and fought with each other.
‘Romulus!’
Hearing the low shout, he half turned. In the shadows between two of the barrack buildings, Romulus picked out the features of Felix, one of his original unit. ‘What are you doing up?’ he demanded.
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Felix replied with a grin. He was already dressed and armed. ‘I was worried about you. What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Go back to bed,’ replied Romulus curtly. The less anyone else had to do with this, the better.
Instead, Felix darted to Brennus’ side, gasping when he saw the arrows jutting from Pacorus’ flesh. ‘Gods above,’ he breathed. ‘What happened?’
Romulus filled him in while they marched. Felix nodded, grimacing as he heard the details. Though smaller than Romulus and weaker than Brennus, the little Gaul was a fine soldier. Truly stubborn too. When their mercenary cohort had been cut off during the battle at Carrhae, Felix had stayed by their side. Completely surrounded by Parthian archers, just a score of men chose to remain with the three friends and Bassius, their centurion. Felix was one of them. He’s his own master, thought Romulus, glad to have him along.
No one else halted the small party. It was still dark, and most men were asleep. Besides, only a more senior officer would dare question Tarquinius, and none of those were to be seen. At this time of night, they were also in bed. Soon they reached the principia, the headquarters. This was at the intersection of the Via Praetoria with the Via Principia, the road that ran from the east wall to the west, dividing the camp into four equal parts. Here also were Pacorus’ luxurious house and more modest ones for the senior centurions, the Parthian officers who each commanded a cohort. There was a valetudinarium, a hospital, as well as workshops for carpenters, cobblers, potters and a multitude of other professions.
Tradesmen and engineers as well as soldiers, the Romans were almost self-sufficient. It was one of many things that made them so formidable, thought Romulus. Yet Crassus had managed to expose the Republican army’s sole weakness. It retained almost no cavalry, while Parthia’s forces consisted of little else. Tarquinius had spotted this long before Carrhae, followed soon after by Romulus. But ordinary soldiers had no say in tactics, he reflected angrily. Crassus had marched arrogantly into disaster, unwilling or unable to see what might happen to his men.
Which explained why the Forgotten Legion had new masters. Cruel ones.
Romulus sighed. Apart from Darius, his own cohort commander, the majority of the Parthian senior officers were utterly ruthless. What would happen when they saw Pacorus, only the gods knew. But it would not be good.
From the principia, it was not far to the high walls of Pacorus’ house. Copying a Roman villa, it was built in the shape of a hollow square. Just inside the front gates were the atrium, the entrance hall, and the tablinum, the reception area. These led on to the central courtyard, which was bordered by a covered walkway giving access to a banqueting hall, bedrooms, bathrooms and offices. Having seen Seleucia, Romulus knew that his captors were not a nation of architects and engineers like the Romans. Apart from the city’s great entrance arch and Orodes’ magnificent palace, the houses there were small and simply built of mud bricks. He could still remember his commander’s amazed reaction when he had first entered the finished structure. Pacorus had been like a child with a new toy. Now, however, he barely stirred as they reached the gates, which were guarded by a dozen Parthians armed with bows and spears. Legionaries were never trusted with this duty.
‘Halt!’ cried the swarthy officer in charge. He peered suspiciously at the body hanging over Brennus’ shoulder. ‘Who have you got there?’
Tarquinius’ gaze did not waver. ‘Pacorus,’ he said quietly.
‘Is he unwell?’
The haruspex nodded. ‘Badly wounded.’
The Parthian darted forward, gasping as he took in Pacorus’ grey features. ‘What evil is this?’ he cried, barking an order. At once his men fanned out, surrounding the party with levelled spears.
Romulus and his friends were careful not to react. Relations with their captors were strained at the best of times, let alone when they were carrying a critically injured Pacorus.
Drawing a dagger, the officer stepped close to Tarquinius. He laid the blade flat against his neck. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he hissed, his teeth bared. ‘Fast.’
There was no immediate reply and the Parthian’s eyes bulged with anger. He moved the razor-sharp metal slightly and cut Tarquinius’ skin, drawing a