The Gods of War (26 page)

‘You will do me a service, but it won’t feel that you’re doing anything for me at all.’

How could the old man have seen so far ahead? How could he have known the way his brother would behave? Getting Marcellus out from under the yoke which Quintus was using to keep him down was the repayment of that obligation, and, as Lucius had also known, one he was happy to make.

‘If Marcellus did not remind you of it, then surely you could let it lapse.’

Titus fought to control his anger. At another time he would have let fly, but right now he was constrained by the need to avoid giving Quintus an excuse. Given a sliver of an escape route, Quintus would renege on the vow he had made him take at the Temple of Jupiter Maximus, a vow that would finally provide vengeance for his father and the legionaries who had perished with him at Thralaxas.

But he had to say something to make his displeasure obvious. ‘Sometimes I wonder if we are bred from the same father.’

‘I am sure you will be brave, Husband,’ said Claudanilla, rubbing her distended belly with one hand. ‘Though I would rather you were here when your child is born.’

‘He will be as sturdy as his brothers, Claudanilla. You have no fear in that respect.’

Here, in his own house, Marcellus recalled his wedding night and the taking of the virginity of the then slight creature. That was gone, first through age and secondly through the bearing of children. He rarely did his duty by his wife, but she had a natural fecundity that had initially shocked him. Having had three children, two boys and a girl, four miscarriages and one stillborn infant, his wife was round and maternal. Her breasts were no longer underdeveloped, quite the reverse, they matched the wide hips and spreading waist that Claudanilla kept hidden under her voluminous garments. Marcellus, for once, made no allusion to that, for he was in a state of near-elation, finally going somewhere to fight a war. Yet, happy as he was, he could not leave Claudanilla without a warning.

‘I have said this before, but I’ll say it again, since I know you take some advantage of my absences. You are not to interfere in the boys’ schooling, do you understand?’

Claudanilla’s plump face took on a look of pure misery. ‘It is hard for a mother to stand by and watch her children so cruelly used.’

‘If their teacher sees fit to punish them, then that is his duty. How are they to become soldiers if they’re not allowed the odd wound? If you are tempted to interfere, then think of me. I had the
same kind of education, and it has not done me any harm.’

Claudanilla dropped her eyes, lest Marcellus see that she disagreed; to her he was anything but normal. Immediately on his return to Rome, he visited the ranch where he had installed the Greek girl, just before he made several visits to the Vispanii house – visits that always took place when Gallus was absent. Clearly, he derived little pleasure from these; they always left him bad-tempered and hurtful, as though whatever happened made him want to take his revenge out on her. In many respects, she was glad he was going away.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mancinus was determined to brazen it out, though he must have known that being superseded by the brother of Quintus Cornelius boded ill for his future. Titus listened, without comment, to the litany of excuses. Everyone else was to blame but him. Titus could ask the priests, who had cast the corn before the sacred chickens and pronounced, confidently, that the omens were propitious for the venture.

‘Did you take the priests and their chickens with you?’

Mancinus gave Titus a black look, as though offended that he could make jokes at a time like this. ‘Of course I didn’t.’

‘Pity, Senator, because if you had, they might have foreseen that, like your legions, their bellies would be empty.’ Titus stood up, towering over the other man. ‘It might have also been more help if you’d taken some responsibility upon yourself, 
but no, you blame the state of the army, the poor quality of the information you were given…’

The superseded senator cut in, his expression one of innocent protest. ‘The man I sent to reconnoitre the place said it would fall easily.’

‘Fool,’ replied Titus, shaking his head. ‘Too many people survived, Mancinus. They made you eat the grass on the battlefield, then let you go. What did you promise them in return?’

‘What else could I say? I promised Rome would pay an indemnity for the lives of our soldiers.’

‘Without knowing that it’s true?’

‘What if it’s a lie? Who cares about these Iberian scum?’

Titus walked to the entrance to the tent. Marcellus and the Calvinus twins stood outside, beside the lictors that accompanied the consul everywhere. Slightly behind them, purposefully standing apart, stood a tall centurion, his uniform covered in decorations. From his height and the colour of his hair, Titus assumed that he was the man he had heard so much about. Publius caught his eye, and gave him a quick nod to indicate that the praetorian guards had been changed; Mancinus’s men had gone, to be replaced by those chosen by Aquila Terentius.

Titus indicated to the centurion that he should
enter and Aquila did so, halting at attention in the middle of the tent. The salute was sharp and loud, but plainly directed away from his titular commander and it was obvious by the glare on Mancinus’s face that he had noticed the deliberate insult. Titus then called in the lictors who held his symbols of office and represented his consular power. Satisfied with the arrangements, he put his hand into the folds of his toga and produced a tightly wound scroll, which he opened slowly.

‘In my capacity as consul and by order of the Senate of the Roman Republic, I hereby relieve you of all responsibility for the operations in this province.’

Mancinus had been sitting bolt upright; he now let his shoulders sag, as though finally relieved to hear the words. ‘I shall be glad to be back in Rome.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Titus evenly.

The seated man’s face took on a foxy look. ‘They won’t impeach me, Titus Cornelius. There are too many skeletons in the cupboard for that. If I go down, you can be sure that your brother will come with me.’

‘You’re right, Mancinus, no one is going to impeach you.’ He turned to Aquila. ‘Centurion, take this man into custody. He is to speak with no one.’

The man was halfway out of his chair. ‘You can’t imprison me, I’m a senator.’

‘No one is going to imprison you, Mancinus.’ The look of confusion did not last long, being swiftly replaced by a look of absolute terror as Titus finished giving Aquila his orders. ‘Take this scum to Pallentia under a sign of truce. Tell the inhabitants that he lied to them. Rome will not pay them an indemnity, but if they swear a treaty of peace we will leave them be.’

‘And then, General?’ asked Aquila, clearly intrigued.

‘Then hand him over as a gift from the Senate in Rome. They can do with him what they wish.’

‘It’s not envy,’ Marcellus insisted. ‘In fact, I’m full of admiration for your centurion.’

‘He’s a tribune now, remember,’ Gnaeus replied.

‘All right,’ sighed Marcellus. ‘Your tribune.’

‘You sound as though you don’t think he deserves it?’

‘Perhaps he does, then again perhaps not.’ Marcellus heard the exasperated intake of breath and spoke quickly. ‘He’s brave, yes. A good soldier…’

‘Brilliant.’

Marcellus merely nodded. ‘But it’s the manner
of his speech that rankles. He showed Titus Cornelius scant respect.’

Gnaeus shrugged. ‘He has little time for senators. He’s seen too many who would steal the eyes out of your head.’

‘Are those his words?’

‘They are. He added that, having stolen the eyes, they’d likely come back for the holes.’

Marcellus had been quietly fuming since the conference, and he knew precisely why. Despite his anger at the way it was delivered, the advice that Aquila had given Titus was exceedingly sound. He knew the terrain, the language, and had a comprehensive knowledge of the Celt-Iberian tribes and knew how to fight them, as well.

‘They’ve learnt these last years. You’ll be offered no pitched battles in open country. Neither will you be allowed to march anywhere without being ambushed. Even the whole army’s not safe. They know they can’t defeat Rome in strength, but they can discourage us by drawing the legions into difficult and dangerous country.’

Marcellus cut in. ‘Perhaps with a little cunning we could trap them.’

His initial anger stemmed from the way the newly elevated tribune peremptorily dismissed his suggestion. Aquila made no attempt to hide
the contempt in his eyes, remembering the elevated Marcellus Falerius better than the other man knew.

‘A waste of time! As soon as they feel threatened they retire to their forts, which we lack the ability to take, and if we do decide to invest them, then all the tribes gather to oppose us. If we are in one place, they will be there too. We’ll find ourselves up against the Lusitani, the Bregones, the Leonini and a dozen other tribes, all combined under the leadership of Brennos. You may come here from Rome thinking that the solution is easy, Marcellus Falerius, but you’ll discover that you’re just as fallible as the rest!’

‘We’ve taken fortresses in the past,’ said Titus, cutting across Marcellus, whose noble blood was plainly up. He looked set to try to put Aquila Terentius in his place.

‘Not with what you’ve got to hand. You lack siege equipment and the army is in a mess, General, more concerned with creature comforts than fighting.’

Titus dismissed that with a wave of the hand. ‘Most soldiers are.’

‘That’s rubbish, General, and you should know it. Mind, the shit starts at the top, then filters down. Properly led, these men are as good as any in the Republic.’

Titus took that statement better than Marcellus. He flushed angrily to see a Roman consul talked down to in such a disdainful manner; on top of the way Aquila had treated him, it was intolerable. Titus was far from pleased himself, but he did keep any hint of that out of his next question.

‘Do you often address your superiors like this?’

Aquila looked Titus right in the eye, unblinking. ‘I do.’

Titus looked grim. ‘Then it’s a wonder you’re still alive, Aquila Terentius.’

‘Not really, General, the wonder is that all those turds they sent us from Rome got back in one piece. I’ve been sorely tempted to intervene and lop off their heads. Rome would be better served by the public piss-gatherers than senators with ox-dung where they should have a brain.’

Those around the table gasped. The coarseness of his speech was understandable, after all the man was an illiterate peasant, but the bearing, and the way he spoke, was downright mutinous. Titus and Aquila were staring at each other, neither blinking.

‘I shall make you apologise for speaking to me like that,’ said Titus coldly.

Aquila’s voice was as unperturbed as his look. ‘I don’t know how, General.’

‘I was sent here, by the Senate, to finally put an end to the fighting in Hispania and that I intend to do. I’ll take your rabble and remould them into fighters. Then you can forget the other hill forts; we will attack and subdue Numantia.’

‘In a year?’

‘No, Soldier. I will be here for as long as it takes, and before you tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about, I was here in this province for quite a few years myself. I have fought the tribes and competed with several of their leaders in peaceful games, and at one time I could have truthfully said some of them were my friends. You are not the only one who knows a thing or two about this frontier. I wrote a report for the Senate on Brennos, and in it I said that he was a menace whom we would one day have to remove, because we would never have peace as long as he lived. And my father, who fought him and beat him, said exactly the same thing before me. So don’t presume to offer me advice in that tone of voice again, because even if it causes a mutiny, I’ll break you at the wheel, then decimate the 18th Legion to show them who is really in command.’

Aquila smiled for the first time since the conference had started, and it made an enormous difference to his battle-hardened face. The blue
eyes ceased to appear icy, instead becoming warm, the creases on the tanned face looked welcoming instead of threatening.

‘Maybe I will apologise, at that, General,’ he said. ‘Who knows, if I get to see Italy again, I may even say thank you.’

Gnaeus was still talking about his ‘tribune’, annoying Marcellus by the way he passed on the fellow’s radical notions verbatim. ‘You can’t blame him, Marcellus. He’s been here for nearly twelve years, and all he’s seen is dead bodies and a succession of men, already wealthy, trying to enrich themselves even more.’

‘So he would happily see the whole system, which made Rome great, cast aside for the bad behaviour of a few rotten apples.’

‘Don’t underestimate Aquila, Marcellus,’ said Gnaeus. ‘You said he was an illiterate peasant—’

‘He is,’ snapped Marcellus, interrupting. ‘And I might add his manners are a disgrace. I remember him being just as rude to Quintus Cornelius years ago.’

Gnaeus knew that story – after all it was part of the Terentius legend. He rarely subscribed to the generally held view that Marcellus was a stuck-up prig, but he did now and his voice, when he spoke, was unusually sharp. ‘Believe me,
Marcellus, if Aquila is proud of anything, it is his Roman citizenship.’