The Pillars of Rome (5 page)

Doing battle with barbarians was very different from engaging the disciplined army of a state like Macedonia. Formal combat, in which he would confront the entire enemy host was not something Aulus expected, despite their numerical superiority. His informants confirmed that the Celt-Iberians, at his approach, had withdrawn from the coastal plain and taken to the hills. This underlined his belief that it would be a war of ambush and raid. He had set
himself for a difficult task, with his legions broken up, operating in centuries and cohorts, trying to destroy the means by which the rebels sustained themselves. They would need to be ruthless and cruel, burning villages and destroying pasture and crops, taking hostages and enslaving women and children if the insurrection was to be brought under control. He in turn would need to be tough, to prevent his troops from descending into a rabble, if required, killing some to maintain discipline. Necessary in Macedonia, such measures, in Spain, would be even more indispensable.

That whispering slave who had stood behind him had been right! It was foolish to assume anything in war, to be so sure that his enemies would wait in the hills for him to attack, just as it was unwise to rely upon his reputation to fight his battles for him. His name meant little to the Celt-Iberians and nothing to this Brennos, who was clever, and more powerful than the Romans had imagined. Somehow he had achieved what they thought impossible, the welding together of the notoriously cantankerous Celts into a single fighting unit. He had no intention of leaving Aulus to march peacefully to his base camp, appearing suddenly at the head of a multitude of braying tribesmen to attack an army that had not even begun to pursue him, an army strung out on the march.

By their disordered tactics, really just a melee in which those who could engage did so, the Celt-Iberians 
had managed to split his forces, separating the auxiliary legions from the Roman troops. With his command structure shattered, disaster threatened, so putting himself at the head of his heavy infantry Aulus had ridden to the rear, cutting his way through, and rallied the Italian allies under his personal command. Now his experience and legionary drill told. Facing them about in copybook fashion, he fought his way back to join the remainder of his Romans so that they could present a united front to their adversaries. Nepos, well to the fore and out of touch with Aulus, had shown both courage and good sense when he declined to force-march his advance guard, which included the legion’s Numidian cavalry, back towards the main body. That would have brought him into contact with a massive screen of tribal warriors waiting to engage him.

Instead he took his cavalry in a great arc, into the very foothills from which this Brennos had attacked, catching the Celt-Iberians unawares. An irresistible charge on their rear, with his son Quintus well to the fore, had broken the order of the attackers. Aulus now formed his whole army into a cohesive whole, ready to advance in any direction and engage, but a loud horn blew twice and the enemy evaporated, with a discipline no Roman fighting a Celtic army had ever encountered, leaving him no one to fight. Worse still, his baggage train had been plundered and in
the process he had lost his wife. He had to march past the site of that as he sought to pursue the enemy, forced to gaze on the broken wagons, scattered possessions and the dead from the engagement. His position, the on-going battle and the need to appear in control debarred any notion that he could stop and examine the wreckage to see if the body of Claudia was amongst the dead. Only later, as the sun sank low in the west, was he able to establish that she was gone and that every man in his Praetorian Guard had died trying to defend her. That evening he received private word that she was alive, the personal prisoner of Brennos, who demanded no less than the withdrawal of the Roman legions as the price for her freedom.

That was a bargain he could not even begin to accept. If her life was to be forfeit, then so be it. He called his sons to him, swore them to secrecy, then told them of the demand and of his decision. Quintus, too old to have much attachment to his stepmother, did not even allow himself the flicker of an eyelid as he agreed. Titus, younger, and less the stern Roman, assented with tears in his eyes, but both were obliged to attend the ceremonies that followed, in which the auguries were taken in an attempt to see what the future held, even pious Aulus surprised by the positive signs they revealed.

A despondent Aulus Cornelius had achieved more than he knew. His enemies had anticipated an easy victory and had convinced themselves that they would destroy his army and leave their bones to bleach in the sun. His prompt action in uniting his force, plus the steadfast defence of the legions, had destroyed that illusion, which forced the Celts back to their usual tactics of raid and ambush. Yet this Brennos seemed capable of inspiring the varied tribes to an unprecedented level of resistance and it took two campaigning seasons to bring them to heel. No more battles of any size, more an endless series of hard fought skirmishes with an enemy that faded away at the first hint of real danger, often to the sound of that same horn that had been heard in the first battle.

Needing to be ruthless, Aulus led by example, and the blood he spilt, the men he crucified, both his own and the natives, the women and children force-marched into slavery, testified to his determination. No pity was allowed, and that cruelty he increased as the war dragged on, only being ameliorated when it would have the effect of detaching support from his enemy, Aulus discovering that Brennos laboured under as many problems as did he. The Celtic leader never managed to repeat the effect of that single initial battle, in which he had united the clans under his personal discipline. Outright success would have
made his position unassailable, partial failure exposed the endemic differences between the tribes and their leaders. Not all the chieftains were content to accept his control and quite a few, bribed by Aulus, deserted his cause, so that Rome had good intelligence about both the man and his methods.

Brennos had come from the misty regions to the north, from the cold windswept islands that were the spiritual home of the Cult of the Druids, a priest as well as a warrior, and this gave him great stature, for he could weave spells and cure the sick, bring rain to parched crops and tell long Bardic tales of Celtic bravery that went back to the very beginning of time. The man was able and cruel, possessed of a silken tongue, and, it seemed, a stone instead of a heart. Utilising his religious powers, this northerner wove a cunning tapestry before an audience only too willing to believe his prophecies. He told them that the Romans could be defeated in battle, foresaw the day when the legions would be ejected from Hispania, leaving the Iberian tribes as masters of their own lands.

But he held out an even more tempting prospect; once that goal was achieved, it would be time to unite all the Celtic nations, a race that ringed practically the whole of the Latin conquests, all in opposition to the power of Rome. He reminded them that the Celts under one Brennos had invaded
and sacked the city, convinced them the time had come to do so again, and on this occasion to destroy the greedy Republic, to take back from Rome all that it had stolen from their world. It was heady stuff for a race of men noted for their excitable nature and their love of plunder.

Nothing he heard about this stranger made Aulus feel secure, either as a husband or an army commander, especially the fact that Brennos was right. If he could unite the Celts and lead them in a disciplined campaign, then Rome could be beaten; it had happened in the past when the Republic was faced with an organised enemy. The fractious nature of their foes formed the basis of Roman success and Aulus placed great faith in the notion that, for all his abilities, Brennos’ plan would founder on the character of the warriors he led. At least in that area the auspices were good, with Brennos, by his arrogance, contributing to the destruction of his own aim.

After the first battle when the chieftains were celebrating what they perceived as a triumph over the legions, Brennos had interrupted their feast to berate them, calling them failures. Full of drink and in the middle of great boasts about their individual exploits, they had not taken kindly to his hectoring tone, yet faced with a man of seemingly supernatural power, few dared to argue. Two chieftains had tried, so Brennos killed them both
during the night then ordered their entire families, including women and children, to be put to the sword, his own hand contributing to the deed. Others, no less offended by his words and his deeds, but with the sense to remain silent, thought it prudent to desert and take Roman bribes. It was these men and the information they provided that enabled Aulus to contain his numerically superior enemy.

All along he had his personal burden to carry, one he could share with no one. Claudia’s youth and beauty, plus her station as his wife, made it only too easy for him to conjure up in his fevered mind an unpleasant fate, a plaything to be used and abused at will by her captors. Often he wished her dead rather than suffering the things he imagined and such thoughts drove him hard, and he knew, made him cruel. He denied both himself, and his legions, proper rest, while Brennos, in turn, taunted him. In nearly every encampment they found and destroyed, discreet signs that his wife had been there were deliberately left to goad him.

Finally, eighteen months after she had gone missing, with the snow thickening on the foothills of the mountains in the north, his eldest son rode alone into the camp, requesting his father’s Quaestor, the Legate Nepos and the tribunes to leave his command tent so that they could speak privately.

‘You, too, Cholon,’ said Quintus, as the slave poured him a cup of hot wine from a gold and silver Corinthian flagon.

The Greek looked to his master; as Aulus’s personal valet he was not to be ordered about by anyone, even the man’s son and heir. Having seen the look in Quintus’s eye, his master jerked his head to indicate that the slave should obey. Cholon put the flagon down a trifle more sharply than necessary to signal his displeasure but the two men were locked in a mutual stare and failed to notice.

‘Claudia?’ asked Aulus softly. Dread welled up at the nod of assent, there being no relief in his expression. ‘She is dead?’

‘No, Father. Your wife is alive. We surprised a party of enemy spearmen on the move. They were escorting a covered wagon. I knew immediately that there had to be something valuable in that wagon, since they chose to defend it rather than run away. They all died for that, just like your bodyguard. When I entered the wagon the Lady Claudia was there.’

Images of a sick or maimed woman flashed through Aulus’s mind and his black eyes bored into those of his eldest son. ‘There is no joy in you, Quintus. If you’re the bearer of bad tidings it would be a kindness to tell me.’

His son’s shoulders sagged and for once he dropped that rigid Roman demeanour which was
the core of his being. ‘Is it awful news, Father? The Lady Claudia is well and wishes to see you.’

Aulus was surprised. ‘Not wounded or hurt?’

Quintus squared his shoulders once more, looking at a point just above his father’s head and fighting to maintain his composure. ‘I carry a message from her to you. The wagon we captured and in which I found her stands at the same spot, surrounded by the bodies of our enemies. She bids you come so that you may speak. Until then she does not desire to move from there, and will neither set off for, nor enter, your camp, until you have spoken.’

‘What do you mean?’ snapped Aulus, goaded by the impersonal military voice his son had used. ‘How dare you address me in such a manner?’

Quintus did not flinch, keeping his eyes away from contact, nor did his tone of voice change. ‘I carry her message, Father. She bade me deliver it and swear an oath to say no more. I cannot think that you would wish me to breach such an undertaking.’

It was insolence and Aulus raised his hand to strike. Quintus did not flinch as the balled fist froze above him. Then Aulus gave a huge shout. ‘Cholon. My horse.’

He stared hard at his son for another second, then pushed past him out of the tent. Quintus, with his father’s body out of the way, stared at the rear
of the spacious tent. There sat the altar, loaded with regimental symbols and those Cornelii family vessels brought from Rome. Silently he prayed to the gods that what he suspected was not true, yet he was old enough and man enough to be sure it was and with a sinking heart he turned, following his father’s footsteps.

Claudia Cornelia, sat in the back of the wagon where Quintus had left her, heard the pounding hoof beats, first distant, then growing in volume until they seemed to fill her head. She dreaded what was to come, a confrontation she never thought would happen, which made her rub a hand fearfully over her already swelling belly, trying to feel the kick of the child inside. Then she remembered the eagle charm on her neck, hidden from Quintus under her cloak, an object that might become visible to Aulus. Quickly she removed it, feeling as she touched it an almost physical connection to the power it embodied. A last look, before concealment, had her recall the very first moment she had set eyes on it: for the first time in nearly a year, her mind went back to her capture, and the events that had changed her life.