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.

Vahram’s lips curved upwards in triumph. ‘Everything,’ he replied. ‘About my future.’

‘Your future?’ Tarquinius croaked. ‘And that of Pacorus?’

Nodding, the primus pilus grew bolder. ‘Who should lead the Forgotten Legion now?’ he murmured. ‘Surely not that cripple in the bed?’

In that instant it was all clear. The haruspex swallowed, his mouth bone dry. With the increasing possibility that Pacorus might survive, Vahram’s hopes were beginning to disappear. His hand was being forced and now the ambitious primus pilus wanted a sign so he could seize command of the Forgotten Legion. If Tarquinius gave it to him, Pacorus would die. And if he did not . . .

Behind the squat Parthian, the blaze was coming back to life. With new logs to consume, flames darted back and forth, searching for the best place to climb upwards.

Following the haruspex’ gaze, Vahram’s face grew eager. Neither spoke for some moments.

In the white light, the rider whom Tarquinius had seen before reappeared. This time, he got a clear look at his visage. It was definitely Vahram. Missing his right hand, he looked terrified. With huge effort, the haruspex kept his expression blank. He could not reveal this without losing his own life. Vahram’s temper was ferocious.

‘Well?’

His sensed dulled by the pain, Tarquinius could not think of a good response. He shook his head.

Snarling with rage, the primus pilus smashed him full across the face with a clenched fist.

The haruspex felt his nose break. Blood filled his mouth and he coughed up a great gobbet on to the carpet. ‘It is unclear,’ he muttered, his teeth stained red. ‘Lately I have been able to see nothing.’

Disbelief twisted Vahram’s face.

In his bed just a few steps away, Pacorus slept on.

‘Take him outside again.’

The warriors hurried to obey. Hauling Tarquinius upright, they dragged him towards the door.

‘Wait!’ They heard the distinctive noise of a dagger being unsheathed.

There was a long pause.

Looking over his shoulder at what Vahram was doing, one of the guards laughed.

Nausea filled Tarquinius. The primus pilus’ cruelty knew no bounds. Measured steps came closer. When the heated blade touched the deepest of the cuts on his back, the haruspex could help himself no longer. A moan ripped free of his mouth.

Pacorus stirred and Vahram realised that he had gone too far inside the chamber. Taking his hand away, he ushered his guards and their burden through the door. Tarquinius was tied to the iron ring once more.

And the red-hot tip was pressed into his flesh over and over again. Vahram leaned in constantly, whispering in the haruspex’ ear. ‘Tell me, and I’ll stop.’

Desperate to end his own suffering, Tarquinius could not. Except for two details, his normally acute mind had gone blank. Previously he had seen that Pacorus’ role in his and his friends’ future was vital, and tonight the fire had shown that the primus pilus’ life might be in danger. Revealing either of these to Vahram was foolish in the extreme, and he could come up with nothing else. So the torture would go on.

Thankfully the freezing temperature cooled the dagger quickly.

But the primus pilus went straight back inside to the fire.

Weakness overcame Tarquinius and he sagged down, unable to hold himself upright any longer. The rope binding his wrists tightened cruelly, but by now he didn’t even feel that. The pain from the whipping and his burns was threatening to overwhelm him.

Content to wait until their master returned, the guards lounged nearby, chatting idly.

The haruspex’ eyes opened, unfocused. He could feel his strength departing with each heartbeat.

A gust of cold wind hit his face, and he looked upwards.

The night sky of earlier had changed: any sign of the moon and stars had disappeared. Great threatening banks of cloud were building. Deep inside them, flashes of vivid light flared, portents of the storm to come. Loud rumbles could already be heard and the air was heavy with expectation.