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

Now, as the lover of a powerful noble, Fabiola could concentrate fully on discovering the identity of her father. Brutus, whether he knew it or not, was the key. He would happily facilitate her entry into Roman society at the highest level, an equal to those who had once sneered. The clues would be there somewhere. They could even be close to home.

It would take time, but Fabiola would not rest until her mother had been avenged.

Chapter XXIX: The March

East of Seleucia, autumn 53 BC

The desolate landscape stretched into infinity.

Behind the soldiers, an immense range of mountains ran from north to south, the snow-capped tops a stark contrast to the sandy plain far below. It had taken weeks to negotiate countless narrow passes, icy streams and winding paths along cliff edges. Hundreds of legionaries had perished in landslides or died of exposure. The bare slopes had provided little in the way of fuel and the occasional goat brought down by an arrow could not feed everyone. Dried meat, unleavened bread and sheer determination had carried the remaining prisoners over the jagged peaks.

That and the instant execution awaiting any man refusing to march. Parthian discipline was even harsher than Roman.

The column of over nine thousand soldiers had excitedly made its way down a winding track that morning. Just reaching flat ground had felt like success. Low dunes rose smoothly on either side as another desert prepared to welcome them. The sky was clear of clouds, its only inhabitants the ubiquitous vultures.

But the wilderness was not as intimidating as before Carrhae. These men had been through unbelievable suffering, seen unimaginable things. This was just another trial to be endured. Survived.

Romulus adjusted the cloth covering his head and wiped away sweat. Like that of everyone else, the young soldier's helmet dangled from the yoke over one shoulder. There was little need to wear it, with no enemies for hundreds of miles.

Brennus and Tarquinius marched confidently beside him. During the passage of the mountains, their survival skills had helped keep the remaining men of the Sixth alive. The pelts of the wolves Tarquinius had trapped served as blankets and Brennus had regularly brought down goats or antelope with a bow he had procured from a guard.

With all senior officers dead, a power vacuum had been left in the ranks. Soldiers needed someone in charge and with so many men from different legions, it had been difficult to organise the Roman prisoners. Sensibly the Parthian officers who had been placed in command banded together the men who had served in the same unit, but there had been an inevitable reluctance to obey more than basic orders since leaving the capital two months earlier.

Many legionaries now looked to Tarquinius as an unofficial leader. He had been treating the wounded for months, and his ability to predict the future was also well known throughout the column. The Etruscan's understanding of the Parthian language had naturally attracted their captors' attention. The mystical skills he showed also earned respect. In recognition, Tarquinius had been made the equivalent of a centurion, answering to the officer commanding one of the reformed cohorts. Although the haruspex was not a regular, taking orders from one of their own was easier to stomach.

So far, the Etruscan's cohort was the only one to have been re-armed, a source of real pride for Romulus and Brennus. But only Tarquinius knew why. The rest were relieved not to have to carry any more for a time. A train of mules behind carried the remaining weapons, food and water.

'When will we reach Margiana?' asked Romulus.

'Five to six weeks,' replied the Etruscan.

He groaned. Located on the northeast border of the Parthian empire, their destination never seemed to get any nearer.

'At least those bastards have to walk too.' Brennus indicated the warriors to either side of the column.

The prisoners might outnumber the Parthians twenty to one, but it meant little. They were now more than a thousand miles northeast of Seleucia and there was nowhere to go, no point in resisting. Only the dark-skinned natives knew the exact locations of the life-saving waterholes in the vast emptiness of sand and the Romans had no choice but to follow. Without water no one could survive.

'Why didn't they send cataphracts to guard us?' asked Romulus.

'Rome doesn't accept defeat easily,' said Brennus. 'Orodes is probably saving them in case of another attack.'

Tarquinius chuckled. 'The king might not know it, but nobody wants revenge. Caesar won't be too happy having lost his sponsor, but he 's far too busy with other matters. And Pompey will be delighted that Crassus is out of the equation. This will let him concentrate on Caesar.'

Romulus sighed. Italian politics meant little here. 'If Rome doesn't retaliate, how can there be any chance of returning home?' he muttered. 'We are in the middle of nowhere, heading for the ends of the earth.'

'We will make our own way back,' whispered Tarquinius.

The Gaul did not hear the comment. 'We are the Forgotten Legion!' he cried cynically, pointing forward.

All eyes followed his outstretched arm.

Pacorus, the Parthian officer in charge, had shrewdly obtained one silver eagle from the booty after Carrhae. While the others decorated Orodes' palace, his was constantly positioned at the head of the column.

Brennus stabbed a finger at the metal bird again, recognising its significance. The standard was vital to the Parthian's new command and had become the soldiers' most important possession. A growl of pride left men's throats. There had been little to cheer about since Carrhae – till now.

The guards listened curiously, but did not respond straight away. Discipline was less strict now than when they had left the city. Enough men had been executed to keep the rest in line. But until an enemy was in sight, their new-found trust only went so far.

Tarquinius smiled. 'A good name.'

'It has a certain ring to it,' Romulus admitted.

'Good!' Brennus paused, turning to face the ranks following. 'The Forgotten Legion!'

Quickly the Gaul's cry was taken up and the sound rose into hot, windless air.

As roars surged down the column, many Parthians became alarmed and began to reach for their weapons. This had never happened before.

Pacorus was riding nearby and he leaned over in the saddle to speak to Tarquinius. When the answer came, the commander smiled and barked a response. The warriors relaxed at his words. Spurring his horse to the front, Pacorus went to check for signs of other travellers. He was not one to lead from behind.

'What did he want?' asked Romulus.

'To know why we shouted. I told him we were the Forgotten Legion and he replied that much was expected of us.'

Brennus grinned, pleased at the response to his cry.

'He also said that our gods have forsaken us.'

'They turned their backs when we crossed the river,' said Felix. The resourceful little Gaul had attached himself to the trio after leaving Seleucia.

'Maybe on some,' replied Brennus seriously. 'But not on the Forgotten Legion.'

'Perhaps you're right.' Felix made the sign against evil. 'We 're still alive!'

Romulus agreed and silently thanked Jupiter for his protection. Something made him glance at the Etruscan, who had a faint smile playing on his lips. Nothing about the trek eastwards ever upset him, which he found strange. Although Brennus now seemed content with his lot, every other man worried about marching further from the known world. But Tarquinius positively relished it. Every few days he would write notes on the ancient map, describing what he had seen and explaining them to Romulus if he asked. Thanks to these lessons, the young soldier had also come to enjoy the journey and to respect the burning deserts and mighty peaks they had crossed. The image of Alexander in his mind had grown to near mythical status. The Lion of Macedon must have been an extraordinary leader, he thought. Perhaps Tarquinius is retracing his steps.