‘Tell us what happened then,’ ordered Vahram curtly. ‘While we wait.’

Romulus did as he was told. By the time he had finished, Ishkan at least appeared to believe him. But Pacorus, and particularly Vahram, seemed utterly unmoved.

Despairing, Brennus was of no help. He stood beside Romulus, looking at the floor.

The Parthians began to speak quick-fire in their own language. From the gesticulations and arm-waving, it was obvious that the primus pilus wanted them both dead. Ishkan was more measured, speaking in a deep, calm voice, while Pacorus stood with eyes narrowed, pondering.

At length the optio returned. Novius, Optatus and Ammias were two steps behind him. They had clearly been asleep until a few moments earlier. But all weariness fell away when they saw Romulus and Brennus. Novius’ face twisted with hate, and he muttered something to his companions.

‘This young soldier says that you were lying,’ announced Pacorus without preamble. ‘That in fact you and your comrades were the ones to run.’

Furious, Optatus opened his mouth to speak, but Novius laid a hand on his arm.

‘Of course he does, sir,’ the little legionary said smoothly. ‘But his word can’t be trusted. He and his friend are damn slaves. Not citizens like us.’

Optatus and Ammias nodded righteously. In Rome, slaves’ testament was only valid if it had been obtained by torture.

Pacorus seemed confused, so Ishkan leaned over and whispered in his ear. He had heard about the two friends’ isolation in the days preceding the patrol.

‘Idiot,’ the commander snapped. ‘You are all my prisoners. Who or what you were before Carrhae is irrelevant.’

‘Not to us, sir,’ replied Novius fiercely. ‘It’s very important.’

‘That’s right,’ added Ammias. ‘Sir.’

Shrewd enough to see how much it meant to the legionaries, Pacorus turned to Romulus. ‘Is it true?’ he demanded. ‘You are slaves?’

There was little point in lying. This was all about who was telling the truth. ‘We are,’ he said heavily.

Brennus shot him an alarmed glance, but Romulus stayed calm.

‘I knew it!’ Novius crowed with delight. His friends looked similarly jubilant.

Pacorus waited.

‘That doesn’t mean I ran away,’ Romulus growled. ‘Courage belongs to all men.’

‘True,’ Pacorus answered. ‘But I cannot tell which of you is lying.’ He turned to the primus pilus. ‘The whole damn thing is far more trouble than I need. Crucify them all.’

Vahram saluted with gusto. This would be a duty he would take great pleasure in. It was of little matter to him how many legionaries who went up on crosses. And, as friends of Tarquinius, he deeply distrusted the huge Gaul and his protege. The primus pilus waved his hand and the Parthian warriors swarmed around Novius and his companions.

They looked terrified.

Pacorus frowned at the three veterans’ reactions. They were very different to those of Romulus and Brennus, who seemed accepting of their fate. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ The commander pointed at Novius, Optatus and Ammias. ‘You lot will fight the slaves,’ he said. ‘To the death.’

The little legionary looked uncertainly at his comrades.

Three against two, thought Romulus. Those odds aren’t too bad. Even the Gaul lifted his head. But Romulus eyed Pacorus with suspicion. Why this sudden change of heart?

Suddenly Vahram, who had been visibly disappointed, grinned. He guessed what was coming.

Pacorus wasn’t finished. ‘Slaves are not soldiers,’ he went on. ‘They should not bear weapons. It will be three swords against two pairs of bare hands.’

Romulus’ mouth opened while Novius could barely conceal his glee.

‘The gods will decide who is telling the truth,’ said Pacorus.

‘When?’ asked Ishkan.

The commander rubbed his hands together. ‘Right now,’ he answered. ‘Why not?’

Brennus’ shoulders lifted at last. This way I can die fighting, he thought.

Romulus clenched his jaw, determined to die like a man.

The gods had granted them another faint chance.

Without further ado, they were marched out to the intervallum. Pacorus wanted as many men as possible to witness the combat, so the centuries from the nearest barracks were hastily assembled as well. The soldiers needed little encouragement. They poured out into the dawn air, eager to watch the unscheduled entertainment. Instead of the rope square used in the ludus, or the wooden enclosure of the arena, the fighting space was formed by dozens of legionaries, holding their scuta before them. Parthian warriors were stationed at regular intervals around the perimeter, their bows drawn. Another group stood protectively around Pacorus and the senior centurions.

Romulus and Brennus were untied and left to stand in one corner. Rubbing their wrists to restore the circulation in their hands, the two friends paid no attention to the curious stares of the men around them. The insults that filled the air were harder to ignore. These were their former comrades. Romulus burned to deny the charges being thrown at them, but he saved his energy, every scrap of which would be needed in the next few moments. Diagonally opposite were Novius, Ammias and Optatus. The veterans’ armour and weapons had been fetched, and the three were busy donning their mail shirts and bronze helmets. With his left thigh still strapped, Caius was near his friends, his face full of relief that he was not part of it.

Romulus racked his brains for their best option. Somehow at least one of them had to arm himself. Quickly. It would not take their experienced enemies long to injure and kill two unarmed men.

‘We split up,’ whispered Brennus.

Romulus could not believe his ears. ‘Our only hope is to stick together,’ he protested.

‘I’m bigger. Two of the bastards will go for me,’ said the Gaul confidently. ‘That gives you the chance to take a weapon from the third.’

It didn’t seem much of an option.

‘What will you do?’

‘I’ll manage,’ Brennus answered grimly. ‘Just get a sword.’

Romulus had no better alternative, and he had no time to think of one.

The veterans had armed themselves. With chain mail, shields and gladii, they were now a fearsome prospect.

‘Begin!’ shouted Pacorus.

There was a pause.

The commander bellowed an order and his men raised their bows. ‘They will loose on the count of three,’ he said. ‘One . . .’

Fury filled Romulus. In the ludus, Memor’s archers had forced him to fight a vicious Goth called Lentulus. That combat had also been to the death. But at least then I was armed, he thought. His heart pounded in his chest. What chance had they?

The three legionaries rushed to stand side by side. Drawing their swords, they brought their scuta together to form a small shield wall.

‘Two.’

They began to advance, their faces grim and set.

Satisfied, Pacorus fell silent.

This is better than crucifixion, thought Brennus, adrenalin pumping through him. ‘Now,’ he muttered and darted away to one side.

Obeying, Romulus shot off in the opposite direction.

Pleasingly, Novius’ and his comrades’ faces were the picture of surprise. But they regained their composure fast. After the slightest pause, Novius and Ammias followed Romulus. Rolling his shoulders, Optatus went for Brennus.

Romulus cursed. The Gaul’s plan had not worked. The veterans also planned to take down the weaker man first.

Him.

‘Can’t even fight with each other, eh?’ Novius sneered as they drew nearer.

‘We’re not the ones who ran,’ retorted Romulus. ‘You are. Damn liars.’

Ammias actually looked guilty.

‘Shut your mouth,’ hissed Novius, lunging forward with his gladius. ‘Filthy slave.’

Angering the little legionary might provide a chink of opportunity, thought Romulus, dodging to the left. A quick thrust from Ammias followed and desperately he shuffled backwards. Gloating, Novius and his comrade split up.