It was time.
An all-too-familiar feeling took hold. Recognising it as fear, Tarquinius gritted his teeth. This could not go on. He inhaled deeply, then again. Feeling calmer, he reached down for a poker and tapped the piece of timber with it. His action released a torrent of sparks. They wafted up the chimney in lazy streams, singly and in groups. The smallest went out very quickly, but bigger ones continued to glow as they were carried upwards by the hot air. The haruspex’ pupils constricted as he studied their pattern, counting his pulse to judge the time each took to disappear.
At last, an image of Romulus.
Tarquinius’ breath caught in his chest.
The young soldier looked troubled and unsure. Brennus was by his side, his normally jovial expression absent. Both were wearing their crested bronze helmets and dressed in full chain mail; their scuta were raised and a javelin was ready in each man’s right fist. Plainly they were nowhere near the security of the fort. Around them, the scenery was unclear, any distinctive features covered in snow. There were other legionaries present too, at least one or two centuries.
Tarquinius frowned.
A fast-moving flash of red contrasted against the white landscape. Then another.
The shapes were gone before he could decide what they were. Battle standards? Horsemen? Or just his imagination? The haruspex was left with a lingering sense of unease. He leaned closer to the fire, concentrating hard.
And jerked back, repulsed.
A barrack-room floor awash with blood.
What did it mean?
The image disappeared as the log broke in half. Gentle crackling sounds rose as the two pieces fell. The fire’s heart flared brighter as it seized control of the new fuel, and a new wave of sparks was released.
Tarquinius had long ago learned to let unclear, disturbing scenes go. Often they could not be interpreted at all, so there was little point in remaining anxious. He relaxed, pleased by the movement in the fireplace. There would be something useful in this. Lips moving silently, he focused his entire attention on what he was seeing.
A Parthian warrior sat astride a horse, which was panicking as an enraged elephant charged it. The man’s face was turned away, so he could not be recognised. Behind him a battle raged between Roman legionaries and a dark-skinned enemy armed with all manner of strange weapons.
The haruspex was intrigued by the rider and the host’s alien appearance. Intent on gaining an understanding of what was being shown, he did not hear the door open behind him.
‘Vahram?’ he muttered. ‘Is it Vahram?’
‘What sorcery are you up to?’
Tarquinius froze at the sound of the primus pilus’ voice. The realisation that he had not locked the door crashed down on him. Complacency can kill, he thought grimly. It was something he had taught Romulus, yet here he was, doing the same himself. Without looking back, Tarquinius shoved the poker hard against the chunks of wood, pushing them down into the ash at the bottom of the fireplace. Starved of air, they would go out fast. No more sparks. ‘I was just tending the fire,’ he replied.
‘Liar!’ Vahram hissed. ‘You said my name.’
Tarquinius stood and turned to face the primus pilus, who was accompanied by a trio of muscular warriors carrying spears. And ropes. Tonight, Vahram meant business. ‘Pacorus will wake,’ he said loudly, cursing the fact that he had not kept his thoughts silent.
‘Leave him be.’ Vahram smiled, but there was no humour in his face. ‘We don’t want to trouble him unnecessarily.’
He’s making his move, thought the haruspex with alarm. And my comment has given him more ammunition. ‘It’s been a long day,’ he said, raising his voice even further. ‘Hasn’t it, sir?’
Their commander did not move a muscle.
Tarquinius moved towards the bed, but Vahram blocked his way.
‘Don’t play it smart with me, you arrogant son of a whore!’ The barrel-chested Parthian was incandescent with rage now. ‘What did you see?’
‘I told you,’ answered Tarquinius earnestly, keen that the primus pilus should believe him. Who knew what he was really capable of? ‘Nothing.’
Vahram went icy calm. Everyone in the whole camp knew that the haruspex was no charlatan. Pacorus and Tarquinius had both been careful not to tell anyone about the lack of results from his haruspicy. In the primus pilus’ eyes, this was obstruction, pure and simple. ‘Fine,’ he said, his anger at last outweighing his fear. He snapped his fingers at the warriors. ‘Tie him up.’
Tarquinius flinched.
Swiftly his wrists were bound together; a leather gag was wedged into his mouth and tied around the back of his head. Is this what was different about tonight? Tarquinius thought bitterly. There had been no inkling that this would happen. The thick cords tore at his flesh, breaking the skin, but he breathed into the pain, letting it wash over him. This was just the start. What was to come would be worse.
It was then that Pacorus stirred under his blankets. His eyes, heavy-lidded from the sleeping draught that Tarquinius had given him, opened.
Not totally confident in his authority, Vahram paused. His men did likewise.
The haruspex sent up a prayer to Mithras. Wake up!
Pacorus’ lids closed again and he rolled over, turning his back to them.
The primus pilus’ face twisted with pleasure and he jerked a thumb at the door.
Feeling incredibly weary, the haruspex let himself be dragged outside. Even Pacorus’ guards had disappeared from their posts. The gods were in a cruel mood. There would be no easy divination tonight: just pain, and possibly death.
Initially, Vahram didn’t even ask any questions. This was about revenge as well as information-gathering. He waited patiently as his men tied Tarquinius’ wrists to an iron ring positioned high up on a pillar in the courtyard. Then he made a simple gesture with his hand. The beating that followed lasted for a long time. The three warriors changed places when their right arms grew tired from wielding the whip.
After a hundred lashes, Tarquinius lost count of the total. He lapsed in and out of consciousness, his tunic and flesh torn to tatters by the long, thin strip of leather with its weighted iron tip. Thick lines of blood ran down his back and on to his legs, congealing around his feet. Tidal waves of agony swamped his whole body. If the gag hadn’t prevented him, he would have bitten through his bottom lip. But he could not stop the involuntary shudders racking him, which made Vahram laugh.
‘Where’s your power now, soothsayer?’ he taunted.
Only the icy wind blowing through the courtyard provided Tarquinius with some relief, numbing his wounds somewhat. But its effect was also deadly. Through the haze of pain, the haruspex knew that if the ordeal continued for much longer, the cold and his injuries would kill him. Without the thick clothing that his tormentors were wearing, no man could last more than a few hours outside.
Vahram knew it too.
Dimly, Tarquinius felt himself being taken down and carried inside. Without ceremony he was dumped by the fire, which released fresh torrents of suffering. While one of the guards stoked the blaze, the others rubbed his feet and arms with blankets until he could feel them again. The haruspex’ extremities tingled and stung as sensation returned to them, and his spirits sank. The ministering that he was receiving proved that his suffering was not over. Vahram was obviously desperate for information and would not stop until he got it.
‘Ready to talk now?’
Tarquinius opened his eyes to find the primus pilus by his side. Vahram undid the gag so that he could speak. ‘What do you want to know?’ he whispered.