by Ben Kane
Brennus grinned. 'Might not be pretty, but it'll do. Keep it hidden for a while, and if anyone sees, you can say it was from a sword cut.'
The crude sutures would leave a rough scar, nothing like the neat work of the Greek surgeons in Rome who were paid by wealthy ex-slaves to remove their brands. Romulus didn't care. Memor's proof of ownership was gone for ever. But when he pulled out his own knife a moment later and reached for the Gaul's leg, Brennus stopped him.
'We can't both have a freshly stitched wound. Burn mine. Logs fall out of fires all the time.'
Romulus protested weakly, but he knew his friend was right. There was no mercy for escaped slaves. To avoid suspicion, they had to be different. He heated the dagger until the blade was glowing a dull red and then gritting his teeth, applied it to Brennus' calf. An instant smell of burning hair and flesh filled his nostrils.
The huge Gaul grimaced, allowing the searing pain to cleanse away some of the memories of slavery. 'We 'll stay here for a while,' he announced with a smile. 'Lick our wounds and get some rest. Then we can go down to the port.'
His smile was infectious and Romulus grinned.
One last ordeal, but now they were truly free.
Brundisium's harbour was humming with activity. A large town, it had been transformed by the arrival of Crassus' army. Thousands of soldiers, tons of equipment and weapons filled the narrow jetties, waiting to embark for Asia Minor. The skyline was a forest of masts. Dozens of triremes rocked gently in the water, tied close together. Sailors swarmed back and forth, cursing the clumsiness of their passengers.
Mules brayed as they were forced down wooden gangways on to ships. Officers barked orders, pushing and shoving men into line. Messengers scurried between units, relaying orders.
Brennus and Romulus worked their way through the throng, searching for somewhere to join up. At length they found a makeshift desk of sacks of flour on the main dock. An old centurion was standing behind the temporary arrangement, bawling orders at new recruits.
He stared calculatingly at the dirty pair as they came to a halt.
'Farmers, eh?'
'That's right, sir.'
Romulus kept silent, taking in the phalerae hanging from the moulded leather breastplate and the silver torque round his neck. This was clearly a brave man.
'Well armed, aren't you?' He pointed at the heavy spears, the bow, swords and daggers, the well-made shields.
'We 're from Transalpine Gaul, sir,' explained Brennus. 'The bandits are plentiful and we have to know how to fight.'
'Hmmm. Thought you were a Gaul.' The officer eyed Brennus' bulging muscles and the scars on his arms. 'Why come to Brundisium?'
'The great general is leading an army to Jerusalem. I'm told the booty will be good.'
'So all the new recruits say.' The centurion scratched short grey stubble, looking Brennus up and down shrewdly. 'You're not escaped slaves?'
'No, sir.' The Gaul kept a blank face, Romulus copying him. Aping the Roman military cut, both men had cut their hair short that morning.
'Slaves are forbidden to join the military under any circumstances. It is a crime punishable by death. Understand?'
'We are free men, sir.'
The officer grunted, considering the tally on the calfskin parchment before him. 'And the lad?'
'Fights better than most grown men, sir.'
'Does he, by Jupiter?'
'Taught him myself, sir.'
'A bit young, but I suppose he's as big as most.' The centurion pushed forward a stylus. 'You enlist for three years minimum. Stay with the army for twenty and you'll be granted Roman citizenship. The pay is a hundred denarii per year in equal instalments every four months. Depending on the situation.'
'Situation, sir?' Romulus spoke for the first time, affecting Brennus' thick accent as best he could.
'If we're in the middle of a damn war, you don't get paid!'
'A hundred denarii?' Romulus turned to his friend with disbelief. The purse from Pompey alone had contained five times that amount.
Brennus frowned.
The centurion laughed, misinterpreting the remark. 'A lot of money,' he said. 'Crassus' son Publius is a generous man. He wants the finest infantry to fight beside his cavalry.'
Romulus grinned vacuously as if he had only just understood. After all, they weren't joining Crassus' army for the wages.
'You provide your own clothes and weapons. Costs for equipment, food and the burial club get deducted from pay. And when I tell you to do something, do it fast! Otherwise you'll feel this across your backs.' He slapped a vine cane on the sacks of flour. 'I command the cohort, but I'm also your centurion! Clear?'
They nodded.
The officer tapped the parchment with a gnarled forefinger. 'Put your marks here.'
The pair exchanged a long glance. Once they joined, there was no going back. With a shrug, Brennus picked up the stylus in his huge hand and marked the document. Romulus followed suit.
'Good!' The centurion smiled briefly. 'I'm putting you both under my direct command. Names?'
'Brennus, sir. This is Romulus.'
'Romulus?' he said with interest. 'A good Italian name. Who was your father?'
'Roman legionary, sir.' Romulus couldn't think of anything else to say. 'Mother wanted to honour his memory.'
'There is a Roman look to you. Should have a warrior's mettle too.' He seemed pleased. 'Call me Senior Centurion Bassius. Wait over there with the rest of the cohort.'
'When do we set sail, Senior Centurion?'
'Tonight. The general's keen to start the campaign immediately.'
Romulus stared at Brundisium, now barely visible through the orangeyellow haze. It was nearly sunset, and the sea had changed from bright blue to a deep navy. A gentle breeze was propelling the Roman fleet away from shore. Other triremes could be made out in the failing light, companions to the one they had embarked on. Dozens of long wooden oars made a smooth sound as they moved in unison to cut the water's surface.
The Achilles was a typical low-slung Roman ship with a single cloth sail, three banks of oars and a bronze ram at the prow. The decks were bare except for the captain's cabin at the stern and catapults for attacking enemy ships.
'Good riddance!' Brennus spat over the timbers of the side. 'The bastards won't find us now.'
'When can we return to Italy?'
'A few years. Murder of a noble takes a while to be forgotten.'
Romulus scowled at that prospect. Thoughts of his family, Caelius and Julia had filled his mind on their march south, but he would have to put all such thoughts to one side. It would serve little purpose to spend his time worrying about situations that were now so completely out of his control.
'We should have stayed in the ludus that night.'
'Maybe we should.' Brennus looked east, his eyes distant. 'But the gods meant this to happen. I feel it in my bones.'
Romulus followed his gaze. The horizon was formed by the darkening sky's junction with the black sea, making it impossible to see where they met. Beyond lay the unknown, a world Romulus had thought he would never see. But anything seemed possible now.
He came back to the present with a shiver. 'What will happen to Astoria?'
The Gaul's face grew sad. 'Sextus has promised to protect her and if the gods are merciful, we will meet again. But I cannot avoid my destiny. We had no choice but to run and Astoria knows that.' Their farewell had been all too brief and when Brennus had tried to stay longer, the Nubian had kissed him softly and pushed him out the door. Astoria knew how much Ultan's words meant to her lover. Follow your destiny, she had whispered.
Brennus sighed heavily.
Romulus knew how he felt.
The consequences of the fight had been devastating for both. Brennus' life as a champion gladiator was over, his woman lost. Romulus was wanted for murder and both were fugitives from justice. Unless Astoria managed to get his message through, Julia would have presumed the worst of him for not showing up. Romu
lus' plans for a slave rebellion were dust, and although he was free it seemed even more unlikely that he would ever see his family again, let alone rescue them. Instead he was sailing into the east, a soldier in Crassus' army.
That meant Gemellus would go unpunished.
He scowled at the chance train of events that had led them to be sitting on Achilles' deck. If only they had not left the ludus. If only they had not stopped outside the Lupanar. If only he had not killed a noble.
But he had.
Romulus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Like Brennus, he would have to place his trust in the gods. In Jupiter, Greatest and Best. He alone could alter the situation now.
'Reef the sail!' The second in command, an experienced optio, bellowed at the nearest crew. Roman ships never used sails at night, relying instead on the power of the oars.
The sailors obeyed rapidly, pulling on halyards that gathered the heavy cloth against the crossbar of the mast. When it had been furled to his satisfaction, the optio paced Achilles' sun-bleached deck, ensuring the catapults had been lashed down and all loose pieces of equipment tidied away.
Low thudding from the drum reached them through the timbers underfoot. Its speed determined how fast the oarsmen had to row. Driven by curiosity, Romulus had already explored the cramped soldiers' quarters on the armoury deck and the claustrophobic space below that where slaves sat chained to benches. He shuddered at the thought of permanent confinement in the hot, stale air breathed by two hundred others. Men on the oars were fed far more than the soldiers would receive daily, but that was little compensation. Most were criminals or prisoners of war who would serve below until they died. And it was not unheard of for ordinary slaves to be sent to the galleys as punishment.
The freedom Romulus had begun to enjoy suddenly felt quite fragile.
'Nobody will find us, will they?' he whispered to Brennus.
Smiling, the Gaul threw a massive arm round his shoulders. 'We 're in the legions now. As long as we can fight, no one gives a damn.'
Romulus glanced across at their new commander who was talking to a fellow centurion and the captain of Achilles. He had taken an instant liking to Bassius, whose composed manner was rubbing off on the new recruits. Few seemed to be warriors, but they appeared happy enough sitting on the gently moving deck. It was not surprising that the old officer had picked both him and Brennus for his unit. The two centuries on the trireme, one hundred and sixty men, were mostly Gaulish farmers, dressed in worn tunics and trousers and armed with an assortment of longswords, spears and daggers. The rest of Bassius' cohort he had seen embarking at the port were similar in appearance. The centurion's relaxed attitude to their status was more clear now. Apart from the sailors, the gladiators were almost the only warlike ones on board.
Crassus' need for thousands of mercenary soldiers had meant practically every able-bodied man who presented himself for service had been enlisted. Plenty of landless peasants were in search of employment, victims of Caesar's campaign in Gaul. Whole tribes had been displaced from their lands. News of the campaign must have reached a long way for these farmers to have journeyed to Brundisium.
It was warmer below and many men had chosen to sleep there rather than on the deck where the breeze off the sea blew strong and chill. Romulus and Brennus secured a sheltered spot in the stern and made themselves comfortable. They sat wrapped in woollen blankets, chewing on bread and cheese bought earlier in the bustling market near the harbour.
'Enjoy it.' Brennus shoved a piece into his mouth. 'Could be our last fresh food for a while. It'll be bucellatum and acetum from now on.'
'What?'
'Hard-tack biscuit — dry, miserable stuff, and sour wine.'
'We should be able to scavenge for supplies in Lydia, don't you think?'
Standing over them was a slightly built man with a thin face and long hair bleached blond by the sun. Gold winked from an earring in his right ear and a small crooked staff hung from one hand.
'Do you mind if I sit?' The stranger carried himself easily.
Brennus sized him up. 'Suit yourself,' he said, shifting over.
Romulus had not noticed the man before, who was of indeterminate age, somewhere between twenty-five and forty. His chest was protected by an unusual hide cuirass covered in linked bronze rings and he wore a short leather-bordered skirt similar to those worn by centurions. A viciouslooking double-headed battleaxe hung from his back by a short strap. Dangling from a narrow belt was a little pouch and on the deck by his feet sat a well used leather pack.
'Have you just joined?'
'What's it to you?' Romulus did not yet feel safe.
The stranger unslung his axe and sat down with a sigh. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a large piece of dried pork and cut off a few slices with a sharp dagger. 'Care for some?'
The Gaul's eyes lit up. 'Thanks. Don't mind if I do. I'm Brennus and this is Romulus.'
'Tarquinius is my name.'
Romulus proffered a piece of cheese and the newcomer accepted it with a nod.
Brennus pointed at the iron blades of Tarquinius' axe. 'Mean looking weapon.'
'It has its uses,' he replied, rubbing his hand along the wooden shaft with a smile. 'And I'll wager you can handle yourself in a tight spot.'
'I can if I have to!' Brennus slapped the longsword he had taken from the ludus and all three laughed.
There was silence as they ate. The sun had set, leaving a thin red line along the horizon to mark its passage. Soon it would be completely dark and overhead the sky was filling with stars.
'There will be terrible storms on the voyage,' said Tarquinius suddenly. 'Twelve ships will be lost, but this one will be safe.'
They both stared at him with shock.
'How can you tell?' asked Romulus nervously.
'It is written in the stars.' His voice was deep and sonorous, almost musical.
He talks like Ultan, thought Brennus.
The breeze strengthened for a moment and Romulus shivered. 'You are a soothsayer?'
'Something like that.' He paused. 'But I can fight too.'
Romulus didn't doubt that. 'Where are you from?'
'Etruria.' There was a faraway look in Tarquinius' eyes. 'North of Rome.'
'A citizen?' Brennus said quickly. 'Why aren't you in a regular legion?'
Tarquinius gazed into his eyes and smiled. 'What are two runaway slaves doing in the army as mercenaries?'
'Keep your voice down!' hissed the big gladiator.
The Etruscan raised an eyebrow.
'We 're no slaves,' Brennus muttered.
'Then why has the young man got such a fresh wound on his upper arm?' Tarquinius responded. 'Just where a brand should be.'
Romulus guiltily pulled down his sleeve, but it was too late. Lying down had let the rough fabric of his jerkin ride up his arm, revealing the telltale stitching. 'We got waylaid on our journey,' he muttered. 'The roads are dangerous, especially at night.'
Fortunately no one else seemed to be paying attention. Other soldiers were busy settling down for the night.
Tarquinius raised an eyebrow. 'And I thought you were gladiators.'
Their shocked faces told him everything.
'I am. was. the best fighter in Rome! Bought our freedom with my winnings,' blustered Brennus.
'If you say so.' Tarquinius fingered the gold ring that hung from a chain round his neck. It was decorated with a scarab beetle. 'Nothing to do with the death of a noble, then?' Olenus has been avenged, he thought with satisfaction.
They both stiffened.
How can he know about that? thought Romulus with alarm. He wasn't there.
There was silence as the Gaul laid a hand on his sword. 'No,' he said stonily.
Tarquinius did not react to the obvious lie. 'I myself have no wish to be known as an Etruscan. I joined the cohort as a Greek.'
'What are you running from?'
'We all have something to hide.' He smiled. 'Let's say that, like you, I had to l
eave Italy in a hurry.'
They relaxed slightly.
'You speak Greek?' asked Romulus.
'And many other languages.'
'Why are you telling us all this?' Romulus self-consciously rubbed his wound, which would have to remain hidden until it had fully healed.
'Simple. You both look like fighters. More than I can say for those sorrylooking bastards.' Tarquinius jerked his head dismissively behind him. The Gauls were definitely farmers rather than warriors.
Brennus gave them an appraising glance. 'Bassius will knock them into shape. I've seen worse specimens turned into good soldiers.'
'Perhaps. You are the warrior.' Tarquinius reached into the satchel again and produced a small amphora. Pulling the cork with his teeth, he offered it to Brennus.
The Gaul did not accept.
'Don't trust me?' Tarquinius barked with amusement and took a deep swallow before offering it again. 'We have a long journey and many battles lie ahead. Why would I offer you poison?'
'I apologise. I've spent too many years in the ludus,' said Brennus, taking the wine. 'You have shared food and drink and I have only been rude in response.' He held out his right hand.
The Etruscan gripped it with a smile and the slight tension that had been present since he introduced himself disappeared.
'And you, Romulus?' The soothsayer's eyes danced. 'Would you be friends also?'
Romulus chose what he said with care. 'I will be your friend if you will be mine.'
'Wise words from one so young!' Tarquinius threw back his head and laughed again, drawing the attention of the nearest Gauls.
They clasped forearms.
For some time, the three sat enjoying Tarquinius' wine, talking about what they might find in Asia Minor. As the air cooled, the other recruits curled up and slept in wool blankets. To Romulus' delight, the Etruscan was full of knowledge about their destination.
'Very hot, I can tell you.'