The Silver Eagle Read Free Page A

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,’ Brennus agreed uneasily. ‘Jackals are scavengers, though; they feed on whatever dead flesh is around.’
    They exchanged a glance.
    ‘Men will die here tonight.’ Brennus shivered. ‘I can feel it.’
    ‘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.
    Brennus let him be.
    Intent on starting a fire, the Parthians were ignoring them.
    At last Romulus turned away. The disappointment on his face was clear.
    Brennus eyed the jackal, which hadn’t moved. ‘Couldn’t see anything?’
    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 manner. After all, I am not just a haruspex, he thought proudly. I am a warrior too.
    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 tunnel. It was a mixture of men’s sweat, incense and burnt wood. Tarquinius’ nostrils twitched, and goose bumps formed on his arms. There was palpable power here. If the god was in a favourable mood, perhaps his divining skills did have a chance of being revived.
    Half turning, Pacorus noticed his reaction and smiled. ‘Mithras is mighty indeed,’ he said. ‘And I will know if you are lying.’
    Tarquinius met his stare. ‘You will not be displeased,’ he said quietly.
    Pacorus restrained