The Silver Eagle

They tramped on in grim silence.

  By the time the fort’s reassuring shape came into sight, the sky was lightening. This time, a vigilant sentry challenged the pair long before they reached the main entrance. Brennus’ bellowed answer, his simple horsehair-crested helmet and their obvious Roman uniforms were enough to see the gate opened. They had reached safety.

  Or so they thought.

  The pair received none of the welcome they might have expected when the portal creaked ajar. Instead the waiting faces were full of anger and contempt. The instant they had passed within, a ring of legionaries formed around them, their gladii and shields raised threateningly.

  ‘Hold on a moment,’ bristled Brennus. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘The Scythians out there are the damn enemy, not us,’ added Romulus.

  ‘Really?’ spat a grizzled soldier with one eye. ‘Cowards!’

  ‘What?’ responded Romulus disbelievingly. ‘Brennus fought his way free. He saved my life!’

  ‘Liar,’ shouted another sentry.

  ‘You ran and left your comrades to die,’ cried a third.

  ‘Novius got back before us,’ Romulus whispered to Brennus, horrified. ‘The scabby shitbag!’ And Brennus escaped because the gods told him to, he told himself.

  The Gaul gave him a resigned nod. Things were going from bad to worse.

  ‘Of course they fled,’ said the one-eyed man viciously. ‘They’re fucking slaves.’

  ‘I’ve never run from anyone,’ began Brennus angrily. Then an image of his burning village came to mind. I left my wife and child to die. The memory was a weeping sore in his soul. He fell silent.

  A chorus of sneers met his weak protest and the Gaul hung his head.

  Romulus was about to say more, but one look at the hard, closed faces all around was enough for the words to die in his throat. His pounding head made it even harder to concentrate, so he sealed his lips. Do not desert us, Mithras, Romulus thought desperately. Not now.

  ‘We should just kill them,’ shouted a voice from the back. ‘Get it over with.’

  At this, the friends gripped their weapons and prepared to fight to the death.

  ‘Quiet!’ barked the optio in charge. ‘Pacorus wants to see this pair immediately. He’ll have something tasty for them up his sleeve, no doubt.’

  Cruel laughter filled the air.

  Romulus and Brennus looked at each other numbly. It seemed that their commander had survived, which meant that Tarquinius was still alive. Given their hostile reception, though, they might never see him again.

  ‘Take their weapons,’ said the optio briskly. ‘Tie their arms.’

  Eager to obey, men swarmed in and stripped the friends of longsword and pugio. Neither fought back. Defenceless, their wrists were tightly bound behind their backs with thick rope. Urged on with kicks and taunts, they were frogmarched towards the headquarters.

  The fort was just beginning to come alive for the day. A cock cried repeatedly from his roost near the stables for the mules. The smell of baking bread reached them from the ovens. Legionaries were emerging from their barracks, yawning and stretching. Throats were being cleared; phlegm spat on the frozen ground. Queues formed outside the latrines; men joked and laughed with each other. Few took any notice of the small party going past.

  Until the one-eyed soldier took it upon himself to let everyone know.

  ‘Look who it is, boys!’ he roared. ‘The escaped slaves!’

  The optio turned and glared, but it was too late. The harm had been done. Sleep-filled faces twisted with anger and insults were hurled through the air. More than one gob of spit flew in their direction. Over and over, the same phrases were repeated and Romulus burned with anger and shame to hear them.

  ‘Cowards!’

  ‘You left your friends to die!’

  ‘Crucify them!’

  Men swarmed on to the Via Praetoria, surrounding the optio and his men. Jostling and shoving, they tried to reach the prisoners. The sentries did not put up much resistance.

  Romulus shrank away from the mauling hands. Having survived the horror of the patrol, it was utterly demoralising to be on the receiving end of such vitriol. But dying at the hands of a lynch mob held even less appeal. Brennus, his shoulders slumped, barely seemed to notice. This is my reward for running from my family, he thought. The gods’ final revenge. There will be no cleansing redemption in battle.

  ‘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 aro
und 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 protégé. 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 g
rim 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.