Ignoring the waves of pain from his broken ribs as best he could, Romulus neared the pair. Finally Optatus had to turn and face him.

‘On your own now,’ said Romulus, buying time. ‘How do you like that?’

Optatus could see the young soldier’s sides heaving, could imagine why he was winded. ‘Two injured slaves,’ he replied, his top lip lifting with contempt. ‘I’ll kill you both!’

It was a bad mistake. While they were talking, Brennus had retrieved Novius’ sword and shield. Despite his injury, the Gaul was now a second deadly opponent.

A moment later, the friends were poised on either side of the big legionary.

Optatus was no coward. He made no attempt to surrender or to run. Instead, he turned this way and that, wondering who would attack first.

But Romulus and Brennus held back. Both were reluctant to kill Optatus.

Sensing their indecision, the veteran lunged forward at Romulus.

He moved back a step, taking the blow on his shield. Optatus did not let up, thrusting again and again at Romulus’ face with his gladius. Without doubt, he was the toughest of the legionaries. If he could overcome the young soldier, there was a chance of his beating Brennus.

The Gaul could not stand by any longer. As Optatus drew back another time, he leaned in and sliced the veteran’s left hamstring with his blade.

Optatus collapsed with a loud groan, instinctively holding up his shield to protect himself. Still he asked for no quarter. Yet, lying on his back, he now had no chance at all.

Grudging admiration filled Romulus at his bravery. He looked to Pacorus for a similar reaction. Brennus did likewise.

It was not forthcoming. The commander’s face was creased with anger. Novius and his cronies had lied to him. Romulus’ and Brennus’ clemency to the veterans clearly demonstrated that. He snapped out an order and his archers raised their bows.

Romulus realised what was about to happen. ‘No!’ he cried.

Brennus closed his eyes. He had seen things like this all too often.

A dozen arrows hummed through the air. Six pinned Optatus to the ground, while the remainder spitted Ammias through the chest and abdomen. Both were killed instantly.

Silence fell over the intervallum. Reaching into their quivers, the warriors fitted new shafts to their bowstrings.

‘So die all those who lie to me,’ shouted Pacorus, the veins in his neck bulging. ‘I am the commander of the Forgotten Legion!’

Unwilling to meet his furious stare, the audience of soldiers looked down. Even Vahram avoided Pacorus’ eyes.

Romulus and Brennus moved closer together, uncertain how the volatile Parthian would react next.

Another order from the commander rang out.

At full draw, the archers’ bows swung to cover the two friends.

Chapter XIV: A New Ally

Rome, winter 53/52 BC

‘Only devotees may enter the Mithraeum,’ said Secundus in a hard voice. ‘And death is the penalty for those who break that rule.’

Fabiola trembled. In this, the centre of his power, she saw him in an entirely different light. Now Secundus was a tall, powerful figure, his authority exuding from every pore. Produced from a wooden chest, a golden staff had appeared in his left hand and a red Phrygian cap sat on his head. This was no impoverished army cripple, begging for a coin to feed himself. The face that Secundus gave to the world outside was a complete facade.

Ringing them angrily, his men shouted in agreement.

‘Take her up to the courtyard,’ Secundus ordered. ‘Make it quick.’

Without a chance to explain herself further, Fabiola was bundled towards the passageway to the stairs.

By entering the Mithraeum, she had unknowingly crossed an invisible line. Mithras had shown her where Romulus might be, but now she was going to die. As her brother would, if he was present at the battle she had seen. If the vision was real at all, Fabiola thought bitterly. What had the strange-tasting liquid done to her mind?

Curious to know before the end, she threw a question at Secundus. ‘What’s in the phial?’

The veterans holding her faltered.

‘Wait!’ snapped Secundus. His face had gone pinched. ‘You drank from this?’ he said slowly, lifting the blue glass from the altar top.

She nodded.

Seeing that it was empty, Secundus’ nostrils flared with fury.

Swords slid from scabbards at the new outrage, but he raised a hand to stop any hasty action. ‘Did you see anything?’ he asked quietly.

Fabiola tensed, aware that everything hinged upon her answer. Faced with death, she wanted life.

‘Answer me,’ muttered Secundus, ‘or, by Mithras, I will slay you here and now.’

Fabiola closed her eyes, asking the warrior god for his help. The truth, she thought. Tell the truth. ‘I became a raven,’ she said loudly, thinking that the men listening would laugh. ‘Flying high over a strange land.’

Disbelieving gasps met her comment. She heard the word ‘Corax’ whispered repeatedly.

‘You’re sure?’ Secundus barked. ‘A raven?’

Fabiola stared into his eyes. ‘I am.’

He looked confused.

‘How can this be?’ demanded one veteran.

‘A woman as a sacred bird?’ cried another.

The chamber resounded with questions.

Secundus raised his arms for quiet. Remarkably, his men obeyed. ‘Tell me everything you saw,’ he said to Fabiola. ‘Do not leave out a single detail.’

Taking a deep breath, she began.

No one spoke as Fabiola recounted her vision. When she had finished, there was a stunned silence.

Secundus moved to stand before the three altars and the depiction of the tauroctony. Kneeling, he bent his head.

No one spoke, but the grip on Fabiola’s arms relaxed slightly. A sidelong glance at the veterans holding her revealed fear, and awe, in their expressions. She did not know what to think. If they believed in her vision, did that mean it could be relied upon?

After a few moments, Secundus bowed from the waist and got to his feet.

All his men tensed, eager to hear if the god had spoken.

‘She is not to be harmed,’ Secundus said, his eyes moving steadily around the room. ‘Anyone who drinks the homa and then dreams a raven is favoured by Mithras.’

The faces around Fabiola registered shock, disbelief and anger.

‘Even a woman?’ said the guard who had admitted them earlier. ‘But it’s forbidden!’

More dissenting voices joined in.

Secundus raised his arms for quiet, but the clamour grew louder.

‘This is blasphemy,’ shouted a figure near the back.

‘Kill her!’

A knot formed in Fabiola’s stomach. These tough ex-soldiers would show as little mercy as Scaevola’s fugitivarii.

Secundus watched without reacting. Eventually there was a brief lull in the noise.

‘I am the Pater,’ he announced in a firm voice. ‘Am I not?’

Men nodded their heads. The angry mutters died away, leaving a sullen silence.

‘Have I led you astray before?’

No one answered.

‘Well then,’ said Secundus. ‘Trust me now. Release her.’

To Fabiola’s amazement, the veterans holding her arms let go. They moved away awkwardly, avoiding her gaze.

‘Come here.’ Secundus, the Pater, was beckoning to her.

Feeling relieved yet scared, she moved to his side.

‘Back to your beds,’ ordered Secundus. ‘I will take charge of her.’

With plenty of backward glances, the hard-faced men did as they were told. A few moments later, Fabiola and Secundus were the only ones left in the underground chamber.

Fabiola raised an eyebrow. ‘The Pater?’

‘In the eyes of Mithras, I am their father,’ he answered. ‘As the most senior member of this temple, I am responsible for its security.’ Alone, Secundus seemed even more intimidating. He regarded her sternly. ‘You breached our trust to come in here without permission. Consider yourself lucky to be alive.’