mountain had been placed in their way. If the haruspex had been restored to favour, they might have stood a better chance.
When the officers had come to a halt, the optio and his men shoved Romulus and Brennus forward.
‘What have you to say?’ demanded Pacorus harshly.
‘Before you are crucified,’ added Vahram with a cruel smile.
‘Scum,’ said Ishkan.
Romulus looked at Brennus and was shocked to see dumb acceptance of their fate. ‘This is my destiny,’ whispered the Gaul. ‘I deserted my own family and people when they needed me.’
‘No,’ hissed Romulus. ‘It wasn’t your fault! Your journey is not over.’ But there was no time to persuade his friend. He was on his own.
The optio struck Romulus heavily across the shoulder blades with his staff. ‘Answer the commander!’
He clenched his teeth to stop himself wheeling around and attacking the junior officer. The Parthians would know the truth at least. ‘It wasn’t us who ran, sir.’
Vahram threw back his head and laughed. Pacorus and the others just looked incredulous.
‘It’s true.’ Romulus took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. Somehow he pushed away the pain in his head, focusing instead on their critical situation. It was vital that he persuade the Parthians of their story. ‘Where are the liars who accused us of running, sir? At least let us hear the accusation from their mouths.’
Pacorus was taken aback.
‘That’s fair enough, sir,’ said Ishkan.
‘Why bother?’ protested Vahram. ‘Look at them! It’s obvious that the dogs are guilty.’
The commander gave his senior centurion a measured stare before lifting a hand. An optio ran off to do his bidding.
Thank you, Mithras. Romulus breathed a small sigh of relief. Obviously all was not well between Pacorus and the primus pilus. If he could utilise that factor to their advantage, there might be some hope yet.
‘Tell us what happened then,’ ordered Vahram curtly. ‘While we wait.’
Romulus did as he was told. By the time he had finished, Ishkan at least appeared to believe him. But Pacorus, and particularly Vahram, seemed utterly unmoved.
Despairing, Brennus was of no help. He stood beside Romulus, looking at the floor.
The Parthians began to speak quick-fire in their own language. From the gesticulations and arm-waving, it was obvious that the primus pilus wanted them both dead. Ishkan was more measured, speaking in a deep, calm voice, while Pacorus stood with eyes narrowed, pondering.
At length the optio returned. Novius, Optatus and Ammias were two steps behind him. They had clearly been asleep until a few moments earlier. But all weariness fell away when they saw Romulus and Brennus. Novius’ face twisted with hate, and he muttered something to his companions.
‘This young soldier says that you were lying,’ announced Pacorus without preamble. ‘That in fact you and your comrades were the ones to run.’
Furious, Optatus opened his mouth to speak, but Novius laid a hand on his arm.
‘Of course he does, sir,’ the little legionary said smoothly. ‘But his word can’t be trusted. He and his friend are damn slaves. Not citizens like us.’
Optatus and Ammias nodded righteously. In Rome, slaves’ testament was only valid if it had been obtained by torture.
Pacorus seemed confused, so Ishkan leaned over and whispered in his ear. He had heard about the two friends’ isolation in the days preceding the patrol.
‘Idiot,’ the commander snapped. ‘You are all my prisoners. Who or what you were before Carrhae is irrelevant.’
‘Not to us, sir,’ replied Novius fiercely. ‘It’s very important.’
‘That’s right,’ added Ammias. ‘Sir.’
Shrewd enough to see how much it meant to the legionaries, Pacorus turned to Romulus. ‘Is it true?’ he demanded. ‘You are slaves?’
There was little point in lying. This was all about who was telling the truth. ‘We are,’ he said heavily.
Brennus shot him an alarmed glance, but Romulus stayed calm.
‘I knew it!’ Novius crowed with delight. His friends looked similarly jubilant.
Pacorus waited.
‘That doesn’t mean I ran away,’ Romulus growled. ‘Courage belongs to all men.’
‘True,’ Pacorus answered. ‘But I cannot tell which of you is lying.’ He turned to the primus pilus. ‘The whole damn thing is far more trouble than I need. Crucify them all.’
Vahram saluted with gusto. This would be a duty he would take great pleasure in. It was of little matter to him how many legionaries who went up on crosses. And, as friends of Tarquinius, he deeply distrusted the huge Gaul and his protege. The primus pilus waved his hand and the Parthian warriors swarmed around Novius and his companions.
They looked terrified.
Pacorus frowned at the three veterans’ reactions. They were very different to those of Romulus and Brennus, who seemed accepting of their fate. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ The commander pointed at Novius, Optatus and Ammias. ‘You lot will fight the slaves,’ he said. ‘To the death.’
The little legionary looked uncertainly at his comrades.
Three against two, thought Romulus. Those odds aren’t too bad. Even the Gaul lifted his head. But Romulus
eyed Pacorus with suspicion. Why this sudden change of heart?
Suddenly Vahram, who had been visibly disappointed, grinned. He guessed what was coming.
Pacorus wasn’t finished. ‘Slaves are not soldiers,’ he went on. ‘They should not bear weapons. It will be three swords against two pairs of bare hands.’
Romulus’ mouth opened while Novius could barely conceal his glee.
‘The gods will decide who is telling the truth,’ said Pacorus.
‘When?’ asked Ishkan.
The commander rubbed his hands together. ‘Right now,’ he answered. ‘Why not?’
Brennus’ shoulders lifted at last. This way I can die fighting, he thought.
Romulus clenched his jaw, determined to die like a man.
The gods had granted them another faint chance.
Without further ado, they were marched out to the intervallum. Pacorus wanted as many men as possible to witness the combat, so the centuries from the nearest barracks were hastily assembled as well. The soldiers needed little encouragement. They poured out into the dawn air, eager to watch the unscheduled entertainment. Instead of the rope square used in the ludus, or the wooden enclosure of the arena, the fighting space was formed by dozens of legionaries, holding their scuta before them. Parthian warriors were stationed at regular intervals around the perimeter, their bows drawn. Another group stood protectively around Pacorus and the senior centurions.
Romulus and Brennus were untied and left to stand in one corner. Rubbing their wrists to restore the circulation in their hands, the two friends paid no attention to the curious stares of the men around them. The insults that filled the air were harder to ignore. These were their former comrades. Romulus burned to deny the charges being thrown at them, but he saved his energy, every scrap of which would be needed in the next few moments. Diagonally opposite were Novius, Ammias and Optatus. The veterans’ armour and weapons had been fetched, and the three were busy donning their mail shirts and bronze helmets. With his left thigh still strapped, Caius was near his friends, his face full of relief that he was not part of it.
Romulus racked his brains for their best option. Somehow at least one of them had to arm himself. Quickly. It would not take their experienced enemies long to injure and kill two unarmed men.
‘We split up,’ whispered Brennus.
Romulus could not believe his ears. ‘Our only hope is to stick together,’ he protested.
‘I’m bigger. Two of the bastards will go for me,’ said the Gaul confidently. ‘That gives you the chance to take a weapon from the third.’
It didn’t seem much of an option.
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll manage,’ Brennus answered grimly. ‘Just get a sword.’
Romulus had no better alternative, and he had no time to think of one.
The veterans had armed themselves. With chain mail, shields and gladii, they were now a fearsome prospect.
‘Begin!’ shouted Pacorus.
There was a pause.
The commander bellowed an order and his men raised their bows. ‘They will loose on the count of three,’ he said. ‘One. ’
Fury filled Romulus. In the ludus, Memor’s archers had forced him to fight a vicious Goth called Lentulus. That combat had also been to the death. But at least then I was armed, he thought. His heart pounded in his chest. What chance had they?
The three legionaries rushed to stand side by side. Drawing their swords, they brought their scuta together to form a small shield wall.
‘Two.’
They began to advance, their faces grim and set.
Satisfied, Pacorus fell silent.
This is better than crucifixion, thought Brennus, adrenalin pumping through him. ‘Now,’ he muttered and darted away to one side.
Obeying, Romulus shot off in the opposite direction.
Pleasingly, Novius’ and his comrades’ faces were the picture of surprise. But they regained their composure fast. After the slightest pause, Novius and Ammias followed Romulus. Rolling his shoulders, Optatus went for Brennus.
Romulus cursed. The Gaul’s plan had not worked. The veterans also planned to take down the weaker man first.
Him.
‘Can’t even fight with each other, eh?’ Novius sneered as they drew nearer.
‘We’re not the ones who ran,’ retorted Romulus. ‘You are. Damn liars.’
Ammias actually looked guilty.
‘Shut your mouth,’ hissed Novius, lunging forward with his gladius. ‘Filthy slave.’
Angering the little legionary might provide a chink of opportunity, thought Romulus, dodging to the left. A quick thrust from Ammias followed and desperately he shuffled backwards. Gloating, Novius and his comrade split up.
Romulus had a brief moment before he was assailed from in front and behind. Novius was the more dangerous of his opponents, and might see through the only trick he could think of. The young soldier acted immediately. He ran forward and at the last moment, threw himself down on the ground just in front of Ammias, rolling forward to collide with his legs. The risky plan worked, and the veteran fell forward, cursing. Laden down with weapons and his chain mail, he was momentarily helpless. Wriggling free, Romulus jumped to his feet and delivered a huge kick to his enemy’s unprotected groin. Ammias screamed and dropped his sword.
It was the opportunity he had been praying for.
Romulus leaned over and grabbed the veteran’s gladius. But there was no chance of getting the shield as well. He pulled back to avoid a lethal thrust from Novius, who had swept forward to aid his friend. Romulus moved away, sliding his sandals carefully to make sure he did not lose his footing on the icy ground. The little legionary did not pursue him, instead helping up Ammias, who looked more embarrassed than anything. Romulus’ manoeuvre had been something only a novice would fall for. Wincing in pain, Ammias pulled out his pugio and waved it at him.
‘Ready to feel this in your guts?’ he cried.
‘Come and try,’ sneered Romulus, holding up the gladius.
The two veterans made for him at the trot.
Romulus breathed deeply, filling his lungs with cold air. His situation was only a fraction less critical than it had been. He glanced over his shoulder to see how Brennus was doing. To his relief, the Gaul was still unhurt. He was dancing around Optatus, ducking and weaving away from thrusts of the big soldier’s sword.
Again Romulus’ enemies split up, preparing to hit him simultaneously this time.
His fingers closed tightly around the sword’s bone hilt as he watched them approach. It was times like this which separated cowards from the courageous. There was only one thing to do, thought Romulus. Go on the attack. If he waited until they reached him, it would be over in a few heartbeats. Which one? It took a mere instant to decide. Novius. It was Novius who was smaller.
Romulus charged straight at the little legionary, whose eyes widened at his audacity. Preparing himself, Novius ducked behind his scutum, protecting himself from his neck to his lower legs. The curved shield’s size meant that it was almost impossible to deliver a fatal blow to the man holding it. But that was not Romulus’ intention. Closing in, he feinted to one side, letting Novius think that he was attacking from his right. The legionary raised his gladius, ready to strike. At the last instant, the young soldier danced the other way and dropped his left shoulder. With an almighty heave, he barged into Novius’ scutum, using his superior body weight to drive the legionary backwards. Used to having a comrade on his left side to defend him, Novius was caught unawares. Then his caligae slipped on a patch of frost and he fell, landing on the flat of his back. The impact drove the air from his lungs, winding him.
Romulus acted fast. Pulling the heavy scutum up and out of the way, he thrust his sword into his enemy’s throat. Novius’ pupils dilated with shock as the sharp iron blade sliced through soft flesh to grate off the vertebrae in his neck. Bright red blood gushed from the wound, staining the ground beneath. Novius’ mouth opened and cl
osed, like a fish out of water. Two heartbeats later, he was dead.
It was a quick end for the malevolent little legionary, thought Romulus. Too quick.
He looked back. Pelting in, Ammias was only a few paces away. His voice was distorted in a scream of fury. Again Romulus had to retreat without a shield. But his opponent was able to pick up a gladius as he stepped over Novius’ body. They shuffled around, trading blows, each searching for weaknesses in the other. Twice, Ammias shoved his gilt shield boss at Romulus’ face, but the young soldier was ready for the classic move and dodged backwards both times. Frustrated and angered by Novius’ death, the veteran’s attacks grew more frenzied.
Stay calm, Romulus thought. He’ll make a mistake eventually. They always do.
From behind him came the unmistakable sound of a man crying out in pain.
Romulus couldn’t help himself. He turned to see what had happened. Optatus had sliced Brennus across his left arm, opening a long cut from his elbow to his wrist. As blood welled from the wound, the Gaul desperately retreated, trying to avoid further injury.
Too late, the young soldier remembered Ammias. In slow motion, he spun back. His enemy’s shield boss hit him full in the chest and Romulus heard a dull crack as two of his ribs broke. Used like this, the Roman scutum was an excellent offensive weapon. Stars cascaded across Romulus’ vision and he landed heavily, dropping his sword.
At once Ammias kicked it out of reach. Snarling with rage, he stooped over Romulus. ‘You killed my friend,’ he growled. ‘And the Gaulish bastard did for Primitivus. Now it’s your turn.’
Romulus clenched his jaw in an effort not to cry out. Sharp needles were stabbing him with every breath. Sensing his weakness, the grinning veteran kicked him viciously.
He nearly passed out from the pain.
‘Like that?’ gloated Ammias. ‘Slave scum.’
Romulus could not answer. Through slitted eyes, he saw his opponent’s gladius rise up.
Roars of approval came from the watching legionaries. The unexpected entertainment was proving to be hugely enjoyable. It was all the better if one of their comrades was victorious.
