a useful by-product from the construction of the three deep ditches which surrounded the fort. Filled with spiked iron caltrops, the fossae were also within range of missiles thrown or fired from the timber walkway that ran along the inside of the ramparts. The only passage through them was the beaten-down dirt track to the entrance in the middle of each side.
They tramped down it, expecting to be challenged at any moment.
Surprisingly the huge fort was not a fighting structure: legionaries did not hide behind the protection of walls by choice. The impressive defences were to be used only in the case of unexpected attack. If an enemy presented itself, the officers would marshal the men together on the intervallum, the flat area that ran around the inside of the walls, before marching out to do battle. On open ground, the legionary was the master of all other infantry. And with Tarquinius’ tactics and training, thought Romulus proudly, they could withstand the charge of any force, mounted or on foot.
Man for man, the Forgotten Legion could defeat any enemy.
‘Stop.’ Moving to Brennus’ side, Tarquinius checked Pacorus’ pulse.
‘Is he still alive?’ asked the Gaul.
‘Barely,’ answered Tarquinius, frowning. ‘We must hurry.’
Reality struck as Romulus took in Pacorus’ ashen features. Enough time had passed for the scythicon to do its deadly work. The commander would surely die soon and, as the sole survivors, they would be held responsible. No senior Parthian officer worth his salt would fail to punish the men who had allowed this to happen. They had escaped the Scythians to face certain execution.
Yet Tarquinius had wanted to save Pacorus. And Mithras had revealed a road back to Rome.
As a drowning man clings to a log, Romulus held on to those thoughts.
They were now less than thirty paces from the gate and within range of the sentries’ pila. Still no challenge had been issued to check their progress, which was most irregular. No one was allowed to approach the fort without identifying themselves.
‘The lazy dogs will be huddling around the fire,’ Romulus muttered. Sentinels were only supposed to stay in the warm guardroom at the base of each tower for short periods; just enough to thaw out numb fingers and toes. In practice, they did it as long as the junior officer in charge allowed.
‘Time to wake them up then.’ Raising his axe, Tarquinius stepped forward and repeatedly hammered the butt on the gate’s thick timbers. It made a deep thumping noise.
They waited in silence.
The Etruscan had raised his weapon to demand entrance again when suddenly the distinctive sound of hobnailed sandals clattering off wood reached them from above. As expected, the sentry had not been at his post in the tower. A few moments later, a pale face appeared over the ramparts.
‘Who goes there?’ Fear filled the man’s voice as he peered down at the small group. Visitors to the fort were rare, let alone in the middle of the night. ‘Identify yourselves!’
‘Open up, you fool!’ shouted Romulus impatiently. ‘Pacorus has been injured.’
There was a disbelieving pause.
‘You piece of shit!’ cried Tarquinius. ‘Move!’
The sentry’s shock was palpable. ‘Yes, sir! At once!’ He turned and fled down the staircase to the rooms below, roaring at his comrades.
Moments later the heavy locking bar was being lifted. One of the doors creaked open, revealing several legionaries and an anxious optio. The delay in responding would surely result in some kind of punishment.
But Tarquinius pushed past without a word. Romulus and Brennus followed. Confusion filled the sentries’ faces as they took in the prone shape on the Gaul’s shoulder.
‘Shut the gate!’ Tarquinius bellowed.
‘Where are Pacorus’ warriors, sir?’ asked the optio.
‘Dead,’ snapped Tarquinius. ‘We were ambushed by Scythians at the Mithraeum.’
Shocked gasps met this comment.
Tarquinius was in no mood to reveal more. ‘Advise the duty centurion and then get back to your posts. Keep your eyes peeled.’
The optio and his men hastened to obey. Tarquinius was also a centurion and could have punished them as severely as Pacorus. They would have to find out what had happened later.
Tarquinius hurried down the fort’s main street, the Via Praetoria. Romulus and Brennus followed. On both sides lay parallel rows of long, low wooden barracks, each housing a century of eighty soldiers. Their interiors were identical: large rooms for the centurion, smaller ones for the junior officers and more cramped quarters for the men. Ten contubernia, each of eight soldiers, shared just enough space to fit bunk beds, their equipment and food. Like gladiators, legionaries lived, slept, trained