observations made the most sense; all he did was advance ideas that he and Titus had discussed many times.
‘What do you need to treat with them for? If they’ve sent envoys it’s because they’ve no chance of holding out. We require unconditional surrender and a handing-over of Roman deserters. The hill fort is to be cleared of all inhabitants so that it can be razed to the ground. Anyone can do that.’
Titus turned his tired eyes towards his second-in-command and nodded, then he sat in a chair, slumped down and wept. Cholon started to move towards him, but Aquila stopped him. The Greek probably would not comprehend that, at a time like this, any good general would be thinking of the men he had lost and the mistakes he had made, not of the victory gained.
Numantia smelt of death; it was in his nostrils from half a league away. The gates were open, with a small party of the leading men there to treat with him. He assumed they were slack-jawed through hunger and fatigue, presumed they accepted his terms in silence because they had no choice, yet when he turned his back they started to talk, with great animation, accompanied with much wailing and crying to their gods. He knew the language and wondered why, after all these months of siege, they could even contemplate the use of the word betrayal.
Brennos slipped through the Roman lines with ease. He put this down to skill, not aware that all the legions knew the fight was over, so they were lax to a degree not seen before. He had more trouble getting into Numantia, and when they did finally open the gates he found himself walking between two lines of silent scarecrows. There was a crowd in the central space, the large area that stood in front of the temple, and as they parted, Brennos closed his eyes. The shattered body of Galina lay on the altar, the embryo that had been his second child torn from her womb. One voice spoke, the words like a knell of doom.
‘He came, Brennos, like your double. The same height, your colour when you were young, he even had about his neck the golden eagle that you wear.’
Brennos turned to explain, just as the first stone hit him. Everyone had a rock to throw at the man they now saw as a traitor, and even in their feeble state it was not long before their chieftain was dead.
The inhabitants came out at dawn, thin, wasted creatures barely able to walk through the lines of Roman soldiers. Titus Cornelius stood, Aquila and Marcellus at his side, as they stumbled past, to be corralled by their captors, their plight recorded by the ever-present Cholon. The Romans were in Numantia before the last defender had departed, already beginning the destruction of the town and fort that would erase it from the landscape. The body of Brennos was on a handcart, barely recognisable, and the men pushing it did not, as they should, approach Titus. Instead they came to stand in front of Aquila, their heads bowed.
‘This is the body of Brennos. It was our right to kill him, but it falls to you to bury him.’
With that, the oldest scarecrow pressed a charm into Aquila’s hand. It was gold, finely wrought, and it looked very like an eagle in flight. With one set of fingers on that, he touched the eagle round his neck, knowing they were the same, then he turned and looked at the smashed body being trundled towards the Roman camp.
Their bodies were foul, their hair and nails long, and they were smeared with dirt. In their eyes, a fearful expression; an expression of anger, pain, weariness and bewilderment. They had, in their extremity, eaten human flesh and this seemed to show deep in their eyes.
‘Careful, Cholon,’ he said to himself, putting aside his wax tablet. ‘You’re getting carried away here.’
‘Select fifty of the leading warriors,’ said Titus, his voice now full of strength. ‘And set aside the finest armour for them to wear. Tell the men of the other tribes round Numantia that I want riders sent in every direction. Those thinking of resistance to Rome should come here first, look upon this place, and decide whether what they plan is worth the pain.’
‘And us?’ asked Aquila, who held the charm in his hand, without knowing why he had it, or what to do with it.
‘We march back to New Carthage. I leave it to you to choose the legion we will take back to Italy.’
‘And me?’
Titus smiled at Aquila the quaestor, now wondering if he would revert to his previous rank of centurion.
‘You will lead the legion home, Aquila Terentius. I want you and Marcellus Falerius there, in Rome, behind me, as I make my way down the Via Sacra. The Senate will honour me, but a great deal of this, at least, truly belongs to you both.’
Aquila was made welcome by Masugori, Fabius by some of those young women he had met on their previous visit. Aquila and Masugori talked for a long time, and the younger man learnt all that the Bregones chieftain knew about Brennos. What he heard in Lutia made him sombre, and when he returned to the camp outside Numantia, his first act was to go and see Titus and ask if they could talk alone.
‘I require your permission to execute a personal obligation.’
‘Which is?’
‘Sorry, General, I haven’t finished. I also want you to take the most solemn oath that I never asked for this; that what I’m about to propose was your idea, and that you will never tell a living person, nor commit to any written record what I’m about to say.’
‘That’s a lot to require from a favour you’ve yet to propose.’
‘In return, I will release you from any obligation you feel you have to me.’
Titus tried to be flippant, answering with a wry smile. ‘You’re sure I have one?’
‘Yes!’ replied Aquila without even a trace of humour.
‘I dislike open-ended commitments.’
His quaestor took his eagle charm in his hand, like a man looking for support. ‘Have you never, ever given one?’
The image of old Lucius Falerius sprung immediately to his mind, that day in his house when Titus had accepted his help without any clue as to how to repay the man. Lucius had been wise enough to see that Titus would do for Marcellus what he had done for the younger Cornelii, so he found himself nodding before he had really thought that through.
‘If what you ask does not damage me, or Rome, I will grant your request.’
‘I want to take the body of Brennos back to Rome. You may display him in your triumph if you wish. After that, he is mine.’
‘He’ll be a rank thing by then.’
‘I have had his carcass placed in a vat of that Iberian spirit that Fabius is so fond of. I need to know, do you accede to my request?’
‘Granted,’ said Titus, curious about the stiff quality of a man normally very relaxed, but also too polite to enquire. ‘Now, let’s see to the destruction of Numantia. I want a plateau at the top of that hill, one where nothing will grow.’
Since Titus could not enter the city until the day he celebrated his triumph, Claudia came out to welcome him home. Cholon had less reason to stay with him and she half-suspected it was to avoid an invitation to dine with Sextius. The greetings were warm, as they always are when old friends reunite. Another man came into the room just as they finished their embrace, a soldier by his bearing, tall with red-gold hair, and the sight of him made her draw her breath sharply. Titus stood up, a wide grin on his face.
‘Stepmother, allow me to introduce the man who did more than any man alive to subdue Numantia. My quaestor, Aquila Terentius.’
Marcellus copied everything, then took the Cornelii family papers, and those relating to Vegetius Flaminus, out of the chest. As he gave half the contents to Quintus, you could see the greed in the man’s eyes, mixed with disquiet, as he looked through them, and the conversation that followed was a lesson in double dissimulation. Quintus wanted to know if he had everything; Marcellus wanted something for the remainder without asking. It was not long before the older man caught his drift.
‘By the way,’ Quintus said, ‘you must announce your candidacy for the aedileship.’
The senator smiled at Marcellus, in a way he had not done since Lucius was alive. ‘A mere formality, of course. You have my full support, as always.’
When Quintus was gone, Marcellus placed the scroll he had brought from Numantia in the chest. He too had talked to Masugori, and had learnt a great deal about Brennos, though he could not put aside the feeling that the Bregones chieftain was holding something back, not telling him everything he knew about the ex-Druid. He had also assiduously questioned the skeletons who had survived the siege and noted that when he mentioned Aquila Terentius, they became less willing to speak, as though the name terrified them.
There was a mystery about the man he knew he would have to discover, because now that he had been
