The Forgotten Legion

Romulus was mostly content with this. Life was simpler not knowing everything that would happen. It was enough to be told that he would survive the Parthian army. This left room in his heart for the dream of returning to Rome.

Finding his family.

During the long march, Romulus has gone through periods of blaming his mother for her awful predicament. She could have killed Gemellus any time he was in her bed. But she had not. Why? Anger filled him when he thought of how easily the fat merchant could have been silenced for ever. But eventually her reasoning became clear. She was not a trained fighter like him. Velvinna had been a mother with two young children; she had done everything in her power to protect them. She had let Gemellus rape her over and over again for the sake of the twins' safety. This bitter realisation had filled Romulus with shame and self-disgust. How could he not have appreciated his mother's sacrifice before? It made him even more determined to kill Gemellus. But it was hard not to lose hope. Unlike Brennus, he still struggled to believe some of Tarquinius' more incredible predictions. From all practical points of view, going home now seemed impossible.

'Margiana?' said Felix. 'Never heard of it.'

'Trust me,' Tarquinius replied archly. 'It exists.'

'What is it like?'

'Green landscape. Wide rivers and fertile land.'

Felix gestured at the desert. 'Anything'd be better than this hell.'

Romulus laughed. As well as being one of the few survivors of Bassius' cohort, Felix was good company.

'So who lives there?' said Brennus.

'Descendants of the Greeks, meaning they are civilised people. And nomads. Men with yellow skin, black hair and slanted eyes.'

'Sound like demons,' muttered Felix.

'They bleed like anyone else.'

'How do they fight?' Brennus was ever the pragmatist. He would always be a warrior.

'With bows. From horseback.'

There was a collective groan.

'And not friendly with Parthia either?'

Tarquinius shook his head.

'Marched to the far side of the world to be massacred,' said Felix sarcastically. 'Again.'

'Not if I have anything to do with it,' Tarquinius replied. 'We need to cover each shield with silk.'

'What? The material the Parthians make their banners from?' asked the Gaul. The huge, brightly coloured flags had helped to terrify Crassus' soldiers before Carrhae.

'The same. It will stop those.' The Etruscan pointed at the shafts in Brennus' quiver.

The spirits of those within earshot lifted at the prospect of surviving the arrow storms that had slaughtered their comrades at Carrhae.

Romulus had occasionally seen noble ladies at the arena dressed in softly shining robes. 'Costs a fortune, doesn't it?' he said.

'Not if we liberate a caravan load of the stuff.'

Brennus and Romulus were now openly curious.

'In twelve days we will cross paths with Judaean traders returning from India,' remarked Tarquinius.

Parthia was virtually empty, populated only by small nomadic tribes, and since leaving Seleucia there had been few others crossing the wilderness. But by now no one reacted to the Etruscan's second sight. If Tarquinius said something was going to happen, it would.

'That is a long journey,' said Romulus with surprise. He knew from the ancient map that India was even further than Margiana. To discover that men would make the trip by choice was a surprise. 'It must be worth while.'

Tarquinius smiled enigmatically.

Brennus began to grow impatient and the Etruscan relented.

'They will be carrying spices mostly. And a lot of silk.'

'For us to cover our scuta,' said Brennus thoughtfully. 'Pacorus might need some convincing. And Orodes won't be too pleased if his captains start stealing from traders.'

Tarquinius looked shocked. 'Who said we would rob anyone?'

Brennus snorted. 'How else can you part Judaeans from their goods?'

'I will buy the fabric.'

'Need more than the gold head on that,' replied the Gaul, nodding at the lituus dangling from Tarquinius' belt.

Since Pacorus had realised the Etruscan's worth, Tarquinius had stopped hiding his symbol of power. Remembering stories of haruspices from childhood, other soldiers regarded the staff with awe and it gave their cohort a special place in the Forgotten Legion.

Even Romulus felt dubious. Silk was the most precious of commodities. Only small amounts reached the markets in Rome, transported distances that few could even imagine. The amount required to cover over nine thousand shields would cost a fortune.

'So how will you buy it?' the Gaul asked.

Tarquinius would not answer. 'I need to talk to Pacorus,' he announced.

Brennus rolled his eyes.

'He won't tell us,' said Romulus. 'You should know that by now.'

The Gaul laughed.

Well used to Tarquinius' secretive nature, Romulus did not ask either. They had survived Carrhae, marched east for over a thousand miles with few mishaps. Despite an apparent lack of funds, he felt reassured by the prediction. The wise haruspex would win over Pacorus and get them the silk to give them a way of fighting new enemies. Getting back to Rome might seem impossible, but this did not. He strode forward confidently, the hot sand crunching beneath the soles of his sandals.

Tarquinius was as good as his word. That night, he left the others huddled by a tiny fire, eating bread and dried goat meat. Once the legionaries had sworn allegiance to Parthia, their captors had begun to treat them better and they were now fed a reasonable amount every day. There was no point starving men who would be expected to fight for the empire.

Making his way quietly through the darkness, the Etruscan observed the resting soldiers. Although they were captives, there was still good discipline, a sense of order. The cloth tents had been placed in neat lines, century by century. Even temporary ramparts had been thrown up, with pairs of sentries marching vigilantly round the perimeter. It looked like a typical army camp, except that this was further from Rome than any legionary had ever ventured.

Since the prisoners had realised they were not to be killed out of hand, their spirits had been rising. They would fight well, especially when Tarquinius revealed a new protection against the tribes' lethal arrows.

'Halt!' Burly warriors levelled spears at the Etruscan. Pacorus kept Parthians stationed around his tent at night. 'Who goes there?'

'The haruspex.'

Fear filled their eyes. 'What do you want?' one asked.

'A word with Pacorus.'

They conferred with each other for a moment.

'Wait here,' the first guard said curtly. Leaving his companions to watch Tarquinius, he entered the large tent a few steps away. The Parthian was not gone long. Lifting the cloth flap, he jerked his head.

Tarquinius approached, ducking a little to enter. The warrior lingered at the opening, clutching his weapon nervously.

In stark contrast to the Romans' accommodation, the interior of Pacorus' tent was richly decorated. Thick wool carpets covered the floor and a brazier smoked in one corner, providing warmth against the night air. Oil-soaked torches burned in deep plates, casting long shadows. Reclining cushions lay scattered about, but weapons stacked on a wooden stand were a reminder of the journey's real purpose. Slaves were cooking on a fire, and standing by with platters of food and drink. The tempting smell of roasting meat filled the tent.