discipline they were not supposed to enjoy, the enemy broke off the action and streamed north in good order. Titus saw over the bodies of men and horses the approaching Romans, then turned to observe his attackers disappear in a billowing cloud of red dust, taking with them the few trophies they had been able to rip off the dead legionaries.
‘How’s the wound?’
Gaius Julius was still in full battle armour, while most of his men had removed their breastplates and helmets then gone back to road-building. Another party was stripping bare and piling up the dead tribesmen, separating them from the Roman casualties, who would receive a proper burial. Perhaps in the night the tribesmen would come for their fallen comrades; if not they would be food for the wolves and vultures.
Titus looked at his right arm, with the surgeon busily stitching. ‘I fear you will have to write the despatch.’
That produced a frown. ‘It will be a short document.’
‘We’ve more to say than you think, Gaius.’
‘They raided our lines, which is something they’ve done often enough.’
‘This was different. We’ve never faced them so numerous or so well-ordered.’ Titus could see that his second in command did not understand him. ‘If they attack, they do so in small parties, to try and steal our mules or supplies. Not this time. They waited to catch us unprepared, stayed hidden until we’d eaten and started to work. This time they wanted to kill Romans.’
‘I’ve put scouts out to avoid that,’ said Gaius. He looked round at the men toiling behind him. ‘We’ll need to make up the numbers with slaves if we’re ever to get this section of road finished.’
‘More important was the way they broke off the action.’
Gaius Julius snorted derisively. ‘They ran away, Titus. They always do, once we’re organised.’
‘They didn’t run away, they were ordered to retreat.’ Titus realised that Gaius Julius had not heard the horn; he thought that the mere act of attacking had forced them to flee. Nor was he aware that the bodies left behind were from different tribes and, as he explained, he could see the face fall. Gaius had been wondering if he would receive some form of commendation for his efforts in routing the enemy and saving his comrades. ‘The horn blew twice and they obeyed it immediately, every one of them. I’ve known that happen once before, when I was campaigning here with my father.’
The surgeon looked up at the mention of the boy’s father. He had served with Aulus himself and looking at Titus he was struck with the likeness. It was not just physical; he had the same effortless ease of command, added to the air of a man who would never be anything other than modest about his personal achievements.
‘I can’t see that it makes any difference,’ said Gaius Julius.
Understanding how an award for bravery, especially one for saving Roman lives, could enhance a man’s career, Titus explained gently, telling Gaius about his father’s campaign against Brennos, as well as the Druid’s notions of a great Celtic confederation.
‘We used to talk about it and shudder. You would too if you think of the number of tribes in and to the north of the Alps, then add them to those in Spain and Dacia. More men than Rome could ever fight. If they ever combine under a single leader it could be the disaster at the Allia all over again.’
Gaius Julius exploded. ‘Did you get a blow on the head, as well! How can you equate what happened this morning with the defeat of four legions over two hundred years ago?’
Titus smiled, then looked to the north-west, where the snow-topped mountains reached towards the bright blue sky. ‘You’re right, of course, I’m letting my imagination run riot, but something odd happened today, and it is our duty to inform our general of the fact. After all, we don’t want the Celts trying to sack Rome a second time.’
‘Just as long as I’m allowed to mention that we won,’ said Gaius Julius, with some feeling.
Titus was not really listening, he was still looking at pine-forested hills, wondering if they had, indeed, achieved the easy victory Gaius Julius supposed. It was only when they moved that he caught sight of them on a distant hilltop bare of trees. A small party of horsemen perfectly placed to oversee the recent action and as they moved, a small object at the neck of one of the riders caught the sun, and flashed a sharp reflection that seemed like a weapon aimed directly at him.
One of Rome’s foremost engineers, Licinius Domitius sat, eyes blank, looking at a point just behind the tribune’s head as Titus made his report. It was known that the only things to totally engage his interest were roads, bridges and viaducts. Evidence of this lay on the table at which he sat, covered, as it was, in plans and drawings. Yet he had served with distinction in the past, as a soldier and a provincial governor, so he could be trusted not to ignore the implications of what Titus was saying. Yet Domitius related the whole affair to the problems of his present construction project; the provision of a road that would run all the way from Spain, along the Mediterranean coast of Gaul, on into northern Italy, to join the road to Rome. Since senatorial approval for this expensive undertaking had been hard to secure, anything with the potential to disrupt his work caused anxiety.
He had met with the tribal chiefs before starting this section of the road, a decent bribe extracting a promise to leave the builders alone, but Domitius was well aware of the limitations of such a tactic; the Celts would take his money AND steal what they could, but if it was kept to an acceptable level it would be money well spent. Had that undertaking been broken and could such a breach presage future trouble? There was no doubt some of the dead were from tribes who had taken bribes, but were they acting with the knowledge of their chieftains? Did what had been reported justify him in detaching troops from construction work to punish the transgressors? Like all seasoned Roman politicians he decided to compromise, and elected to send his young tribune on a mission to ascertain just how serious this outbreak could be.
‘And why not, Titus Cornelius, since you are forever lecturing me on the habits of these barbarians.’
‘I admit to a little knowledge, sir.’
‘Then get more, young man. I need to know what it is we face.’
There were two methods by which Titus gathered information, both of which involved payment. Some Celts were prepared to sell information on their race, while the Greek traders who dealt with the interior looked for concessions, like reduced tariffs from the people who controlled the routes to their main markets, the Roman governors of the two Spanish provinces. Titus preferred the Greeks since they were less likely to lie. The names of tribes, chieftains and locations, as he listened to his informants, brought back the past into sharper focus. Some of the youths he had competed with eight years before had risen to be leaders. Each was deserving of respect, but amongst those who could trouble Rome, one person stood out above all others; a tall Druid shaman and warrior, with red-gold hair, ruler of a tribe called the Duncani, whose lands lay deep in the central highlands. In a race noted for excessive display he wore nothing but plain cloth and a gold talisman round his neck, shaped like an eagle in flight.
His name was Brennos, the same man who had fought his father and it was he who had commanded the raid in which Titus had been wounded, leading men who had been forbidden to take part by their own, now angry chieftains. As a token of their sincerity, some offered to return Domitius’s gold, but Titus declined to accept, first because he suspected it was designed to elicit a refusal and secondly their possession of Roman money was the one thing that bound them to keep the peace. His refusal also had the added advantage of making them quite open about the real threat, creating the impression that Brennos was a man they feared, a leader persuasive enough to wean their own younger warriors from their natural loyalties.
The shaman had acquired a secure tribal base of his own, deep in the interior and he had only essayed from that and come towards the coast to cause trouble. If the chieftains of the eastern mountains had made him welcome, it was because of their tradition of hospitality more than any love of the man and his aims. They too could remember, just like Titus, what had gone before; the rebellion he had led and the brutal way he had exercised command. It was not something they wished to repeat — being so close to Roman power meant they were also first in line for Roman revenge — yet care had to be taken by tribal leaders in a society of warriors, many of whom saw bending the knee to Rome as cowardice. It was of no help to have this interloper stirring up the passions of those who thought their leaders too supine so they were only too willing to recount to Titus how his re-birth as a threat had come about.
After the collapse of his revolt Brennos had retired further west into the interior of the Iberian Peninsula to
