‘No.’ There were large areas of flat ground beyond the top of the inclines on either side of the defile. ‘A whole damn army could be waiting up there.’

The Gaul’s gaze followed his. He too had been on many patrols through here and knew every dip and fold of the terrain. ‘It opens out soon,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Get through this section and we’ll quickly see any enemy.’

‘That’s not for nearly a mile,’ Romulus muttered. He turned to see where Darius was. Pleasingly, the Parthian was moving among the men, muttering encouraging words. It was the mark of a good officer to praise those under his command when they had performed well. With the adrenalin rush of their escape subsiding, Darius now seemed unconcerned. Romulus’ warning the day before had meant nothing. In the Parthian’s mind, there was time for a respite before the long march home.

Romulus prayed that his vision had been wrong. But his instinct was jangling an inner alarm.

It was time to continue. Instead of the attacking wedge, the legionaries formed up in a more typical marching order. Each century was six wide, fifteen deep. Darius took up his position at the front, his faithful guard alongside.

As they moved off, Romulus’ heart pounded in his chest. He could not stop his eyes moving from side to side. Brennus was similarly alert, but neither said a word to anyone.

Spirits had risen hugely because of their escape, and it wasn’t long before Gordianus began his usual ditty about the legionary in the brothel.

This was too much for Romulus, whose nerves were fraying. There was no point warning any enemies nearby of their presence. ‘Give it a rest,’ he said. ‘We’ve heard that a hundred times before.’

‘Shut it, you filth,’ Novius responded. ‘We want to hear about your mother.’

‘And your sisters,’ responded Brennus as quick as a flash.

The others cheered at the jokes.

Novius flushed with anger but his retort was lost in the din as the whole formation responded to Gordianus’ tune.

Romulus’ jaw clenched with anger at the insult. A lowly house slave, his mother had still done her best for him and Fabiola. It had meant suffering Gemellus’ sexual abuse nightly for years, but Velvinna had never complained. Tragically, her efforts had come to nothing when the merchant’s debts reached a critical mass. The twins were sold to raise money. Romulus knew nothing more of his mother, which stung his heart.

Brennus leaned over and spoke in his ear. ‘Don’t listen to them. The poor bastards would laugh at anything right now. And keeping quiet won’t prevent an ambush either. Singing keeps their spirits up.’

Romulus’ anger dissipated. The Gaul was right. Happy soldiers fought better than miserable ones. And they might as well imagine a good time in a whorehouse than being slaughtered by Scythians. He opened his mouth and joined in.

After a dozen verses had been bellowed out, Romulus was feeling more relaxed.

It was then that the colour of the sky changed from blue to black.

Fortunately, he was looking upwards at that moment. Lulled by Gordianus’ bawdy chant, Romulus did not immediately recognise the dense swarm of arrows. When he did, his warning cry was too little, too late.

To avoid being seen, the volley had been sent up in a hugely steep, curving arc. But already the metal points had turned to point downwards. In three or four heartbeats, they would land amongst the unsuspecting legionaries.

‘Arrows incoming!’ Romulus bellowed.

One heartbeat.

At the cry, Darius looked into the air, his face a picture of shock. Behind him, other soldiers too were staring up in a mixture of fascination and fear.

Two heartbeats.

Still the senior centurion did not speak. Death was looking him in the eye, and Darius had no answer.

Three heartbeats.

Someone had to act, or most of the patrol would be killed or injured, thought Romulus. ‘Form testudo!’ he roared, breaking all kinds of rules by shouting an order.

Training instantly took over. The men in the middle squatted down, lifting their heavy scuta over their heads while those on the outside formed a shield wall.

Whirring through the air, the hundreds of wooden shafts came to earth. It was a soft, beautiful and deadly noise. While many sank harmlessly into the silk covers or the ground around the soldiers, plenty of others found the gaps between shields that were still coming together. There was a brief delay and then Romulus’ ears rang with the cries of the injured. Soon he could hear little else. Legionaries cursed and screamed, clawing frantically at the barbed points that had sunk deep into flesh. The dead slumped against their comrades, their shields falling from slack fingers. Although many men were still obeying orders, the testudo had virtually fallen apart.

Biting back a curse, Romulus glanced towards Darius.

The jovial Parthian would never shout an order again. Pierced by half a dozen arrows, he lay motionless ten steps away. A thin line of blood was running from the corner of his mouth, while his right hand reached out towards them in a futile, supplicating gesture. Darius’ bodyguard was sprawled carelessly nearby. Both their faces were frozen in a rictus of shock.

But the attack had just started. More arrows shot up into the sky from either side of them.

At last came a quick response. ‘Form testudo!’ The voice belonged to one of the optiones.

For the second time, the armoured square took shape. This time, though, it was much smaller. Fortunately, both junior officers were experienced men. Screaming orders and with liberal use of their long staffs, they forced the able-bodied men away from the uneven footing that was the injured and slain. It made no sense to trip up on one’s comrade and end up dead as a result. Romulus could not look at the pathetic sight of those they left behind. Yet the optiones knew what they were doing. The plaintive cries for help from the blinded and maimed had to be ignored. In the heat of battle, the best action to take was that which preserved the lives of most.

Knowing what was about to happen, some of the wounded grabbed their shields and tried to cover as much of their bodies as possible. It wasn’t enough: they still died when the second volley landed. By the time the last arrows had fallen, there was nothing more than a bloody pile of feathered corpses beside the testudo.

Brennus did a quick head count. ‘This is not good,’ he said, scowling. ‘Lost nearly fifty men already.’

Romulus nodded, watching the slopes on either side. Any moment now, he thought.

As if answering his call, hundreds of warriors emerged into view. Clad in the same manner as the riders the Romans had butchered early that morning, these were also Scythians. There were infantry, archers on foot and on horseback.

My dream was accurate, Romulus thought with bitter amazement. This force was more than enough to annihilate what remained of the two centuries. What little trust he had had in Mithras withered away.

‘We’re fucked,’ cried Novius, who was still unscathed.

An inarticulate moan of dread rose from the men.

It was hard to argue, but Romulus was damned if he would just let himself be killed. ‘What now, sir?’ he bawled at the older of the two optiones. By virtue of his years served, he was now the commander.

The junior officers looked uncertainly at each other.

The legionaries waited.

Brennus’ smile had disappeared, to be replaced by a steely-eyed, fixed stare. Is this my time? he wondered. If it is, great Belenus, grant protection to Romulus. And let me die well.

The young soldier knew Brennus’ look from experience. It meant that Scythians would die. Many of them. But even the huge Gaul could not kill all the warriors who were swarming down around the testudo, blocking off any escape avenue.