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

Romulus watched in horror as the unstoppable tide poured through the cohort's centre, driving all before it. He struggled to reach the fighting, but the press was so great there was little to do but watch. Here and there a soldier stabbed a horse in the eye with a pilum. The mounts reared up in pain, their hooves dashing out the brains of those nearby. Cataphracts clutched frantically at the reins as vengeful legionaries pulled them from the saddle. There was no mercy. Swords ripped into Parthian throats; blood gushed on the sand.

He glimpsed Brennus pulling a mailed warrior down with brute force and stabbing him in the face. Bassius and a few others managed to hamstring half a dozen horses, dispatching the riders with ease. And somehow Tarquinius had wormed his way through the tightly packed ranks to the fighting. Romulus had seen his friend use the battleaxe on several occasions, but never tired of watching the Etruscan's skill and grace. The sinewy figure spun and chopped, wielding the massive weapon with ease. Its curved iron heads flashed to and fro and Parthians screamed as hands and arms were severed. Horses went down thrashing, their back legs slashed to pieces.

Tarquinius was not merely a soothsayer.

But for the most part the Parthian attack had been successful. As the cataphracts smashed through the rear ranks, a great hole was left gaping in the Sixth Legion. Hundreds of casualties sprawled on the bloody sand, howling in agony. Lances and bent pila jutted from the dead of both sides. In the section where Romulus and his friends were positioned, all the regular centurions had been killed, leaving the soldiers leaderless and confused.

The sheer power of the charge had destroyed more than the Roman line. It was the final straw for legionaries whose confidence had been steadily eroded all day. Many were veterans who had fought against every enemy the Republic could find and tasted victory in many countries. But Crassus had presented them with a foe they could not fight on equal terms: horse archers who killed from a distance; heavy cavalry which trampled with impunity.

The cataphracts turned on the open ground behind the army. Cries of terror greeted them as they pounded the sand back towards the Romans. Driving through another part of the Sixth, the mailed riders hacked scores more infantry to pieces with their longswords, then disappeared into the clouds of dust.

Everyone knew they would be back.

Another assault by the archers followed. Shortly after that, the cataphracts hit the Tenth Legion alongside the Sixth. The charge had the same devastating effect. When it was over, the survivors stood reeling with shock, their heads turning involuntarily, hopefully, hopelessly to the rear.

It was only a matter of time before Crassus' army broke and ran.

Chapter XXV: Treachery

The Lupanar, Rome, summer 53 BC

Fabiola tapped a finger against her teeth, half wishing that she had not asked Docilosa to search another girl's room. It had felt wrong: yet another violation. Other than the tiny chambers granted them by Jovina, the prostitutes had little to call their own. She pushed away the troubling thought. Too many snide comments had been thrown in her direction recently. And the recent gossip in the bathing area was much more troubling than usual. Instead of the normal chatter about clients' requests, the tips that had been left or not left and whose prayers had been answered, the women were whispering in little groups, unsettled by the bad feeling in the brothel.

By now, Fabiola was used to the jealousy that occurred when a new, rich client asked for her by name, declining even a look at Jovina's selection of prostitutes. To minimise bad feeling over these fairly frequent occasions, Fabiola always made sure to pass on some of her larger tips in the direction of other women. She had long since discovered that nothing sweetened opinion like a bag of sestertii. But when Fabiola had actually overheard a muttered conversation through a half-open door two days before, it had been time to enlist Docilosa's help. There had been real vitriol in what had been said. Fear began to creep into Fabiola's heart for the first time since she had been dragged away from Gemellus' house. She had only just discovered that Romulus might still be alive, and life had suddenly become very precious.

So the older woman had gone in the previous night, when all the prostitutes were busy. No one would have passed much comment if they saw her entering a bedroom anyway. Docilosa cleaned and tidied for everyone in the Lupanar.

And Fabiola's decision to ask her had proved astute.

'You're sure?' she asked.

Docilosa scowled. 'What else would it be? A single tiny bottle, hidden under a loose tile in the floor,' she replied. 'But I couldn't risk taking it to show you.'

'Perhaps it was perfume?' Fabiola did not want to admit what was plain to both.

There was a derisive snort. 'I took out a drop of the liquid using a fine twig,' the older woman went on. 'Then dripped it on a piece of bread that was lying on the table.'

Fabiola's respect for Docilosa shot up.

'I left the crust by that little crack in the bottom of the garden wall. You know the one?'

'Where the mice come out,' she said dully, knowing now what Docilosa would say. Fabiola had often watched, quietly amused at the tiny creatures scurrying in and out through the hole, busily searching for food. The brothel's resident cats could only kill so many of the ubiquitous rodents, something that endlessly irritated Jovina.

There was a pause.

'I stepped back and waited. It wasn't long before one appeared. Ate the bread in a flash.' Docilosa stared at Fabiola grimly. 'The mouse took no more than two steps before it fell down dead.'

The black-haired girl's stomach constricted and she stepped to the door, opening it to check that there was nobody eavesdropping in the corridor. Relieved to see no one, she closed it quietly and turned to Docilosa. 'Poison.'

The word hung in the air like a black cloud.

'She 's not to be trusted,' spat Docilosa. 'I've said it from the beginning.'

It was impossible to argue. The proof was lying outside in the garden.

Fabiola sighed. Relations with Pompeia had been strained for some time, but she had not thought it would come to this. Despite her best efforts, the redhead had become a dangerous enemy. Jealousy had turned the woman who had made Fabiola most welcome on her first day in the Lupanar into someone who wanted her dead.

It had started off so well. Aware that she would need allies to survive her new life, Fabiola had been quick to replace Pompeia's lent perfume, and the two had become good friends. Claudia, the blonde Goth, had also proved to be essentially decent. Forming a little group, they soon spent all their free time together, Pompeia and Claudia freely dispensing advice that the young newcomer soaked up. Desperate to become the best, to win clients and influence over them so she could rescue Romulus and her mother, Fabiola was soon driving customers wild. As her popularity began to increase, Claudia had shrugged fatalistically. The blonde had a few devoted clients, nobles who liked being tied up and dominated. In a strange way, this seemed to satisfy Claudia.

But the highly-strung Pompeia had been less philosophical. She had been in the brothel for nearly five years, yet Fabiola had gained more regulars than Pompeia inside twelve months. One of her best tippers had even gone to Fabiola in preference to her. That was too much to bear. Their friendship began to sour, and soon it had reached the point where each barely acknowledged the other's presence. Trying to remain on good terms with both, Claudia did her best not to get involved. Of course Jovina had been quick to notice the bad feeling, and had taken Fabiola and Pompeia aside separately. The Lupanar was her domain and she guarded it jealously. 'I want no trouble,' the old crone had threatened. 'Men always notice when girls are bitchy with each other. They don't like it, and that's bad for business. It must end now.'