The Pillars of Rome (36 page)

‘We do breed our own occasionally,’ Nicos replied, wondering who in the name of
Jupiter
his master was talking about. The man who tended the sheep was an addle-brained Celt. Not that he was about to say so; it would never do to show ignorance to someone like Barbinus.

Aquila had penned the sheep and returned after dark, something he had done before when the senator had been entertaining and Sosia had been kept back to serve. He waited, with Minca, sitting with his back to the part of the wicker fence that served as their meeting place, looking up at the star-filled sky and wondering that the heavens could contain so many gods. He was also wondering what it took to call them down to his aid. He would like to have done that today, perhaps a thunderbolt from
Vulcan
to strike down that scented prick who let loose those leopards, but as the thought came so did the conclusion; the boy was rich and he was not. Master Marcellus, Barbinus had called him. If
he wanted the gods to intercede for him, no doubt they would queue up to do so.

Aquila shivered and stood up, realising by the position of the moon that it was much later than he had thought. Looking at the house he could see that the whole place was in darkness, barring the few oil lamps left burning for the watchmen to do their rounds. He leapt over the fence, followed by the dog and scurried over to the back of the slave quarters, to tap gently on Sosia’s shutter. The lack of response made him tap harder, to no avail. Perhaps Barbinus was still up, and if he was then she might be too. He decided to investigate, and he edged round the slave quarters building and moved slowly towards the main villa, looking for the light of oil lamps that would tell him there was still activity, but there was no sign of that or Sosia, so Aquila, reluctantly, resigned himself to the idea that she was not coming and turned to make his way back to the fence.

The single scream that rent the air made him freeze, right out in the open, where anyone looking out onto the moon and starlit courtyard would easily see him. Was it animal or human, and what direction had it come from, the house or the nearby forest? Minca growled, one paw went up and his snout quivered. Aquila waited, his ears straining for another unusual sound, but there were no others, save those that belonged to a forest. The hoot of an
owl, the swish of an autumn wind blowing through packed branches. He decided it was a fox in pain that had screamed, no doubt the victim of some larger predator. Aquila pulled at the dog’s ears to make him follow, and headed for the fence and home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Thanks to work already done by Aulus, the first units of the 10th legion could move out within the week. He gave up any pretence of working through Vegetius, and at the council of war no one was left in any doubt who had assumed command. He carefully questioned everyone present regarding recent intelligence, making full use of the map on the table before him. Finally Aulus made his dispositions and laid out both the routes, as well as the order of march for the main body.

‘We have to go looking for our rebels but whatever happens our troops must not be caught in extended order in broken country. If our forward elements find an enemy force, they are to retire fast on the main body to give us time to be ready for battle. Our aim is to draw the rebels onto a position of our choice, preferably a spacious piece of flat ground with a single secure flank, where our superior discipline and mobility will give us an advantage.’

‘We have a numerical advantage anyway,’ said Vegetius loudly, seeking to assert himself.

In order to appear martial at this conference he had abandoned his toga and donned his armour, breastplate, greaves, his horsehair-topped helmet under one arm. Given his flabby body and weak countenance it made him look faintly absurd rather than military.

‘Are you privy to some information that has escaped me?’ asked Aulus, his voice as hard as the look in his eyes. A good head taller than Vegetius, even in a plain smock he looked every inch the Roman general set against a leather-enclosed tub of lard.

‘Not that I know of,’ Vegetius stammered in reply.

‘So you don’t actually know the strength of the forces opposing us?’

‘A ragtag army of rebels and malcontents,’ the senator protested, looking for support in the faces of the others present. None came as he added, ‘What am I saying “army” for. I shouldn’t dignify them with the name.’

Aulus gave a thin smile. ‘I will treat them with respect until I’m sure that I can do otherwise. I suggest, Vegetius, that you do the same.’ He looked around the room, full of the assembled officers of the 10th legion. ‘Gentlemen, I have, as you are aware, a successful record as a soldier. If that
sounds immodest, I apologise. Lest you wonder at these precautions I will tell you that I nearly lost two whole legions in Spain because I didn’t treat my enemy with respect. It’s not an error I intend to repeat.’

There was silence while all present recalled Aulus’s hard-fought campaign against the Celt-Iberians ten years previously, which he had freely admitted to the Senate was a much more difficult task than he had originally anticipated. Far from Rome, even further from Spain, they, unlike the general who fought him, were not aware that the spectre of Brennos had risen again, nor could they know that the man talking to them now had determined, once this commission had done its work, to return to Spain, with or without the permission of the Senate.

Brennos, to him, represented more than a threat to Rome’s Imperium, he was a personal enemy, the man who had destroyed any chance he had of inner contentment. Aulus knew, deep in his heart, that killing the Celtic shaman would not bring him peace and happiness, but leaving Brennos alive was even worse. Aware that he had paused for a long time, Aulus coughed loudly and recommenced his briefing.

‘So I advise you all to follow my example. Don’t assume that just because you’re Roman these tribesmen will be frightened of you. After all,
they’ve had several years to observe that, when it comes to the business of soldiering, Romans are no more perfect than anyone else.’ This was delivered without looking at Vegetius, but they all knew what Aulus meant. ‘Having said that, I intend that we should move swiftly so as to catch the enemy off balance.’

He looked around the tent, his eyes finally settling on the deep tanned and lined face of Flaccus, a senior centurion, commander of the
hastari
, who comprised some of the most experienced men in the legion. The look alone brought the man to rigid attention.

‘Your name, Centurion?’ demanded Aulus.

His fist crashed against his breastplate. ‘Didius Flaccus, General.’

Aulus nodded to acknowledge the salute. ‘You will command the advance guard, which will consist of one cohort for now. I shall join you as soon as we’ve got the rest of the army on the move. You’re to act independently till then but you are not, under any circumstances, to risk your men. Your primary task is to go to the rescue of the Romans under Publius Trebonius fleeing north from Epirus. We have to presume that the enemy is pursuing them.’

He looked at the map again, running his pointer across the province of Illyricum. ‘It is odd that such a revolt should break out just when this province is
becoming peaceful. They could have linked up any time in the last five years, yet they chose not to. But, having said that, they’ve had ample time to coordinate their plans. Perhaps our recent successes have come too easy. I must therefore, merely for safety’s sake, anticipate some connection. So, gather them up if you can. They are to join the main force without delay. We can send the civilians back here to our base camp.’

Aulus beckoned Flaccus towards him, pointing at the map.

‘I also want you to take and hold the pass at Thralaxas. We need the lines of communication to the south kept open, so that we can get our troops through and confront the enemy as near as possible to their own base. I want them close to home so that their minds are on their wives and children. Provided they are still well to the south we can get the whole army through and deploy on the plains before they can interfere. I suggest that if you reach Thralaxas unopposed, you press on with one maniple and leave the other two to hold the pass. If, by any chance, you make contact with the enemy south of that point, you are to retire before them. I will come personally when the legions are assembled to assess what we must do. I take it you’re ready to leave?’

‘I am, General!’

‘Then go. No heavy equipment, Flaccus! I shall bring that up myself.’

Flaccus said a silent prayer to the Goddess
Felicitas
, as he always did when he suspected luck might be needed. Those left in the tent heard him shouting as they went over the rest of Aulus’s disposition, then the crashing noise of legionaries falling in and marching off at double pace, Clodius Terentius near the front. The years of discipline and the regular diet of very basic food had made him a much fitter man. Not that he had ever been a slouch, but drinking without working had given him a belly and over-ripe countenance, which humping sacks had left intact. That was gone now. He might be older than most of his fellows, but he had a hard flat stomach and a lean, tanned face.

Once they had left the settled part of the province behind there was no road in the Roman sense, just a cart track that was sometimes good and at other times non-existent. It skirted the coast where the landscape permitted, but the sheer cliffs and deep ravines often drove it inland, forcing them to advance gingerly through dense forest, with Flaccus, superstitious as ever, murmuring incantations to
Nemestrinus
, skirmishers out in front and everyone’s javelins at the ready. They reached Thralaxas just as the sun went down and Flaccus, in line with his orders, detached two of his maniples to hold the narrow defile and make it as safe as they could while he pressed on, using the moonlight to guide him.

They had set out from Salonae briskly enough but having been on the march all day, and though it had clouded over late in the day, they had spent a long time under the blazing sun. Clodius plodded along wearily, just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, while mentally moaning like the good soldier he was. His tired mind told him he was too old for this sort of thing. Not that the younger men seemed to be faring any better; their steps, too, were punctuated with numerous curses as they slipped and slithered on the treacherous track, especially when the moon slipped behind the clouds. Flaccus was immune to blandishments, refusing to slacken the pace, issuing dire threats of punishment to those whose complaints reached his ears. Clodius was long enough, in both teeth and legions, to know that it was a dangerous course of action, marching along at this pace, in single file, with only the moon and the stars to light your way, for it could not be done in silence, and all Flaccus’s praying to every Roman god he could think of would not change matters. An enemy, if they were close enough to hear, would have ample time to prepare for their arrival. Flaccus might think he was obeying the general’s orders; to Clodius’s mind he was exceeding them. It was hard to keep too many secrets in a legionary camp, and everyone knew that Flaccus had instructions not to risk casualties.

‘Keep moving, you bonehead,’ snapped Clodius, bumping into the man in front of him. The moon had slipped behind a huge cloud, plunging them all into almost total darkness.

‘Quiet there,’ called Flaccus, trying to shout and whisper at the same time and Clodius realised that the column had come to a halt. He heard several curses as legionaries who, like him, had been plodding along head down, crashed into those in front of them until eventually silence fell. Close to the front of the column, Clodius could see Flaccus framed against the clouded sky, which had a faint orange tinge, throwing into sharp relief the pines at the top of the hill they were ascending. The gap, where the cart track cut through, stood out clearly between the trees on either side. Flaccus came back down the line, stopping just behind Clodius, quietly issuing orders to his second-in-command.

‘Deploy your men to one side of the track and stay out of sight. I’m going on ahead to see what’s up. If we come back at a run, kill anyone who’s chasing us.’

‘And then?’ asked the senior legionary, a man half Flaccus’s age and with a tenth of his experience.

The sarcasm in the centurion’s voice was so heavy Clodius could conjure up the hard look that went with it. ‘Then? You must be hungry after a long day’s march, lad. Light a fire and send some men out to hunt down your supper.’ A thick growl
followed that. ‘If you’re lucky you might have a few uninvited guests.’ The man mumbled an apology and Flaccus relented enough to explain what should have been obvious. ‘You follow us. We’ll set up another ambush if we can. You keep moving. Don’t stop till you get back to the pass at Thralaxas, even if that means leaving us to our fate.’

Flaccus brushed past Clodius, calling on him, and those in front, to move out. ‘Quietly now.’

As they came near to the top of the hill, the noise, which had been masked by the hill, grew steadily louder. They could hear, clearly, the sound of the laughing, the shouting and most of all the screaming. Flaccus bade them slow down to a crawl as he approached the crest, dropping onto his belly and sliding the last few yards through the trees. The men with him followed suit, spreading out on either side of the cart track. They found themselves looking down into a well-lit glade, full to bursting with enemy soldiers. The fires came from the burning wagons and the heap of possessions that had been built into a bonfire.