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repeatedly hammered the butt on the gate’s thick timbers. It made a deep thumping noise.
    They waited in silence.
    The Etruscan had raised his weapon to demand entrance again when suddenly the distinctive sound of hobnailed sandals clattering off wood reached them from above. As expected, the sentry had not been at his post in the tower. A few moments later, a pale face appeared over the ramparts.
    ‘Who goes there?’ Fear filled the man’s voice as he peered down at the small group. Visitors to the fort were rare, let alone in the middle of the night. ‘Identify yourselves!’
    ‘Open up, you fool!’ shouted Romulus impatiently. ‘Pacorus has been injured.’
    There was a disbelieving pause.
    ‘You piece of shit!’ cried Tarquinius. ‘Move!’
    The sentry’s shock was palpable. ‘Yes, sir! At once!’ He turned and fled down the staircase to the rooms below, roaring at his comrades.
    Moments later the heavy locking bar was being lifted. One of the doors creaked open, revealing several legionaries and an anxious optio . The delay in responding would surely result in some kind of punishment.
    But Tarquinius pushed past without a word. Romulus and Brennus followed. Confusion filled the sentries’ faces as they took in the prone shape on the Gaul’s shoulder.
    ‘Shut the gate!’ Tarquinius bellowed.
    ‘Where are Pacorus’ warriors, sir?’ asked the optio .
    ‘Dead,’ snapped Tarquinius. ‘We were ambushed by Scythians at the Mithraeum.’
    Shocked gasps met this comment.
    Tarquinius was in no mood to reveal more. ‘Advise the duty centurion and then get back to your posts. Keep your eyes peeled.’
    The optio and his men hastened to obey. Tarquinius was also a centurion and could have punished them as severely as Pacorus. They would have to find out what had happened later.
    Tarquinius hurried down the fort’s main street, the Via Praetoria. Romulus and Brennus followed. On both sides lay parallel rows of long, low wooden barracks, each housing a century of eighty soldiers. Their interiors were identical: large rooms for the centurion, smaller ones for the junior officers and more cramped quarters for the men. Ten contubernia , each of eight soldiers, shared just enough space to fit bunk beds, their equipment and food. Like gladiators, legionaries lived, slept, trained and fought with each other.
    ‘Romulus!’
    Hearing the low shout, he half turned. In the shadows between two of the barrack buildings, Romulus picked out the features of Felix, one of his original unit. ‘What are you doing up?’ he demanded.
    ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Felix replied with a grin. He was already dressed and armed. ‘I was worried about you. What’s going on?’
    ‘Nothing. Go back to bed,’ replied Romulus curtly. The less anyone else had to do with this, the better.
    Instead, Felix darted to Brennus’ side, gasping when he saw the arrows jutting from Pacorus’ flesh. ‘Gods above,’ he breathed. ‘What happened?’
    Romulus filled him in while they marched. Felix nodded, grimacing as he heard the details. Though smaller than Romulus and weaker than Brennus, the little Gaul was a fine soldier. Truly stubborn too. When their mercenary cohort had been cut off during the battle at Carrhae, Felix had stayed by their side. Completely surrounded by Parthian archers, just a score of men chose to remain with the three friends and Bassius, their centurion. Felix was one of them. He’s his own master, thought Romulus, glad to have him along.
    No one else halted the small party. It was still dark, and most men were asleep. Besides, only a more senior officer would dare question Tarquinius, and none of those were to be seen. At this time of night, they were also in bed. Soon they reached the principia , the headquarters. This was at the intersection of the Via Praetoria with the Via Principia, the road that ran from the east wall to the west, dividing the camp into four equal parts. Here also were Pacorus’ luxurious house