The Forgotten Legion - Kane Ben (читать книги онлайн полностью без сокращений txt) 📗

Pacorus grunted irritably.

'Only been a couple.' Despite the nature of the relationship, Tarquinius was careful to address the Parthian respectfully.

Pacorus changed the subject. 'The men did well.' Marching over fifty miles in two days had been an ordeal. 'Are they still ready to fight?'

'Of course, sir.' Again Tarquinius indicated the long spears carried by the legionaries. Fitted with barbed iron heads, the thick shafts were twice the length of normal pila.

The swarthy warrior nodded with approval.

'Is this definitely the only safe ford?' asked the Etruscan, checking.

'For thirty miles in either direction.' Pacorus scowled. 'They must cross here!'

Tarquinius fell silent. He did not move for so long that the Parthian began shifting nervously in his saddle. At length the haruspex smiled.

'They will be here by early afternoon.' It was unspoken, but there was no doubt now who was more powerful. 'No later.'

'You are sure?'

'Yes.'

Pacorus eyed the nearest grove of trees. 'And the hidden men?'

'They will not move until the trumpets sound, sir.'

Silence fell. There was nothing more to do but wait.

As usual, Tarquinius was correct. The sun had just passed its zenith when the few scouts returned at a gallop. Shortly after that, a large dust cloud appeared in the distance. Laden with spoils, the Sogdians were returning to their homeland. They would be careless, arrogant with success. From conversation with Pacorus, the Etruscan knew it was unlikely there had been any opposition to the raid. Parthia's armed forces in Margiana were at dangerously low levels and towns to the south would have paid dearly for their lack of defences. The tribesmen would hardly be expecting to meet thousands of legionaries blocking the route north.

Nine of the cohorts were arranged in battle formation, a good distance from the river. Five were in the centre, a pair on each wing. Soldiers in each ranked sixty across, eight deep. Men in the front four rows held long spears, those behind carried pila and every scutum was covered in silk. Small gaps between the units left room to manoeuvre once fighting started. Acting as reserves, the Parthian warriors were situated to the rear while the tenth cohort was hidden in trees five hundred paces in front, slightly off to one side.

Bucinae sounded as the Forgotten Legion moved into final position. Cohorts on the flanks moved forward a short distance, creating a curve in the defensive line.

They were ready.

'They're coming!' Romulus peered anxiously through thick summer leaves. 'I can't see anything, though.'

'Patience.' Brennus sharpened his longsword with a whetstone. The Etruscan had managed to obtain the items from Pacorus, the blade a souvenir from Carrhae. The Gaul now wore it in a scabbard across his broad back while a gladius hung from his belt, vital for close combat. 'Plenty of time yet. Won't be our turn till the end.'

Romulus sighed, never having watched a battle from the sidelines before. The grove faced south, wide enough to conceal five hundred men from view. They could remain hidden until the Sogdians had engaged with the other cohorts.

The soldiers behind them were ready to fight, their faces set. It had been months since they had seen any action and most were eager to change that. The men had fought together under Crassus because it was their duty, but Carrhae and a fifteen-hundred-mile march had forged strong bonds between all of the prisoners. Now they would gladly fight and die for each other – because there was no one else.

Their stout commander Darius was one of the more likeable Parthians. He too had heard the trumpets. Riding over, he dismounted, tying his horse 's reins to a low branch. 'We will teach these dogs a lesson,' he said in poor Latin. 'For invading Parthian territory.'

Romulus grinned. Few of the new officers had bothered to learn their soldiers' language but Darius was an exception.

Brennus swung the longsword back and forth. 'Just let us at the bastards!' he replied, wondering if they had reached the end of the world. No one could win such a battle. Except Brennus.Tarquinius' words resonated through him. If the time was now, Brennus was ready.

Darius stood back a little, clearly awed by the Gaul's huge muscles and strange weapon. 'You are a Roman?'

'No!' Brennus swept back his pigtails angrily. 'I am an Allobroge, sir.'

The Parthian looked at him blankly.

'A Gaul. Different tribe, sir.'

'Why fight for Rome? Money?'

'That's a long story. We were slaves.' Brennus laughed, winking at Romulus. 'Gladiators.'

Darius rolled his tongue round the unfamiliar word. 'Gladi . . . ators?'

'We were paid to fight others while people watched. It is a sport in Rome.'

'Professional fighters! And now you are Parthian soldiers.'

Brennus and Romulus exchanged a glance.

The Sogdians arrived some time after the scouts. From their hidden position, Romulus and the others had a grandstand view of what transpired.

As predicted, there were several thousand tribesmen in the large war band. The column was fifteen or twenty men wide and extended back for some distance. Following in the rear came shepherds driving flocks of stolen sheep and goats, food for the coming winter. Yellow-skinned, black-haired and squat, the warriors halted their small, agile ponies not far from the grove. Most wore fur hats, leather jerkins and trousers and carried composite bows, round shields and swords. Every mount was heavily laden with bags of booty.

Consternation reigned when the raiders drew near enough to take in the Forgotten Legion. Yanking their reins back violently, the Sogdians pulled up, conferring in loud voices. The racket was audible even to the hidden cohort. Arms waved angrily, threats were made, weapons drawn. The warriors were not happy. It was not until a group of riders from the back galloped up that things calmed down.

One of the newcomers, a swarthy thickset figure with a beard, seemed to be in charge. Quarrelling men fell back in obvious deference when he spoke. The leader sat calmly contemplating the nine cohorts and conferring with his officers.

'He wouldn't have been expecting resistance this close to the border,' chuckled Darius. 'Been no troops here since the moment Orodes heard Crassus was thinking of invasion.'

The Sogdian leader was no coward. There was only a brief pause before he made a chopping gesture straight at the river. A group of two hundred warriors clad in metal helmets and chain mail waited with their chief while the remainder immediately rode forward in a sweeping curve that would carry them across the Roman front.

A flock of birds scattered into the air, startled by the noise of drumming hooves. Bows already half drawn, the bunched tribesmen charged at the Forgotten Legion.

An order rang out. Men in the front rank dropped to their knees, protecting the lower legs. Thousands of scuta clattered together as each cohort formed a testudo. It did not appear remotely threatening.

The riders smiled with contempt. Bowstrings were drawn taut as they came within killing range and grunts of effort accompanied the release. Hissing sounds reached Romulus as swarms of arrows flew towards the silk-covered shields. It was an awful noise, vividly evoking the carnage of Carrhae. But Tarquinius had trained the men well. Not a chink showed in the wall of fabric facing the archers.

The shafts landed in one great shower.

Romulus closed his eyes, unable to watch.

Brennus laughed, alarming him. 'By Belenus, look!' he whispered. 'It worked.'

Muted cheering was heard from the Roman lines. Sogdian arrows jutted from every scutum, but not one had gone right through.

Romulus was delighted. The Etruscan had related the tale of Isaac's silk and the ruby to them afterwards. Obviously the purchase had been well worth it.