The Silver Eagle

‘Form wedge!’ cried the senior optio at last. What had worked before might do so again. ‘Drive through them and we’ve got a chance.’

His men needed no prompting. If they did not act fast, they would be surrounded completely.

‘Middle ranks, keep your shields up. Forward!’

The desperate soldiers obeyed, instinctively moving at double time.

A hundred paces in front, Scythian foot soldiers were already forming up in deep lines. Romulus eyed the dark-ski

‘Those won’t stop us,’ Bre

His friend was correct. Confusion filled Romulus. Perhaps his dream did not mean their a

They closed in on the Scythians, who immediately launched their spears. The man to Romulus’ right was too slow in lifting his scutum and the next instant, a broad iron blade had taken him through the neck. Without making a sound, he dropped, forcing the men behind him to jump over his body. No one tried to help him. The wound was mortal. Other casualties were similarly ignored. Now, as never before, speed was of the essence. The legionaries loosed a volley of pila at twenty paces, causing dozens of casualties. On they ran.

Romulus fixed his gaze on a bearded, tattooed Scythian with a domed iron helmet.

Twenty steps separated them, then ten.

‘For the Forgotten Legion!’ roared Bre

At the top of his voice, every man answered back.

It was the unifying cry for all of them, thought Romulus. They were truly Rome’s lost soldiers, fighting for their very survival at the ends of the earth. Did anyone at home care about them now? Probably not. All they had was each other. And that wasn’t enough. Gritting his teeth, Romulus took a better hold of his horizontal scutum grip. With its heavy iron boss, the Roman shield was a good battering ram.

His target shifted uneasily, suddenly aware that the point of the wedge was heading straight for him.

It was too late.

Romulus punched upwards with his scutum, smashing the Scythian’s nose. As he reeled back in agony, Romulus’ gladius took him in the chest, and the warrior fell from view. The ranks behind were ready, however, and Romulus’ vision was immediately filled with snarling, bearded faces. Lowering his shield again, Romulus let the wedge’s momentum carry him forward. Although he could only make out Bre

Swinging his sword wildly, a screaming Scythian threw himself at Romulus, who took the blow on the metal rim of his scutum. As his enemy raised his arm to repeat the blow, Romulus leaned forward and shoved his gladius deep into the man’s armpit. He knew the damage it would cause – sliding between ribs to slice lungs and large blood vessels, perhaps even the heart. The Scythian’s mouth gaped like a fish and a gush of arterial blood followed the blade out. Romulus grimaced with satisfaction as the corpse fell to the ground. Two down, he thought wearily. A few hundred to go. Yet, judging from the loud roars of encouragement from the men at the back, the wedge was still moving forward.

He pushed on.

A pair of similar-looking heavy-set men, brothers possibly, threw themselves at Romulus next. One grabbed the edge of his shield with his bare hands, pulling it down while the other stabbed forward with a long dagger. Romulus twisted to one side, barely avoiding the blade. A powerful slash followed, sliding off the cheek piece of his helmet and opening a shallow cut under his right eye. The first Scythian was still trying to wrest the scutum from him, so Romulus just let go. He couldn’t fight two enemies at once. Staggering under the unexpected weight of the heavy shield, the man was unbalanced and fell backwards.

That left his brother with the dagger, who smiled now that Romulus had no scutum. Dodging forward, he angled his blade at the young soldier’s unprotected lower legs. Romulus had to react fast. The Scythian was too close to stab with his gladius, so he used his shield hand, his left, to punch the other in the side of the head. As the man went down, half stu

An animal scream of pain rang out and Romulus stooped, twisting the blade slightly to make sure.

Struggling to his feet, the second warrior saw his brother writhing on the ground. Rage distorted his face as he threw himself bodily at Romulus. It was a fatal mistake. Using one of Bre

Romulus turned his head, checking the situation on either side. On his right, Bre

‘We’re nearly through!’ yelled Gordianus from his left, pointing with a bloody gladius.

Romulus gri

They redoubled their efforts. After a few moments of cut and thrust, the last Scythians in their path had been dispatched. On the sides of the wedge, their comrades were still fighting past warriors, but the spirit had gone out of their lightly armed enemies. As the opposition melted away, the legionaries came to a gradual halt. Seven had fallen, twice that number had minor flesh wounds, but there were still nearly ninety men who could march. Chests heaving, faces purple with effort, they stopped to savour the view.

‘A bare track never looked so inviting,’ said Gordianus, wiping his brow. ‘Well done, lad.’

Full of gratitude at the other’s acceptance, Romulus did not reply.

Gordianus saw Bre

Above the screams of the injured and the battle cries of the Scythian infantry to their rear, Romulus heard the sound of pounding hooves. His skin crawled, remembering Carrhae.

‘Cavalry,’ he said in a monotone.

Alarmed, Gordianus’ eyes darted back to the track in front, which was still empty.

Questions from the other legionaries filled the air, but Romulus ignored them.

They could all hear it now.

Bre