The Silver Eagle

And Tarquinius seemed sure that something would be revealed inside.

Desperate to know more, he moved to follow the haruspex, but half a dozen Parthians blocked his way.

‘Nobody else goes down there,’ growled one. ‘The Mithraeum is hallowed ground. Filth such as you are not welcome.’

‘All men are equal in Mithras’ eyes,’ Romulus challenged, remembering what Tarquinius had told him. ‘And I am a soldier.’

The Parthian looked nonplussed. ‘The commander decides who may enter,’ he barked eventually. ‘And you two weren’t mentioned.’

‘So we just wait?’ demanded Romulus, his temper rising.

‘That’s right,’ replied the warrior, taking a step forward. Several of the others copied him, their hands falling to their quivers. ‘We all stay here until Pacorus says so. Clear?’

They glared at each other. Although the Parthians and the legionaries had now fought together a number of times, there was little love lost between the captors and captives. As far as the Romans were concerned, there never would be. Romulus felt the same way. These men had helped slaughter his comrades at Carrhae.

He felt Bre

Bre

Taking a deep breath, Romulus stalked off, leaving the Parthian smirking at his companions. He hated always having to back down. Especially when he had the chance of witnessing something so important. But, as usual, walking away was the prudent choice. ‘Why did Tarquinius bother dragging us along?’

‘Back-up.’

‘Against whom? Those miserable dogs?’ Incredulously, Romulus indicated the Parthians. ‘There are twenty of them. With bows.’

‘Bad odds, it’s true,’ shrugged the Gaul. ‘He doesn’t have anyone else to ask, though.’

‘It’s more than that,’ Romulus shot back. ‘Tarquinius must have a reason. We need to be here.’

Bre

Romulus was about to agree when his attention was caught by two spots of light reflecting the radiance from the torches. He froze, squinting into the gloom. At the limit of his vision was a jackal, watching them. Motionless, only the creature’s bright eyes revealed that it was not a statue. ‘We’re not alone,’ he hissed delightedly. ‘There! Look.’

Bre

Brac had been one.

Old emotion welled up inside Bre

A journey beyond where any Allobroge has gone. Or will ever go.

And on Margiana’s eastern border, some four months’ march east of Carrhae and more than three thousand miles from Gaul, Bre

Strangely, the animal was sitting back on its haunches, like a hound might watch its master.

‘That’s the gods’ work,’ muttered Romulus, wondering what Tarquinius would make of it. ‘Has to be.’

‘You could be right,’ Bre

They exchanged a glance.

‘Men will die here tonight.’ Bre

‘Maybe,’ said Romulus pensively. ‘But I think this is a good sign.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know.’ Falling silent, Romulus tried to use the snippets that Tarquinius occasionally let fall. Concentrating on his breathing, he focused on the jackal and the air above it, searching for something more than his blue eyes could see. For an age, he did not move, his exhaled breaths clouding round him in a thick, grey layer.

Bre

Intent on starting a fire, the Parthians were ignoring them.

At last Romulus turned away. The disappointment on his face was clear.

Bre

Romulus shook his head sadly. ‘It’s here to watch over us, but I don’t know why. Tarquinius would, though.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said the Gaul, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘There are four of us against twenty now.’

Romulus had to smile at that.

It was far colder where they were standing, but both felt more kinship with the jackal than with Pacorus’ men. Instead of seeking heat by the fire, they huddled down together by a large boulder.

In the event, it was that decision which probably saved their lives.

Tarquinius felt his pulse quicken as they descended the crudely formed earthen steps, which were easy to see thanks to Pacorus’ torch. The narrow staircase had been dug out of the soil, with timber joists to hold up the sides. Neither the commander nor his guard spoke, which suited Tarquinius. He used the time to pray to Tinia, mightiest of the Etruscan gods. And to Mithras, even though he never had before. Mysterious and unknown, Mithraicism had fascinated Tarquinius ever since he had heard of it, in Rome. The religion had only been carried there a decade previously by legionaries who had campaigned in Asia Minor. Highly secretive in nature, Mithras’ followers were sworn to uphold the values of truth, honour and courage. Rites of great suffering had to be endured to move between the levels of devotion. That was all the haruspex knew.

Of course it was not surprising to see evidence of the warrior deity here, in Margiana. This area was where the cult was strongest, perhaps even where it had originated. The discovery might have been in better circumstances though. Tarquinius smiled sardonically. He and his friends were under threat of immediate death. So it was time to be bold. With luck, the god would not be angered by a request made by a non-initiate, entering a Mithraeum in this unorthodox ma

Great Mithras, I come with a humble heart to worship you. I beg for a sign of your favour. Something to placate your servant, Pacorus. He hesitated for a moment, and then dared all. I also need your guidance to find a path back to Rome.

Tarquinius sent his prayer up with all the force he could muster.

The answering silence was deafening.

He tried not to feel disappointed – but failed.

Eighty-four stairs later, they reached the bottom.

A wash of stale air wafted up the tu