The Gods of War (23 page)

‘Besides,’ Aquila continued, ‘the two I have in mind don’t seem the type to stand on their dignity.’

‘You have in mind!’

The centurion was not the least bit abashed at his general’s reaction. ‘They seem the most promising. Better they learn now than that they learn too late. If you want to go into battle with even your best men floundering around, wondering what to do, then deny my request.’

‘So you’re going to be ordered about by a peasant?’ asked Gaius Trebonius, as he watched the Calvinus twins preparing to leave.

‘I’d like to see you call him that to his face,’ replied Gnaeus.

‘Fancy him, do we?’

Publius reacted angrily. ‘You will oblige me, Gaius, by keeping quiet.’

‘It’s just as well,’ lisped Trebonius. ‘I don’t think your men, even the roughest and toughest, would be too keen to go off to a quiet place with Gnaeus. I think that they’d rather take you.’

‘That’s another thing I don’t want talked about.’

Trebonius laughed. ‘Too late, my friend. What you did to that ranker is common gossip in the camp. Mind, I wouldn’t try anything on Aquila Terentius, either of you.’

‘Will you shut your mouth!’ said Gnaeus quietly, who felt that having endured such a ribbing all his life, he deserved some peace.

Trebonius pouted. ‘You better hurry, dears, your peasant will be getting restless.’

The dust of North Africa was no more endearing than the snows of Gallia Cisaplina, though Marcellus was fortunate to occupy a villa that overlooked the sea, so that the breeze took some of the heat out of the noonday sun. This was his fourth provincial posting in ten years, each one interrupted by a very brief sojourn in Rome. He had borne these travels stoically, having realised, after the expiry of his duties in the north, that Quintus was inadvertently doing him a service. Having held posts in Macedonia, Syria and now here in Utica, his knowledge of the problems of governing the Roman domains, which would have been superficial and second-hand had he stayed in the city, was comprehensive and personal. His understanding of the law, endlessly honed in the trivia of far-flung courts,
would be unrivalled should he ever find himself pleading a case in Rome.

Each day he rose before dawn, carrying out his own exercises before the sun could make such effort intolerable. First, to warm his muscles, he would wrestle. The bout would begin gently enough, but would soon take on all aspects of a true contest, since Marcellus only employed opponents who had a good chance of beating him. This would be followed by practice with javelin, spear and short sword, the wooden posts he used for these shuddering with the weight of the blows he delivered. Finally, a swim in the sea, followed by a dousing in fresh water, would prepare him for his breakfast.

Then he would meet with his son’s tutors, both Greeks and both strict, to check on the progress of their studies, martial and educational. After a brief word with Claudanilla he would mount his chariot, taking the straight road to the provincial city, using that to put his animals through their paces. Locals had grown used to this quaestor who, every morning at the same hour, flew past them, lashing his whip above the heads of his black, foam-flecked horses.

Here in Africa, he had responsibilities that transcended what had gone before. Avidius Probis, the proconsul to whom he served as
second in command, was the wrong type of man for government. He hated effort, preferring instead the luxury that this province, which had once been Carthage, provided. Avidius had also taken a Numidian wife, Inoboia, one of the many sisters of the king, Massina.

This had cemented relations with the man who ruled the lands to the south, all the way to the Atlas Mountains, but the other effect was less positive; the governor tended now to favour local interests over that of the Republic and he had hinted that, once his term of office expired, he would probably settle in Utica, since Inoboia disliked the idea of living in Italy – first, because it was not home, and secondly, because of the prejudices which her near-black colouring would inevitably create amongst the notoriously snobbish Roman elite.

Marcellus found himself doing both his own work and that of his nominal superior. Most quaestors, faced with such a situation, would have lobbied to have him replaced. Not he! Marcellus was governor himself in all but name; provided he deferred to Avidius in those matters about which he cared, and treated his royal Numidian wife with the respect due to her rank, he could do very much as he pleased. This responsibility did not end at the Utican border. In
the name of the Republic, the quaestor was required to treat both with the King of Numidia, as well as the ruler of Mauritania, people who supplied paid cavalry to the armies of the empire. And the time was rapidly approaching when he could stand for office in Rome itself. He would do it with Quintus’s help if it were available, without if necessary. That would, of course, make it harder. So, from time to time, his mind would turn to that chest of documents left to him by his father.

Many of the men named in them had died in the last ten years, but most were still alive, probably still committing the kind of misdemeanours that Lucius had uncovered. If all else failed, he would use that information to assist his election to the aedileship.

Aquila set out with the two tribunes, accompanied by twenty of his fittest men. They left the encampment after dark and headed south, this to avoid the prying eyes of those engaged in watching the activities of the Roman garrison. An hour before dawn they turned inland, climbing up through the hills, their movements guided by strong moonlight. A wooded copse provided shelter as the sun rose and the party ate their cold food by a trickling brook. The smell of pine
needles was strong and the copse hummed with insects. They took off the bulk of their uniforms, breastplates, greaves and helmets and threw them into the extra cloaks that Aquila had made them bring along.

‘Do we bury them?’ asked Publius.

Aquila shook his head. ‘No. Very little sunlight gets in here, so fresh-dug earth will be obvious for a long time and anyone spotting them will be bound to dig them up.’ He looked up into the trees. ‘Tie the bundles tight and hide them high in the trees. Up there, if anyone sees them at all, they’ll look like beehives.’

‘What if the person who does spot them collects honey?’

‘Then they’ll get a surprise,’ he replied with a smile, ‘and since not many of our enemies are given to honey gathering, I doubt we’ll be in too much danger. Now, let’s look at our route.’

They had been studying the map for two days, so they knew the way, but Aquila was concerned about how they would use the terrain. Patiently, standing at the very edge of the trees, he explained to the youngsters how they would use the hillsides, clumps of trees and bushes and the shadow caused by the position of the sun to minimise the risk of being observed. Gnaeus wondered why he was bothering, since he was
there to lead them, then he realised that this strange self-contained man was going out of his way to teach them everything he thought they should know, and what he said could not have been further from the rigid protocols of formal combat with hand or weapon that they had learnt on the Campus Martius.

‘You can’t move in open country without being observed, and people don’t actually have to see you to know you’re around. The skyline has to be avoided, for, as a silhouette, you are too obvious, but even down below that is the case. Every bird you startle tells an enemy where you are, just as the silence of the animals will let them know you’re coming, minutes before you arrive. But the same applies to them, so keep a sharp lookout for unusual movements. We, ourselves, will move at a steady, gentle pace. I will go ahead to a point where you can see me, then the men will follow in pairs and you can bring up the rear.’

He smiled to take the sting out of his next words. ‘By the time you two blunder along in our path, every fly will be used to a human presence.’

‘Meaning we won’t startle too many birds,’ said Publius.

‘That’s right, and by the time we return I fully intend that you’ll take the point, while I’ll be bringing up the rear.’

‘And if we are seen?’ asked Gnaeus.

‘Let’s hope it’s not someone we’ll have to fight.’ Aquila turned back into the trees, followed by his twin trainees. They saw that the soldiers had dug a shallow hole and filled it with water. They were now busy adding the earth they had dug up. ‘Smear your smocks and the metal parts of your weapons with mud. It’ll make you harder to see.’

It took a full week to reach Pallentia, by which time the Calvinus twins wondered if they were actually cut out for life in the army. Not that they alone had suffered; filthy and gaunt, there was no way now to tell they were Romans. It was just that their inferiors seemed more able to cope than they, but during that time they grew to understand Aquila Terentius, and to appreciate some of the problems that beset the Roman army in Spain.

They knew there had been casualties in this ongoing war, but neither had realised that they numbered well over one hundred thousand men lost in the last twenty years – more than half of them Roman citizens. Aquila was careful to point out that the men they were with now would probably be soldiers regardless of the dilectus; most, indeed, had slipped through the
property qualifications for service and acquired the right to serve as
princeps
because of experience.

It was hard to argue with the centurion’s case that neither Rome, nor her allies, could afford losses at the rate they were suffering and expect to field armies sufficient to hold all the frontiers; that the solution lay in the removal of the archaic class- and property-based system of recruitment: if you owned land, you were eligible for service; if you were penniless, you were passed over. This would allow the farmers to tend their land, lessen the Republic’s dependence on imported corn, and end the abuse by which rich men bought up derelict farmland for ranching, the land having been let go to the bad because the men needed to tend it were serving as legionaries.

Little did they know that he was expressing the very things that had ruined his adopted parents. Clodius had been a legionary and had served the Republic of which he was a citizen; the reward was ruin, because when he returned from service, the land had gone to rack – Fulmina on her own could not tend it – while he lacked the funds for implements or seed to bring his land back to fruitfulness, and, in truth, it would have broken him to try. The Terentius farm had been sold to
Cassius Barbinus and the already filthy rich senator had turned it into pasture for sheep and cattle. Reduced to a gimcrack hut by a stream, and work as a day labourer, no wonder Clodius had agreed to serve in place of his prosperous neighbour Piscius Dabo, when the latter was suddenly, and unexpectedly, called back to the colours.

‘And where will we get our soldiers?’ asked Publius.

‘When was the last time you looked in the streets of Rome? It’s bursting with men. So is every city in Italy.’

‘That useless mob. They’re a rabble,’ said Gnaeus.

‘Wrong, Tribune.’ He waved his arm around to include the men he had brought along with him. ‘They’re probably just like us. I mean no disrespect, but any man here, given a chance, could hold your rank. All this talk of needing noble blood to lead men into battle is a lot of patrician shit.’

Aquila grinned, noticing how their loyalties fought with their logic. He stood up, making his way to the crest of the hill they would have to cross to avoid a ten-league detour. ‘But we could talk all day and change nothing. The old windbags in the Senate have got it all sewn up.
Personally, I couldn’t care if someone lopped off their heads.’

‘And what about being governed?’

‘Would you use that word to describe what we’ve got now? Go ask the men in the auxiliary legions what they think. Those togate bastards are happy to spill their blood, but they won’t even give them citizenship.’

Publius adopted a bland look. ‘You are aware, Aquila Terentius, that our father is a senator?’

‘’Course I am. Just as, in time, you’ll be one too. What worries me is that people like us will still be here in Spain doing drawings of places like Pallentia. Let’s move, quickly. We’ll do the crest one at a time and through the trees.’

The report they eventually submitted to Mancinus, ostensibly a tribunate one, did little to please him. He had called a full conference of his officers to discuss the prospects, placing Aquila, the true author, well to the rear so as to avoid his negative interventions, but that failed to work, since the Calvinus twins, who had taken Aquila’s observations and turned them into the proper, educated Latin form, seemed to share his pessimism. The general was now regretting the obligation to their father that had manoeuvred them onto his complement of officers, let alone
the fact that he had allowed them to go on the reconnaissance, but his biggest mistake had been to ask Gnaeus Calvinus to read the report, assuming that he would put a gloss on matters to please his patron.

‘So, to conclude, sir, there’s insufficient forage and food in the vicinity to supply the whole army. We will be required to build a road and at least three bridges, all of which will have to be held so that supplies can be maintained, if Pallentia can’t be taken by direct assault, which in our opinion it cannot.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Mancinus’s quaestor and second-in-command, Gavius Aspicius.

Gnaeus gave him an odd look. Gavius had read the report so he knew as well as anyone that the place would withstand an army if those within the ramparts were numerous and well fed, so the only hope was a siege. Carefully Gnaeus went over the arguments again, returning in due course to the proposed solution. The hill fort had a supply of water that good engineering could divert. It was the one fault in the comprehensive system of defences that Aquila had spotted. The Celts, not themselves as talented in that field as the Romans, had failed to secure it absolutely.

But the method of cutting the supply would
involve the engineers working very close to the earth bastions that jutted out from the main walls. If the Romans gathered to assault that section, the defenders would gather to oppose them. Aquila’s idea was an attack elsewhere, not designed to breach the defences but to hold their enemies at that point. This would allow a second group to engage the lightly protected alternative and damn the water supply. Then Mancinus could sit back and wait for the cistern inside the hill fort to dry up. Once that happened, the defenders would have to come out and fight, just to try and restore the supply. If they did, they would face defeat against any enemy who knew exactly where they would strike. Failure to do anything would see them expire from thirst within the walls.