He darted over. ‘A word if I may, sir?’

‘What is it?’ demanded Darius irritably. He looked harassed and angry.

‘We must retreat, sir,’ he blurted. ‘At once.’

The bodyguard snorted with derision.

Darius was more tolerant. ‘Just as it’s about to get dark?’ Then the senior centurion saw that Romulus was deadly serious. His actions bordered on insubordination, but Darius valued his men, especially this one. Unlike the other Parthian officers, he did not instantly punish all wrongdoers. ‘Do you know what temperature it drops to out here?’ he cried. ‘We’d all freeze.’

‘Perhaps, sir.’ Romulus swallowed, but his stare did not waver. ‘But waiting until the morning will be even worse.’

Darius glanced back at the strong walls of the fortlet. It was a good position to defend for one night. With their grisly contents, no one would sleep in the blood-soaked barracks, but huddled by blazing fires under the shelter of the ramparts, his men would survive well enough until dawn. ‘Why?’

Romulus saw him look. ‘More Scythians are on their way, sir. A lot more.’

Darius stared at him, perplexed. Yet this legionary had seen the rider behind the patrol. And he was Tarquinius’ protege. ‘How do you know?’

‘I have seen it in the sky.’

The guard hissed with disapproval.

Darius’ dark eyes bored into Romulus. ‘What exactly did you see?’

‘A large host on the march. Soldiers carrying torches to light the way,’ revealed Romulus. ‘Squadrons of horse archers and companies of infantry. Armoured cavalry.’

Darius frowned. It was uncommon for armies to travel by night. Most men were too superstitious to do so: it was the time when demons and evil spirits were abroad.

Romulus pointed at the enemy riders, who had pulled back for a rest. ‘They’re just delaying us, sir. Until the others arrive.’

Now the stout Parthian scowled. He was one of the few senior centurions who had bothered to learn any Latin and could understand Tarquinius; he had a great deal of respect for the haruspex, even though he was a foreigner. But it seemed ridiculous that the young man standing before him could possess the same mystical ability. Romulus was a soldier, not a soothsayer. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful to you for spotting the Scythian, lad,’ Darius growled. ‘Your action saved many lives.’

Flushing, Romulus ducked his head.

‘But you actually saw that warrior earlier,’ the Parthian went on. ‘Whereas these others are a figment of your imagination.’

He began to protest.

Darius’ face hardened. ‘Scythians do not move during the hours of darkness. Or make large-scale attacks in wintertime.’

‘What about the attack at the Mithraeum?’ Romulus countered. ‘Sir.’

Darius’ eyes bulged with anger at the other’s confidence.

‘Mithras showed me the Scythians,’ said Romulus, risking everything. ‘I prayed to him and he answered.’

‘How dare you?’ the Parthian snarled. ‘Only initiates may worship Mithras, you insolent dog.’

His guard laid a hand to his sword.

Romulus hung his head. He had failed. Despite his friendly manner, their senior centurion was just another Parthian.

‘Consider yourself lucky not to be whipped. Or worse,’ Darius snapped. ‘Resume your position.’

The guard smirked.

Hiding his anger, Romulus stalked back to his place in the front rank. The fool, he thought. Darius was blinded by his refusal to admit that his god might favour a non-Parthian. Yet Romulus felt sure that was where his vision had come from.

‘Keep your damn mouth shut too,’ Darius called out. ‘Not a word to anyone.’

Under his shield nearby, Novius sniggered unpleasantly. To Romulus’ disappointment, none of the veterans had been hit. Even if they survived the Scythian attack, he still had them to contend with.

Brennus’ reaction surprised Romulus. Instead of being furious, as he was, his friend simply shrugged.

‘The Scythian reinforcements will outnumber us more than ten to one,’ Romulus said.

‘We can’t avoid our fate,’ replied Brennus solemnly. A day when your friends need you. A time to stand and fight. No one could win such a battle. Except Brennus. Would tomorrow be that day?

Romulus suspected he knew the reason behind Brennus’ calm. Ever since Tarquinius had revealed the druid’s prediction to the Gaul, he had secretly worried about losing his friend here, in Margiana. Mithras had shown Tarquinius that there was a road back to Rome. But was it for all three of them? His stomach knotted, Romulus considered the sky once more. What he had seen had changed utterly. The cloud patterns, wind speed and birds visible now made no sense at all. Perhaps he and Brennus would die here, while Tarquinius survived? Romulus’ head spun until it hurt. He heartily wished that the haruspex were with them, to provide guidance. But he wasn’t. For all they knew, he could be dead. An idea surfaced. ‘We could make a run for it tonight,’ he muttered. ‘Just the two of us.’

‘Back to the fort?’ asked Brennus. ‘We’d be executed for desertion.’

Romulus dared not vocalise it. He had been thinking of heading south, towards the coast. Shame filled him that he could have even thought of leaving Tarquinius behind. Like Brennus, the haruspex had taught him so much.

‘Trust in the gods,’ said Brennus, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘They know best.’

But Mithras might be playing with me, thought Romulus. Punishing a non-initiate for daring to worship him. What better way to do that than show a man his doom? Romulus’ guts twisted with worry again as he remembered the Scythian host in his vision.

‘And don’t get hit by an arrow.’

He grimaced at the Gaul’s bleak humour.

Brennus was not finished. ‘Look around you,’ he commanded.

Romulus obeyed, taking in the set faces of the legionaries all around them. There was fear there, but also a steely determination. No names or insults were being called now. Unlike Novius and his cronies, these were men who would stand and fight with him and Brennus, to the end if necessary. Even if they no longer thought it themselves, they were his brothers-in-arms.

That counted for a lot.

Romulus clenched his jaw.

In response, he got an almighty nudge. ‘That’s the spirit.’

He gave Brennus a grateful smile.

The pair settled down to watch the Scythians, many of whom had now dismounted. Occasionally an eager warrior would gallop in close to the Roman lines and release a few arrows, but the rest seemed content to keep the status quo. Using brushwood, some had even started fires. Darkness was beginning to fall and the air was chilling rapidly. It would not be long before the temperature dropped far below freezing. Knowing this, Darius withdrew his men inside the fortlet and closed the gate. Once sentries were in place on the ramparts and fires had been started, there was not much else to be done. Dawn would decide their fate.

Few men slept well. Knowing what lay in the nearby barracks didn’t help. Neither did the piercing cold, which was just kept at bay by the fires and their woollen blankets. Nightmares, numb fingers and toes were inevitable, as were aching, painful muscles. But they were warm enough to stay alive. That was all the legionaries needed.

Romulus lay awake for hours, while beside him the Gaul snored loudly. Brennus had offered to keep watch, but the young soldier was so wound up that he had refused. Eventually weariness began to get the better of him though, and his lids slowly closed. He plunged straight into a nightmare that played out his vision of Rome again in horrifying detail. Mobs of armed plebeians and gladiators ran hither and thither, attacking anyone in sight. Bodies lay scattered in crimson piles. Swords rose and fell; men clutched at gaping wounds. Screams competed with the clash of metal on metal and the air was filled with smoke. Flames licked up the sides of the Senate building itself. Finally Romulus saw Fabiola. Surrounded by a few bodyguards, his twin was caught up in the midst of it. Her face was terrified.