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

'An outstanding victory!' declared the Parthian, his arrogance returning. 'Orodes will be pleased with my tactics.'

The Etruscan chuckled to himself.

'Other tribes will hear of this.' Pacorus waved his hands excitedly. 'Make them think again before threatening Parthia.'

There was a pause before Tarquinius spoke. 'The king of Scythia is a determined man. News of our success will not halt his plans to invade next year.'

Pacorus' smile disappeared. 'You have seen this?'

'And an attack by the Indians will follow soon afterwards.'

'With elephants?'

'Yes.'

The commander blanched. 'Normally we drive off those monsters with volleys of arrows.' His voice tailed off. Only a few dozen of the Parthian guards were archers.

Tarquinius stared east, waiting.

'Have you a plan, soothsayer?' The tone was pleading.

'Of course.' Tarquinius' dark eyes bored into him. 'But there will be a price to pay.'

There was silence as Pacorus stared at the piles of Sogdian bodies again. Without the haruspex, he would have no chance against new waves of invaders.

'Tell me,' he said heavily.

Late that evening, hundreds of celebrating legionaries packed the parade ground just inside the camp's north gate. As soon as the ramparts and defensive ditches had been built, Pacorus had rewarded his men with an issue of local spirits. The alcohol was disappearing fast as the victorious soldiers let the tensions of battle slip away. To fill their empty bellies, whole sheep were cooked on spits over great fires at one end of the open area. The bemused guards stood watching, content now that the prisoners had fought bravely for Parthia.

Roars of laughter, loud conversation and singing competed to drown each other out. Drunken figures fell unnoticed to the ground while their companions wrestled each other or played dice. It was the first time in many months that the Romans had had a real reason to rejoice, and they were going to make the most of it.

The men of the Forgotten Legion had no idea what the future might hold. It was probably death, but tonight they did not care.

The surgeon had stitched Brennus' wound and now a heavy bandage covered his upper right arm. It would be weeks before he could fight again but it did not mean he could not enjoy the night with a few cups of spirit. Beside him, Romulus swigged his allotted measure happily, remembering the night in Publius' tavern. And Julia. Neither man had drunk much when Tarquinius appeared at the edge of the raucous gathering. Beckoning to them, the Etruscan led the way to the eastern gate. They followed curiously. Sentries saluted and waved them through the portal with broad smiles. Nobody would question the haruspex after the stunning victory that day. Everyone knew it was thanks to Tarquinius.

The three friends walked in silence along the river bank until they were a good distance from the marching camp and the sounds of revelry. A gentle breeze cooled the sweat on their faces and ruffled the water flowing past. It was a beautiful night with a clear, glittering sky. Far to the east lay a range of snow-covered peaks, visible now the heat haze had gone.

'The Qilian mountains,' said Tarquinius, halting by a grassy knoll. He flopped down, patting the ground beside him. Comfortable in each other's company, the soothsayer, warrior and young soldier sat back, watching shooting stars pass across the heavens. Spending time with his mentors at this time of day was a routine that Romulus had grown to love.

'Remember when I told you it took years to become a great fighter?' said Brennus suddenly.

Romulus nodded, recalling his burning desire to be the best in the ludus. So that he could kill Gemellus. An age ago, in Rome.

The Gaul threw a massive arm round his shoulders. 'I was watching you fight today,' he said with a smile. 'You're nearly there. A year or two and you'll be better than me.'

Romulus was astonished. 'I could never be as strong as you.'

'Not as strong, maybe. But more skilful.' There was real respect in Brennus' eyes.

Romulus met the look squarely. 'Much of it is thanks to you.'

Brennus tightened his grip. 'You're like a son to me,' he growled.

Emotion welled up inside Romulus and he hugged the Gaul fiercely.

In the darkness they could not see Tarquinius' face. But Romulus did not care. He felt huge relief that Brennus was still alive. Still with him.

For some time no one spoke, and they listened happily to the bats that were swooping and diving over the river. The land was at peace, delivered from the Sogdians by the Forgotten Legion's courage.

Having witnessed Brennus survive against all the odds, Romulus imagined returning to Rome one day and finding his family. It seemed possible now.

Brennus felt contentment at the thought of how similar Ultan's and Tarquinius' predictions had been. His guilt and pain were greatly eased, for it was proof to him that the gods would deliver his redemption one day. Not here. At the edge of the world.

With memories of Olenus uppermost, Tarquinius asked that his urge to discover more about the Etruscans' origins be fulfilled. Strangely, his once constant thirst for knowledge had been diminishing for some time and the haruspex knew it was due to the growing emotions he felt for his companions. Since Olenus he had loved no one. But without Tarquinius becoming aware of it, the brave, generous Gaul and the eager young man had become very dear to him. Romulus felt like . . . what? A son to him. He laughed. How very human; how very . . . ordinary; but how good that felt.

The others looked at Tarquinius questioningly but he was deep in thought.

How could he have forgotten Olenus' words? You will pass on much information. Romulus had been right there under his nose all along. Someone he could begin to instruct in the ancient art. A tiny sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips and he began to speak at last.

'Our journey will continue for years.' His eyes turned to the horizon, and their gaze followed his.

East.

'There will be more battles. And mortal danger.'

The hairs on their necks prickled, but neither Romulus nor Brennus asked more.

They were alive. For the moment, that was enough.

Author's Note

Interested readers may read that the more exotic classes of gladiators mentioned (dimachaeri, laquearii and scissores) were introduced in Imperial times rather than during the Republic. My use of them in this novel was merely to make the scenes in the arena more colourful. Although it is commonly thought that every gladiator fight was to the death, this is now thought not to be the case. In many cases, the fighters were simply too valuable to be wasted in such a way. It was more common for mortal combat to be reserved for special occasions or for the last bout of the day.

The Etruscans were a mysterious people who ruled large parts of central Italy from about 700 BC until they were overthrown by the Romans in the mid 450s BC. Although they owed much to Greek influence, many of their customs did not originate from there. They had a more eastern flavour. Many theories are still extant about the Etruscans' exact origins: the area of Lydia in western Asia Minor; Egypt; and even further afield in Mesopotamia. Fond of music, dance and feasting, the self-styled Rasenna also practised divination from the livers of sacrificed animals. Games such as horse-racing, wrestling and gladiator fights were very popular. Despite their subjugation, they were not to be forgotten. Many Etruscan customs were swiftly subsumed into Roman civilisation.

It is a matter of historical fact that Crassus led an enormous host all the way from Italy to Parthia, only for it to be annihilated. Rome rarely suffered such a comprehensive defeat, and the lesson was not lost on its leaders. Cavalry soon became a feature of every Roman army. The term 'parting shot' derives from the 'Parthian shot' that devastated Crassus' soldiers at Carrhae.