The Gaul gave him a resigned nod. Things were going from bad to worse.

‘Of course they fled,’ said the one-eyed man viciously. ‘They’re fucking slaves.’

‘I’ve never run from anyone,’ began Brennus angrily. Then an image of his burning village came to mind. I left my wife and child to die. The memory was a weeping sore in his soul. He fell silent.

A chorus of sneers met his weak protest and the Gaul hung his head.

Romulus was about to say more, but one look at the hard, closed faces all around was enough for the words to die in his throat. His pounding head made it even harder to concentrate, so he sealed his lips. Do not desert us, Mithras, Romulus thought desperately. Not now.

‘We should just kill them,’ shouted a voice from the back. ‘Get it over with.’

At this, the friends gripped their weapons and prepared to fight to the death.

‘Quiet!’ barked the optio in charge. ‘Pacorus wants to see this pair immediately. He’ll have something tasty for them up his sleeve, no doubt.’

Cruel laughter filled the air.

Romulus and Brennus looked at each other numbly. It seemed that their commander had survived, which meant that Tarquinius was still alive. Given their hostile reception, though, they might never see him again.

‘Take their weapons,’ said the optio briskly. ‘Tie their arms.’

Eager to obey, men swarmed in and stripped the friends of longsword and pugio. Neither fought back. Defenceless, their wrists were tightly bound behind their backs with thick rope. Urged on with kicks and taunts, they were frogmarched towards the headquarters.

The fort was just beginning to come alive for the day. A cock cried repeatedly from his roost near the stables for the mules. The smell of baking bread reached them from the ovens. Legionaries were emerging from their barracks, yawning and stretching. Throats were being cleared; phlegm spat on the frozen ground. Queues formed outside the latrines; men joked and laughed with each other. Few took any notice of the small party going past.

Until the one-eyed soldier took it upon himself to let everyone know.

‘Look who it is, boys!’ he roared. ‘The escaped slaves!’

The optio turned and glared, but it was too late. The harm had been done. Sleep-filled faces twisted with anger and insults were hurled through the air. More than one gob of spit flew in their direction. Over and over, the same phrases were repeated and Romulus burned with anger and shame to hear them.

‘Cowards!’

‘You left your friends to die!’

‘Crucify them!’

Men swarmed on to the Via Praetoria, surrounding the optio and his men. Jostling and shoving, they tried to reach the prisoners. The sentries did not put up much resistance.

Romulus shrank away from the mauling hands. Having survived the horror of the patrol, it was utterly demoralising to be on the receiving end of such vitriol. But dying at the hands of a lynch mob held even less appeal. Brennus, his shoulders slumped, barely seemed to notice. This is my reward for running from my family, he thought. The gods’ final revenge. There will be no cleansing redemption in battle.

‘Stand back!’ ordered the optio, using energetic swipes of his staff to beat the enraged legionaries on their arms and shoulders. ‘Anyone who harms them gets fifty lashes!’

Sullenly the soldiers moved away, allowing the group to continue its journey to the Praetoria. Even the Parthian guards there looked down their noses at the two friends. The reaction of those inside the imposing gate was exactly the same. The doorways of the offices and storerooms positioned on three sides of the square forehall soon filled with disapproving faces. The nerve centre of the fort, this was where the quartermaster and a host of junior officers and clerks worked to keep the Forgotten Legion running smoothly. Few of them ever saw combat, but their attitude was just as extreme as the other soldiers. Desertion during combat was one of the most cowardly acts a legionary could commit. Death was the only punishment.

Their lives depended on Pacorus as never before.

They were taken inside the large chamber which directly faced the entrance. The optio made his report to the centurion who had been in charge of the fort overnight. Immediately a runner was sent to fetch Pacorus and the senior centurions.

Romulus found himself looking over at the shrine, where the legion’s silver eagle and its other standards were kept. Positioned to one side of the main offices, it was guarded night and day by a pair of sentries. Heavy curtains obscured the standards from view. He longed to prostrate himself before the metal bird and ask for its help. Here, in the centre of the fort, was where its power was strongest. But it was a faint hope. No one was about to let a slave accused of running from the enemy pray to the most sacred item belonging to the legion.

Instead, Romulus pictured the silver eagle in his head. With its protectively outstretched wings, it was a powerful symbol of Rome. He did not cease praying to Mithras though. Surely the god would understand the importance of the bird to him? He was a Roman soldier and followed the legion’s symbol with fierce pride. That did not diminish his belief in the warrior god who regarded all men in the same light. Equally, Romulus felt that the eagle would value his courage over the fact that he was a slave.

‘So!’ Pacorus’ voice reached them first. ‘The cowards have returned.’ Accompanied by Ishkan, Vahram and all the other senior officers, the legion’s commander stalked into view. A large party of warriors trotted behind them. Only Darius was missing. The early hour had not stopped any of the Parthians from wanting to be present. Romulus was struck by how ill Pacorus still looked, but twin red points of anger marked his hollow cheeks. Rage was giving him the energy to be here.

There was no sign of Tarquinius, the man whose hard work had brought Pacorus back from the brink. Disappointment swamped Romulus. Another mountain had been placed in their way. If the haruspex had been restored to favour, they might have stood a better chance.

When the officers had come to a halt, the optio and his men shoved Romulus and Brennus forward.

‘What have you to say?’ demanded Pacorus harshly.

‘Before you are crucified,’ added Vahram with a cruel smile.

‘Scum,’ said Ishkan.

Romulus looked at Brennus and was shocked to see dumb acceptance of their fate. ‘This is my destiny,’ whispered the Gaul. ‘I deserted my own family and people when they needed me.’

‘No,’ hissed Romulus. ‘It wasn’t your fault! Your journey is not over.’ But there was no time to persuade his friend. He was on his own.

The optio struck Romulus heavily across the shoulder blades with his staff. ‘Answer the commander!’

He clenched his teeth to stop himself wheeling around and attacking the junior officer. The Parthians would know the truth at least. ‘It wasn’t us who ran, sir.’

Vahram threw back his head and laughed. Pacorus and the others just looked incredulous.

‘It’s true.’ Romulus took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. Somehow he pushed away the pain in his head, focusing instead on their critical situation. It was vital that he persuade the Parthians of their story. ‘Where are the liars who accused us of running, sir? At least let us hear the accusation from their mouths.’

Pacorus was taken aback.

‘That’s fair enough, sir,’ said Ishkan.

‘Why bother?’ protested Vahram. ‘Look at them! It’s obvious that the dogs are guilty.’

The commander gave his senior centurion a measured stare before lifting a hand. An optio ran off to do his bidding.

Thank you, Mithras. Romulus breathed a small sigh of relief. Obviously all was not well between Pacorus and the primus pilus. If he could utilise that factor to their advantage, there might be some hope yet.