A rush of adrenalin coursed through the haruspex’ veins.

Witnessing thunder and lightning was one of the best ways to see the future. The ancient Etruscan books that he had studied so many years before dedicated many volumes to just this type of natural phenomenon. Perhaps he would see something that would pacify the vengeful primus pilus. And save his own life.

Faster than the eye could see, a blinding bolt of light shot out of a cloud bank directly overhead.

His eyes opened wide with shock as a succession of images shot before them.

Scythian riders annihilating a much smaller Roman force.

Five legionaries with raised swords in a circle around Romulus and Brennus.

A corpse hanging from a cross.

A pair of men rolling and tussling beside the dim glow of a fire. In one’s hand was an arrow with a hooked point. Their unknowing companions slept on alongside. The second struggling figure was Romulus.

Light spilled from the bedroom as Vahram emerged, the heated knife clutched in his right hand. He swaggered closer, knowing that Tarquinius could not take much more.

‘Ready to talk?’ he asked softly.

Deep in a trance, Tarquinius did not answer.

Vahram’s lips peeled back with fury and he laid the blade against Tarquinius’ left cheek.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Tarquinius’ lungs filled with air and he screamed. Using the last of his energy, he soared upwards towards the lightning, which was now flashing from the clouds every few moments. Before the end, he had to know.

The arrow threatening Romulus was Scythian. It was covered with scythicon.

The voice came from a long way away. ‘I’ll give you one more chance,’ he said. ‘Should Pacorus die?’primus pilus’

Romulus’ face contorted with effort, but the other man was stronger. Slowly, the hooked point was pushed down towards his unprotected neck.

His energy utterly spent, Tarquinius plummeted down to earth.

It was over. All his predictions had been wrong. Romulus would not return to Rome.

Vahram had had enough. Lifting his dagger to the haruspex’ throat, he moved in until only a finger’s breadth separated their faces.

Bizarrely, Tarquinius smiled. Olenus had been wrong also. His journey would end here too, in Margiana.

The primus pilus lifted an enquiring eyebrow. Tarquinius’ response was to spit in his face. ‘Die, then,’ snarled Vahram, drawing back the blade.

Chapter X: Defeat

Margiana, winter 53/52 BC

‘Scum,’ hissed Optatus, his teeth clenched. ‘How dare you join the army?’

Romulus could not take his eyes off the arrow tip. If it even scratched his skin, he would die in screaming agony.

‘Death’s too good for you,’ whispered Optatus. ‘But at least this way will be painful.’

The burly veteran was using his right hand to push towards Romulus’ jugular, which meant that the young soldier’s weaker left arm had to try to prevent him. Stopping him from crying out, Optatus’ other hand was clamped over Romulus’ mouth. Even his sword arm could not remove it. And his enemy’s greater strength meant that the arrow’s hooked point was moving towards his neck with a slow, dreadful inevitability. Romulus struggled not to panic. If he did that, his life would be over. Faced with certain death, his desire to survive suddenly became overwhelming.

Bending his right leg with a jerk, he tried to knee Optatus in the groin.

‘Got to do better than that, boy,’ sneered the veteran, twisting his hips and avoiding injury.

Frantic, Romulus turned his head from side to side. His sword was just out of reach, as was the fire.

Optatus grinned viciously and leaned down on the arrow.

Desperation filled every fibre of Romulus’ being. By stretching out, it might be possible to kick over a burning log, and the noise of that might wake Brennus. He would hurt himself badly, but he could think of nothing else. Marching with burns to one foot could be no worse than death, Romulus thought grimly. The notion of staying alive until at least dawn was enough. Managing to hold the barbed point a few fingers’ width from his neck, he wriggled around, reaching out with his left sandal. It was no use, and terror filled Romulus once more.

Sensing this, the big veteran grimaced with effort and put all of his strength into stabbing Romulus with the lethal metal tip. Then his face changed. In a heartbeat, it went from surprised to relaxed, and he slumped down on top of Romulus, a dead weight. The arrow point buried itself in the ground less than a hand span from the young soldier’s left ear.

Staring at the shaft, Romulus’ eyes bulged with horror. Death had been so close.

Optatus was pulled off with a great heave to reveal Brennus’ grinning face crouched over him. ‘Looked like you needed a little help,’ he whispered, wiping blood off the hilt of his longsword.

‘You’ve only knocked him unconscious?’ whispered Romulus, aghast at Brennus’ restraint. ‘This is a Scythian arrow! The bastard was trying to kill me.’

‘I know,’ replied the Gaul with an apologetic shrug. ‘But we need all the men here to have a chance of breaking out.’ He kicked Optatus. ‘Even him.’

The veterans might not know it, but Brennus was right, thought Romulus bitterly.

Checking that Darius and the officers were still asleep, they dragged Optatus’ bulk back to the space he was sharing with Novius and the others.

Shaken, the little legionary jumped up as they dumped Optatus’ body beside their fire. ‘Wake up!’ he hissed at Ammias and Primitivus.

Their faces befuddled by sleep, his comrades jerked bolt upright.

Romulus and Brennus used their swords to cover both.

Novius regarded the pair warily: now it was they who had the advantage. Two against three, but he was the only one ready to fight.

‘He’s not dead,’ said Brennus coldly.

Novius’ face registered surprise, then shock. He knelt and laid a hand to Optatus’ neck. Finding a pulse, he nodded at Ammias and Primitivus. Both looked very relieved.

‘The scumbag should be though,’ added Romulus, throwing down the Scythian arrow. ‘This is what he came visiting with.’

Ammias flinched and Romulus saw that they had all known about it.

Novius’ expression turned calculating. ‘Why didn’t you kill him?’

Romulus and Brennus did not answer.

‘Whatever it was won’t save your skins,’ Novius sneered. ‘Being nice doesn’t entitle you to mercy.’

‘Dirty slaves,’ said Primitivus contemptuously.

Brennus growled deep in his throat, wishing he had not held back.

Romulus’ anger boiled up, but he did not respond. Keeping silent about the possible Scythian attack was about the only advantage they had. ‘Might as well get what rest we can,’ he said to Brennus. He turned and walked away silently, the Gaul by his side.

‘Fools,’ said the little legionary with a smirk of satisfaction. ‘They’ll be dead before we get back to the fort.’

While it was still dark, Darius had the men stand to. The moon had set, but the crystal-clear sky overhead was bright with stars. In the freezing air, no sound could be heard from the enemy camp. A party was sent out to gather as many javelins as possible. Although the Roman pila often bent on impact, some inevitably failed to find a target. With the Scythian sentries either asleep or unaware of the creeping soldiers, the mission was a qualified success. Thirty legionaries soon had a second pilum again.

Grateful that the long night was over, the two centuries waited for Darius’ orders. Brennus and Romulus took the time to stretch and rub their chilled muscles thoroughly. Many who saw them did the same. It was techniques like this which gave men the edge in combat.

Darius was in a better mood as he addressed his soldiers. ‘Leave your yokes behind. Without them, this should be simple,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll use a wedge formation to smash through to the track west. Remember your comrades who died here.’ He pointed at the barracks. ‘Kill as many Scythians as you can, but don’t stop.’