Pacorus’ dressings, Tarquinius skilfully avoided giving Vahram anything other than a polite fob-off. Their commander’s now frequent lucid moments also helped to prevent interrogations.
The anger grew steadily but he confined himself to taunts about Romulus and Brennus. Knowing that the two men were very dear to Tarquinius, Vahram used doubts about their safety as a way of intimidating the normally imperturbable haruspex. Verbal abuse rained down on his head and Tarquinius was powerless to resist. In this precarious situation, Vahram was simply too dangerous to cross.primus pilus’
Tarquinius hated having no idea how his friends were doing. All his guards had been threatened with dire punishments if they said a word. Combined with their deep-seated fear of his abilities, it meant that the haruspex lived in virtual solitude. Even the servants were too frightened to speak with him. Yet the silence was not as troubling as the isolation. Tarquinius thrived on knowledge of what was going on, and now he was being denied any.
The patch of sky over Pacorus’ courtyard rarely afforded much information: apart from the occasional snowstorm, there simply wasn’t enough to see. He had no hens or lambs to sacrifice either. Without realising it, Vahram had curtailed Tarquinius’ capacity to prophesy. Virtually the only method left was to study the fire in Pacorus’ bedroom. This was best done very late, when the commander was sleeping and the servants and guards had retired for the night. Letting the logs burn down to mere embers occasionally provided some useful snippets. Frustratingly, the haruspex could see little that referred to his friends. Or his own prospects. This was the random and infuriating nature of prophecy: to reveal little when it seemed important, and much when it did not. Sometimes it disclosed nothing at all. Tarquinius’ doubts about himself resurfaced with a vengeance.
After giving Pacorus his last medicine of the evening, it had become his ritual to hurry to the brick fireplace in the room. No chance to divine could be missed. Tarquinius was now desperate to know something – anything – about the future. It was perhaps this eagerness that caused the slip in his normal attention to detail one night. The instant that the Parthian commander’s lids closed in sleep, Tarquinius tiptoed away from the bed. But he forgot to bolt the door.
Squatting on his haunches by the fire, he sighed with anticipation. Tonight would be different. He could feel it in his bones.
There was one large log still burning. Surrounded by the charred shapes of others, it was glowing a deep red-orange colour. Tarquinius studied it carefully for a long time. The smouldering wood was dry and well-seasoned, with few knots: just the type he liked.
It was time.
An all-too-familiar feeling took hold. Recognising it as fear, Tarquinius gritted his teeth. This could not go on. He inhaled deeply, then again. Feeling calmer, he reached down for a poker and tapped the piece of timber with it. His action released a torrent of sparks. They wafted up the chimney in lazy streams, singly and in groups. The smallest went out very quickly, but bigger ones continued to glow as they were carried upwards by the hot air. The haruspex’ pupils constricted as he studied their pattern, counting his pulse to judge the time each took to disappear.
At last, an image of Romulus.
Tarquinius’ breath caught in his chest.
The young soldier looked troubled and unsure. Brennus was by his side, his normally jovial expression absent. Both were wearing their crested bronze helmets and dressed in full chain mail; their scuta were raised and a javelin was ready in each man’s right fist. Plainly they were nowhere near the security of the fort. Around them, the scenery was unclear, any distinctive features covered in snow. There were other legionaries present too, at least one or two centuries.
Tarquinius frowned.
A fast-moving flash of red contrasted against the white landscape. Then another.
The shapes were gone before he could decide what they were. Battle standards? Horsemen? Or just his imagination? The haruspex was left with a lingering sense of unease. He leaned closer to the fire, concentrating hard.
And jerked back, repulsed.
A barrack-room floor awash with blood.
What did it mean?
The image disappeared as the log broke in half. Gentle crackling sounds rose as the two pieces fell. The fire’s heart flared brighter as it seized control of the new fuel, and a new wave of sparks was released.
Tarquinius had long ago learned to let unclear, disturbing scenes go. Often they could not be interpreted at all, so there