common. Romulus could now follow animals over bare rock, possessing an uncanny ability to notice the smallest detail. The twig out of place, the blade of grass bent double, the change in prints’ depth when the quarry was wounded. Few men had such skill.
Brac had been one.
Old emotion welled up inside Brennus: grief that his young cousin would never have the chance to stand with him like this. Like Brennus’ wife, baby son and his entire Allobroge tribe, Brac was dead, massacred by the Romans eight years before. At exactly the same age Romulus was now. Trying to ease the sharp claws of his ever-present grief, Brennus shook his massive shoulders and silently repeated the Allobroge druid Ultan’s words. The secret prophecy that Tarquinius had somehow known.
A journey beyond where any Allobroge has gone. Or will ever go.
And on Margiana’s eastern border, some four months’ march east of Carrhae and more than three thousand miles from Gaul, Brennus had truly done that. It remained to be seen how, and when, his journey would end. His attention was drawn back to the jackal by Romulus’ eagerly pointing arm. ‘Belenus above,’ Brennus breathed. ‘It’s acting like a dog. See?’
Strangely, the animal was sitting back on its haunches, like a hound might watch its master.
‘That’s the gods’ work,’ muttered Romulus, wondering what Tarquinius would make of it. ‘Has to be.’
‘You could be right,’ Brennus agreed uneasily. ‘Jackals are scavengers, though; they feed on whatever dead flesh is around.’
They exchanged a glance.
‘Men will die here tonight.’ Brennus shivered. ‘I can feel it.’
‘Maybe,’ said Romulus pensively. ‘But I think this is a good sign.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’ Falling silent, Romulus tried to use the snippets that Tarquinius occasionally let fall. Concentrating on his breathing, he focused on the jackal and the air above it, searching for something more than his blue eyes could see. For an age, he did not move, his exhaled breaths clouding round him in a thick, grey layer.
Brennus let him be.
Intent on starting a fire, the Parthians were ignoring them.
At last Romulus turned away. The disappointment on his face was clear.
Brennus eyed the jackal, which hadn’t moved. ‘Couldn’t see anything?’
Romulus shook his head sadly. ‘It’s here to watch over us, but I don’t know why. Tarquinius would, though.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said the Gaul, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘There are four of us against twenty now.’
Romulus had to smile at that.
It was far colder where they were standing, but both felt more kinship with the jackal than with Pacorus’ men. Instead of seeking heat by the fire, they huddled down together by a large boulder.
In the event, it was that decision which probably saved their lives.
Tarquinius felt his pulse quicken as they descended the crudely formed earthen steps, which were easy to see thanks to Pacorus’ torch. The narrow staircase had been dug out of the soil, with timber joists to hold up the sides. Neither the commander nor his guard spoke, which suited Tarquinius. He used the time to pray to Tinia, mightiest of the Etruscan gods. And to Mithras, even though he never had before. Mysterious and unknown, Mithraicism had fascinated Tarquinius ever since he had heard of it, in Rome. The religion had only been carried there a decade previously by legionaries who had campaigned in Asia Minor. Highly secretive in nature, Mithras’ followers were sworn to uphold the values of truth, honour and courage. Rites of great suffering had to be endured to move between the levels of devotion. That was all the haruspex knew.
Of course it was not surprising to see evidence of the warrior deity here, in Margiana. This area was where the cult was strongest, perhaps even where it had originated. The discovery might have been in better circumstances though. Tarquinius smiled sardonically. He and his friends were under threat of immediate death. So it was time to be bold. With luck, the god would not be angered by a request made by a non-initiate, entering a Mithraeum in this unorthodox manner. After all, I am not just a haruspex, he thought proudly. I am a warrior too.
Great Mithras, I come with a humble heart to worship you. I beg for a sign of your favour. Something to placate your servant, Pacorus. He hesitated for a moment, and then dared all. I also need your guidance to find a path back to Rome.
Tarquinius sent his prayer up with all the force he could muster.