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before Romulus even tried to withdraw his blade. Shocked, his comrade still had the presence of mind to lower his right shoulder and drive forward into Romulus’ left side.
    The air left his lungs with a rush, and Romulus fell awkwardly to the frozen ground. Somehow he held on to his gladius . Desperately he pulled on it, feeling the blade grating off his enemy’s clavicle as it came out, far too slowly. It was hopeless.
    His lips peeled back with satisfaction, the Scythian jumped to stand over Romulus. His right arm went up, preparing to deliver the death stroke.
    Bizarrely, Romulus could think only of Tarquinius. Where was he? Had he seen anything?
    The Scythian made a high, keening sound of pain. Surprised, Romulus looked up. There was a familiar-looking knife protruding from his enemy’s left eye socket. He could have shouted for joy: it belonged to Brennus. Somehow the Gaul had saved his life.
    With a hefty kick, Romulus sent the Scythian tumbling backwards. Craning his neck, he looked for the others. Brennus and Pacorus were within arm’s reach, fighting side by side. Unfortunately, the guard was already down, two arrows protruding from his belly.
    But they now had a tiny chance.
    Carefully retrieving his scutum , Romulus sat up, protecting himself from enemy shafts.
    One immediately slammed into it, but he was able to take in the situation.
    The trio of archers were still on their feet.
    And at least a score of Scythians were running to join the fray.
    With arrows raining down around him, Romulus managed to retreat unhurt to Brennus’ side.
    ‘Give me your shield,’ Pacorus ordered him at once.
    Romulus stared at his commander. My life, or his? he considered. Death now, or later? ‘Yes, sir,’ he said slowly, without moving. ‘Of course.’
    ‘Now!’ Pacorus screamed.
    As one, the archers drew back and loosed again. Three arrows shot forward, seeking human flesh. They took Pacorus in the chest, arm and left leg.
    He went down, bellowing in pain. ‘Curse you,’ he cried. ‘I’m a dead man.’
    More and more shafts hissed into the air.
    ‘Where’s Tarquinius?’ shouted Romulus.
    ‘Still in the Mithraeum. Looked like he was praying.’ Brennus grimaced. ‘Want to make a run for it?’
    Romulus shook his head fiercely. ‘No way.’
    ‘Me neither.’
    As one, they turned to face the Scythians.

Chapter II: Scaevola

    Near Pompeii, winter 53/52 BC
    ‘ M istress?’
    Fabiola opened her eyes with a start. Standing behind her was a kind-faced, middle-aged woman in a simple smock and plain leather sandals. She smiled. Docilosa was Fabiola’s one true friend and ally, someone she could trust with her life. ‘I’ve asked you not to call me that.’
    Docilosa’s lips twitched. A former domestic slave, she had received her manumission at the same time as her new mistress. But the habits of a lifetime took a while to discard. ‘Yes, Fabiola,’ she said carefully.
    ‘What is it?’ asked Fabiola, climbing to her feet. Stunningly beautiful, slim and black-haired, she was dressed in a simple but expensive silk and linen robe. Ornate gold and silver jewellery winked from around her neck and arms. ‘Docilosa?’
    There was a pause.
    ‘Word has come from the north,’ said Docilosa. ‘From Brutus.’
    Joy struck, followed by dread. This was what Fabiola had been asking for: news of her lover. Twice a day, in an alcove off her villa’s main courtyard, she prayed at this altar without fail. Now that Jupiter had answered her requests, would it be good news? Fabiola studied Docilosa’s face for a clue.
    Decimus Brutus was sequestered in Ravenna with Caesar, his general, who was plotting their return to Rome. Conveniently situated between the capital and the frontier with Transalpine Gaul, Ravenna was Caesar’s favourite winter abode. There, surrounded by his armies, he could monitor the political situation. Above the River Rubicon, this was allowed. But for a general to cross without relinquishing his