Replacing the phial on the altar, she swallowed.

For a long time, nothing happened. She began to feel disappointed.

Then it seemed to Fabiola that drums began to pound, a simple, repetitive beat which drew her in and down, its rhythm mesmeric. Instead of feeling alarmed, she felt euphoric. Mithras was here, in the room. She could feel him.

The drums’ speed increased, rising to a crescendo of sound that shook the walls. Unaware of where she was, Fabiola stood motionless, absorbing the energy. Gradually the pounding died away, to be replaced by another, quieter sequence. She felt herself falling, falling, but there was no impact of the hard floor against her back. More hypnotic drumming followed, bringing Fabiola seamlessly into another world, an incredible place where she saw through the eyes of a flying bird. Blinking hard and trying to bring back the small chamber made no difference. If she now turned her head, Fabiola could see shiny black feathers sitting perfectly arranged on powerful wings. Had she really become a raven? Strangely, she felt no terror. Instead there was only joy.

It seemed completely natural to soar high in the sunlit sky, riding currents of air that allowed her to reach great speeds or to hang motionless, scanning the ground below. For long moments Fabiola revelled in just being, rejoicing in the freedom that flight granted and the view of the earth laid out as she had never seen before. Rivers wound sinuously through the landscape; hills and ice-capped mountains ran in short, stubby lines or immense, jagged ranges. The green stain of forests covered parts of the vista. Human settlements were scattered here and there; the dirt roads joining them appearing as mere ribbons. Where was she?

Movement on a great plain drew her attention and she flew lower, unseen by the two armies that were regarding each other from a safe standoff range. Along one side of the battlefield ran a river, wider than any she had ever seen. Now Fabiola was sure that it wasn’t Italy. This place was far from anywhere that she knew.

Combat would commence soon, but for the moment the generals were trying to gauge their enemy’s strengths and weaknesses, while their soldiers prayed and wiped the sweat from their clammy foreheads. Before long though, men would begin to die. Judging from the flat terrain and good weather, Fabiola knew that it would be in large numbers.

In the ranks of the host directly beneath her, sunlight sparkled off metal. Eyesight far more powerful than she normally possessed instantly focused on its source. What she saw was so incredible that it seemed beyond belief. There, among the massed ranks of soldiers, Fabiola saw a solitary silver eagle.

Here in an alien land, a Roman standard.

There was nothing else it could be. With powerful, outstretched wings, talons gripping a golden thunderbolt and borne by a man wearing a wolf-skin headdress, this was the talismanic symbol that led every legion into combat. Fabiola studied the figures around the silver eagle, seeing now the rounded bowls of their crested bronze helmets, the elongated, oval scuta they bore, the neat lines in which they stood. Surely these were Roman legionaries? But not everything about them fitted. Instead of pila, many men carried long, heavy spears, and their metal shield bosses were obscured by fabric. The officers standing to the side of each unit also looked out of place, carrying bows and wearing odd-looking conical hats and embroidered tunics and trousers. If these were legionaries, they were like none that she had ever seen before.

Confused, Fabiola had begun to climb away from the forces beneath her when a powerful image of a huge, pig-tailed warrior suddenly came to mind. He was flanked by a slim, blond-haired man who carried a double-headed axe. Memories stirred in the depths of the young woman’s soul, struggling to emerge into the raven’s consciousness. Then it was clear. The Gaul was here. With another guide. Fabiola’s heart sang with joy.

Romulus might be alive!

But there was no time to search for him.

‘What are you doing here?’ cried an angry voice.

Someone took hold of Fabiola, turning her wing into a hand once more.

No, she thought desperately. Leave me here! Great Mithras, let me find my brother. See him, in the flesh. Fabiola pulled away, resuming her shape and swooping down on a fortunate draught of air. Free for a dozen heartbeats, she shot across the open ground in the plain’s centre, horrified to see that the other army outnumbered the Roman one many times. Infantry armed with every weapon under the sun were flanked by skirmishers carrying slings and bows. There were thousands of archers, both in chariots and on horseback. Worst of all, three squadrons of enormous grey, armoured creatures waited in the enemy’s midst, flapping ears, long trunks and fearsome tusks tipped with metal adding to their fearsome aura. They had to be elephants, Fabiola thought. Each carrying two or three bowmen on their broad backs, these animals were the hammer blow that would drive terror into the hearts of the bravest soldiers. Who in the world would stand against them? Fabiola glanced back at the Roman soldiers, who had looked so brave and prepared as she had soared over their heads. Now, before the imposing host with its vast beasts, they appeared puny and insignificant. There could only be one result once battle was joined.

Overcome with grief, Fabiola did not believe that the god could be so cruel. To let her discover that Romulus might be alive and then to show her the instrument of his destruction in the same moment was more than she could bear. Her response was immediate, instinctive. Pulling her wings in tightly, she dropped her head and pointed her beak downwards, aiming straight for the lead elephant. Air whistled past Fabiola, streamlining her shape even further.

Down, down, down she dived.

Fabiola was soon close enough to see the wrinkles in its thick skin and the deeply curved bows carried by the men on its back. Perhaps she could take out an eye and send it off on a trail of death amongst its own men. The fall was immense – potentially fatal – but Fabiola did not care any longer. Anything was better than this pain. Plummeting like a black stone, with rage burning brightly in her heart, she consigned herself to oblivion.

This time, she was grabbed by both arms. Shouts filled her ears.

Fabiola could not help herself. Despite her frantic attempts, the plain covered in armed men disappeared. Crying tears of frustration and despair, she opened her eyes.

She was back in the underground chamber, which was now packed with veterans. Two were pinioning her arms while Secundus stood a couple of paces away, shaking with anger. ‘What have you done?’ he shouted. ‘We save your miserable hide and you repay us by desecrating our temple?’

Fabiola looked at the men holding her. Both their faces wore the same furious look. What had been suspicion earlier was now rightful outrage. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her misery brimming over.

‘That’s not nearly enough,’ Secundus replied grimly. ‘You must be punished.’

His men growled in accordance.

‘And there is only one penalty.’

Chapter XII: Pacorus

Margiana, winter 53/52 BC

‘Hold!’

The shout reverberated in the confined space of the courtyard.

Surprised, Vahram paused and turned his head. Only half aware of what was going on, the haruspex followed his gaze.

Ishkan was framed in the entrance. Torches held aloft by his men illuminated the gory scene. The snow around Tarquinius was stained red. The thin, middle-aged senior centurion looked disgusted at the sight. ‘What are you doing?’ he snapped.

‘Flogging this snake for information,’ Vahram replied, furious that he had been disturbed. ‘He’s plotting against us.’