It was almost as if every man was trying to end the civil war himself, thought Romulus as he watched his comrades cut down every soldier they encountered. It didn't matter whether they tried to fight, to run or to surrender. Wounded, whole or unarmed, they were slaughtered anyway. More than one Caesarean officer who tried to intervene was killed, and Atilius wisely let his legionaries do what they would. Although Romulus knew his comrades' reasons – they were sick of defeated Pompeians who had been pardoned by Caesar reneging on their words and rejoining the struggle – he could not bring himself to kill defenceless men. After their initial charge, when he'd downed a number of Pompeian soldiers, Romulus just ran alongside Sabinus and the rest, doing little other than watch the battle turn into a rout. His companions were so consumed by battle rage that they didn't even notice.

It was perhaps for this reason that Romulus saw the elephant before anyone else.

Terrified by the number of javelins and arrows launched by Caesar's legionaries and missile troops, almost every one of the great beasts had turned and run away. From what Romulus could see, they hadn't stopped yet. Except for this one. With numerous pila sticking from its thick, leathery skin like so many pins in a cushion, the elephant had done an about-turn and was now charging through its own retreating soldiers towards Caesar's lines.

Towards the Twenty-Eighth.

Bugling with pain and anger, it was smashing men out of its path like twigs. Its mahout was long gone, probably brought down by a spear or arrow, so the elephant was rampaging wherever it wished. Maddened now beyond reason, it killed everything in its path. The reactions of the Pompeians as they saw it coming varied, Romulus saw. Some panicked and ran towards the Caesareans, desperately pushing their comrades out of the way. Others managed to remain calm, throwing their pila at its eyes or trunk in an attempt to head it off. Another group froze on the spot, unsure what to do when faced with such a leviathan. All of these strategies were limited in their success, and Romulus' heart raced as he wondered what he would do.

The elephant surged through the last of the Pompeians' ranks, and directly into the middle of the Twenty-Eighth, which was close behind. Men flew screaming into the air as they were struck by its swinging trunk. Others were trampled into the sand, and an unlucky few were simply gored to death. In vain legionaries hacked at the beast with their gladii, wishing for the axes of the specially trained cohorts. Tarquinius and his deadly double-headed weapon popped into Romulus' mind. In the same heartbeat, he remembered Brennus. Old guilt burst forth like the rotten fluid in the centre of an abscess, dragging Romulus' spirits to the depths. No matter what hope there was of returning to Rome, how could he have left his blood brother to die?

It was as if the elephant sensed his mental anguish. Lifting a screaming soldier on one of its tusks, it threw him high into the air before its piggy eyes settled on Romulus and his comrades. Swinging its trunk to and fro like a flail, it made straight for them. By this stage, the legionaries were so scared of the great beast that a path opened in front of it. Pushing and shoving, men scrambled out of the way. The sooner it could escape through their lines, the better.

Romulus didn't move. Instead he turned to face the elephant.

'Come on,' Sabinus shouted. 'Let's go.'

In reply, Romulus threw his scutum to one side. He looked at his gladius, wishing it had the length of Brennus' longsword. It would have to do, though. Who was he to run from the gods' punishment? That was why the elephant was charging straight for him: it had to be. 'Very well,' Romulus muttered and took a step forward. He had no idea what to do when the creature reached him, but he was going to die facing it like a man. No more running, he thought, the agonising memory of Brennus' last battle cry tearing at his soul.

His ears filled with the elephant's bugling, which was deafening at this range. Dimly, Romulus realised that he was not alone. He shot a glance to his right and was dismayed to see Sabinus there, his sword and shield ready. 'Get out of here,' he shouted. 'This is my fate.'

'Fool! I'm not leaving now,' Sabinus retorted. 'Imagine the abuse I'd get for deserting you.'

Romulus had no time to reply. The elephant was only a few steps away. Raising his gladius, he lunged forward at it. To his surprise, it ignored him completely. Sidestepping neatly, it barged past, knocking him down in the process. Winded, Romulus was thrown backwards. He looked on in horror as the elephant grabbed Sabinus with its trunk and bore him aloft. Sabinus screamed in fear. With both arms held by his sides, he was as helpless as a swaddled baby.

'You were supposed to take me!' Romulus shrieked.

Oblivious, the elephant swung Sabinus high and low, all the while trumpeting with anger.

Romulus jumped to his feet. Thankfully, he hadn't let go of his sword. Without thinking, he ran at the enormous creature. A slash at the nearest foreleg drew a furious squeal, but the animal didn't release Sabinus. Instead it swung its head at Romulus, forcing him to dodge out of the way or be smashed asunder by the sheer weight of its bony skull. A fierce lunge with its tusks followed, and Romulus shuffled further away, trying not to lose his footing on the carpet of dead men and weapons. It was hopeless. The elephant was invulnerable to ordinary weapons. Soon it would kill him. Then he caught a glimpse of Sabinus' face, distorted with sheer terror, as it shot past. New energy filled Romulus at his comrade's plight. He couldn't just give in.

Raising his gladius, he ran in as the trunk went by yet again. Getting far nearer to its bulk than he felt comfortable with, Romulus slashed down with the iron blade. He made good contact with the trunk, cutting a long wound which made the elephant bugle in pain. Blood sprayed through the air as it went on the attack, lunging at Romulus with its head and tusks. He sensed that it was wary now, though, keeping Sabinus and its trunk raised in the air. Encouraged, he jumped up and hacked a chunk of flesh from the underside of the trunk. There was another deafening trumpet of distress. More blood showered over Romulus, covering him from head to toe. To his surprise, the elephant stopped dead in its tracks, lowering its wounded trunk. Sabinus moaned with fear, but Romulus redoubled his efforts. He had a chance! He chopped back and forth with his gladius, no longer watching to see what the beast did. His arm moved in a blur, delivering two, four, six cuts. His ears rang with the thunderous noise of the elephant's pain, but he did not let up for a single heartbeat.

Romulus had never been more grateful for the time he spent carefully sharpening the double-edged blade. The iron was usually sharp enough to shave the hairs off his forearm, and now it proved its worth for evermore. Sabinus dropped to the ground amid a mist of arterial blood and the elephant stepped back. Utterly consumed by the agony of its injuries, it swung around and charged whence it had come.

Romulus grabbed Sabinus, whose face was as white as the fuller's chalk used on togas. 'Are you hurt?' he demanded.

Struck mute by terror, Sabinus shook his head.

Grinning like a fool, Romulus helped him up. 'It's all right,' he muttered. 'You're safe now.'

When Sabinus' voice returned, it was shaking. 'Truly you must be blessed by the gods,' he whispered. 'Who else could injure a beast like that?'

The enormity of what he had done suddenly hit Romulus. By driving off an elephant with just a gladius, he raised the question of what Brennus – who was far stronger than he – might have done with a longsword. At once Romulus' relief at saving Sabinus was washed away beneath a renewed wave of bitterness and guilt.