Ben Kane - The Silver Eagle

‘Yes! I’m in the Twenty-Eighth Legion,’ he shouted, giving Fabiola the only clue he could think of.

His last three words were swallowed in the pandemonium around Fabiola. ‘What?’ she cried. ‘I can’t hear you.’

It was pointless trying to speak. Officers’ commands, sailors’ cries, and the pounding drum filled the air in a cacophony of sound.

Fabiola ran to Brutus’ side and muttered in his ear and an instant later, he was beckoning to the trierarch . And shouting at him.

Reluctantly the captain ordered his men to stop what they were doing. All activity on the deck ceased.

Romulus’ heart thumped with joy.

But then waves of screaming Egyptians emerged from the nearby side streets, called by their defeated soldiers from every slum and dirt-bound hovel to help drive out the Roman invaders. The legionaries suddenly had a major battle on their hands.

On the ship, Brutus looked helplessly at Fabiola. Sorrowfully. ‘We can’t stay. Our mission is too important,’ he said and turned to the trierarch . ‘As you were.’

Fabiola felt her knees begin to shake. With a supreme effort, she held herself upright, forced down the faintness. Take courage, she thought. Romulus is alive, and in the legions. He will return to Rome one day. Mithras will protect him. She raised a quivering hand in farewell. For now.

‘Cast off. Quickly!’

Hearing the shouted order, Romulus understood Fabiola’s gesture. Utter wretchedness filled him. There was to be no joyful reunion.

Pushed out into the harbour by long poles, the trireme turned ponderously. Slow drumbeats directed the sailors, and the three banks of oars dug alternately into the water, positioning the ship to leave. The trierarch paced up and down, shouting rapid-fire commands. Other crewmembers unlashed and prepared the deck catapults while the ship’s marines readied their weapons. Nothing lay between them and the open sea to the west, but they would be ready all the same.

The baying crowd of Egyptians was nearly at the dock. Moving fast, Caesar had marshalled his cohorts into a solid line across the Heptastadion. Just a few moments remained before the two sides clashed.

‘Let’s get over there. Every legionary will count against those whoresons,’ shouted the optio . ‘Draw swords!’

A dozen gladii hissed from their scabbards, including, instinctively, those of Romulus and Tarquinius.

‘At the double!’

Struggling to contain his emotions, Romulus glanced at the haruspex as they ran with the others. ‘Fabiola’s gone.’

‘Safely on her way back to Italy.’ Tarquinius found time to smile. ‘And your road there is clearer now.’

Italy, thought Romulus, readying himself for the fight.

My road to Rome.