Legionary(97)

Gallus shot a glance to Carbo. Both men looked towards the open end of the arena. There, the crowds parted in a hurry with panicked yells. The timber barrier was lifted back, and a pack of slaves hauled a vast cage onto the arena floor. They saw something inhuman inside, padding, growling. Two of them. Dark-orange emblazoned with black stripes and eyes that seemed to cut through them even at this distance.

‘Tigers,’ Carbo gasped at last. The slaves gingerly batted the cage open with lengthy poles then retreated at haste. Each colossal creature was led in chains by two handlers, and a pair of spearmen guided the beasts with their lances. At every step they roared, hissed and spat, bearing their fangs.

Then another cage was brought into the arena, a chilling laughter spilling from within. The gate rumbled open and a pack of four jackals ran from the darkness. They panted and howled over and over, driven towards the centre of the arena by spearmen.

‘They’re terrified!’ Gallus realised.

‘Never is an animal more dangerous than when it knows fear,’ Carbo replied.

‘I didn’t step out here to slay creatures,’ Gallus growled in frustration.

‘And they didn’t come here to slay you,’ Carbo fired back, ‘but that is how it is. Steel yourself, Tribunus.’

Gallus stifled another growl, then pressed up, back-to-back with Carbo. He locked eyes with the nearest tiger, the jackals circling nearby. The cat’s pupils shrank, then it sprang for him.





Many thousands trekked from the foothills and onto the westerly road to Bishapur. They wore wide-brimmed hats and carried linen shades stretched out over cane frames, shielding them from the fierce afternoon heat. But seven men walking amongst them had only the ragged hoods of the ill-fitting and frayed robes they wore to shield them from the worst of it.

Pavo pulled his hood tighter, sensing the scornful glares of the travellers around them. These crowds were both a danger and a perfect way to evade the many scouting parties. They had stolen through the hills from Zubin’s farmhouse, narrowly avoiding detection from the Persian scouts, then blended into this throng. Felix, Zosimus, Quadratus, Sura and Habitus walked with him, heads bowed in an effort to remain inconspicuous. And then there was Father, right by his side. Pavo winced as Falco shuddered in another fit of coughing. He was weakening visibly from this trek. Pavo had tried to convince him to remain at the farmhouse, but Father was having none of it. If you are determined to find the scroll, then you need me – for I know exactly where it is. I’m coming, was all Falco had said.

And Zubin had been equally as adamant that he was coming with them – despite all he had already done for them. Pavo looked up, along the road they walked; the Persian farmer and his goats walked a few hundred feet ahead of the seven. I pray we don’t need to call upon you, but Mithras bless you for coming with us, he mouthed.

‘What the . . .’ Sura muttered by Pavo’s side, shaking him from his thoughts.

Pavo followed his friend’s gaze down into the gorge below. There, a vast carved relief dominated the rock face. It showed the Persian God, Ahura Mazda, handing a diadem to a Persian Shahanshah. Around the next bend in the gorge, there was a grander relief still. It was as tall as six men, and depicted another Persian Shahanshah on horseback, the beast trampling on a figure that was unmistakably Roman. An emperor. Pavo fought to suppress a shudder of doubt.

As they approached the city, the throng thickened. The masses were swelling around the eastern gates. Bodies jostled all around them and the stench of sweat and animal dung was rife. Thick dust clung to their skin and the back of their throats. Pavo squinted to see what was holding up entry into the city. He passed into the shade of the beetling walls and saw the plumed, pointed helms and spear tips of the guards lining the battlements. But there were also a few on the ground, outside the gate. He, Felix, Quadratus and Zosimus looked to one another, straining to hear their jabberings.

Falco cupped an ear to their chatter. ‘They’re checking every person that enters the city. Pavo, one look at our faces – not to mention our scars – will give us away.’

Pavo’s eyes darted. He saw the nearest of the sentries peering into the crowd. The man’s eyes narrowed under his dusty felt cap as he scoured the sea of faces. Then his gaze seemed to snag on the group, his broad nose flaring, his bottom lip curling and his fingers flexing on his spear shaft.

‘I think they’ve seen us, Father,’ he whispered to Falco.

Falco pulled his hood down to cover his eye sockets. ‘Whatever you do, don’t look at them,’ he hissed.

Pavo heard these words as he locked eyes with the sentry. The guard opened his mouth to yell out to his comrades.