The Silver Eagle by Ben Kane Page B

companions laughed unpleasantly, and Fabiola forced herself not to shiver.
    Fortified by his mistress’s courage, Corbulo made a gesture. The slaves moved forward, their weapons raised.
    Scaevola eyed them all with scorn. ‘We’ll be back,’ he said. Gathering his men, he led them back across the muddy field. The dogs trotted at their heels.
    The vilicus let out a long, slow breath.
    Fabiola stood stiff-backed, watching until the fugitivarii were out of sight. Inside, she was panicking. What have I done? I should have let him take the boy. But part of her was glad. Whether her decision had been wise, only time would tell.
    ‘Mistress?’
    She turned to regard the vilicus .
    ‘Scaevola is a very dangerous man.’ Corbulo paused. ‘And he’s on Pompey’s payroll.’
    Fabiola flashed him a grateful smile, and the old vilicus fell wholly under her spell.
    ‘The mangy dog meant what he said too,’ he explained. ‘His enemies just disappear. These men . . .’ He indicated the slaves around them. ‘Next time, they won’t be enough.’
    ‘I know,’ replied Fabiola, wishing that Brutus were by her side.
    She had made a real enemy. Journeying to Rome had become an urgent priority.

Chapter III: Vahram

    Eastern Margiana, winter 53/52 BC
    S creaming wild battle cries, the Scythians charged headlong at the two friends.
    Using the dead Parthian guard’s bow, Brennus had already taken down four, including the archers who had injured Pacorus.
    They were still outnumbered by more than nine to one. It’s hopeless, Romulus thought dully. There are far too many. He steeled himself, preparing for the inevitable.
    Trying to use as many shafts as possible, Brennus loosed another arrow. Then, with a curse, he threw down his bow and drew his gladius .
    They moved shoulder to shoulder.
    Surprising Romulus utterly, first one and then another bright ball of fire came flying over his head, illuminating the scene wonderfully. The first landed and smashed apart in a great burst of flame, right in front of the Scythians, who looked suitably terrified. The second struck one of the enemy on the arm, setting light to his felt clothing. The blaze spread upwards with terrible speed, burning his neck and face. The man shrieked in agony. A number of his comrades tried to help, but their efforts were hampered by a further pair of burning missiles. The Scythians’ charge came to an abrupt halt.
    ‘They’re oil lamps,’ cried Romulus, suddenly understanding.
    ‘It’s Tarquinius,’ replied Brennus, fitting another shaft to his bowstring.
    Delighted, Romulus turned to find the haruspex only a few steps away. ‘What took you so long?’
    ‘I had a vision of Rome,’ Tarquinius revealed. ‘If we can get out of here, there is hope.’
    Romulus’ heart soared, and Brennus laughed out loud.
    ‘What did you see?’ Romulus asked.
    Tarquinius ignored the question. ‘Pick up Pacorus,’ he said. ‘Quickly.’
    ‘Why?’ Romulus demanded in a low voice. ‘The bastard’s going to die anyway. Let’s run for it.’
    ‘No,’ Tarquinius answered, hurling two more oil lamps. ‘The journey south would kill us in this weather. We must stay in the fort.’
    Screams of terror rose from the enemy warriors as the lamps landed.
    ‘Those are the last ones.’
    They had to move. Cursing under his breath, Romulus took hold of Pacorus’ feet. Brennus did likewise with his arms. Lifting him as gently as they could, they slung him over Brennus’ shoulder. Pacorus lolled like a child’s toy, the blood from his wounds soaking into the Gaul’s cloak. By far the strongest of the three, only Brennus would be able to run for any distance with such a load.
    ‘Which way?’ shouted Romulus, peering around. The cliff face was to their back, so they could only go north, south or east.
    Tarquinius pointed.
    North. Their trust in the haruspex still strong, neither Romulus nor Brennus argued. They trotted into the darkness, leaving utter confusion in their