‘What’s the point of me doing all this if you’re not going to use it?’ said Fabius, pointing angrily at the steaming bath in the middle of the tent.
Ever since Aquila’s elevation, Fabius had been trying to pamper him. His ‘nephew’s’ efforts had fallen on stony ground. ‘If I need a wash, there’s a perfectly good river nearby.’
‘Which comes straight out of the mountain snows. Dive in that and your nuts will drop off. I can just hear you on the oration platform. You’ll open your mouth to speak and find out that you’ve turned into a eunuch.’
Aquila smiled, the last part of this stricture being delivered in a high-pitched voice. He began to strip off his armour and decorations. ‘You’re so feeble, you city folk. No wonder Rome’s in so much trouble.’
‘Are we in trouble?’ Fabius asked the question eagerly, for he made a tidy sum, these days, out of letting slip information to the troops.
‘Ask me tomorrow.’
Aquila took the large robe that Fabius had laid out for him and went out of the tent. He was not alone in his desire to bathe in the river and the gates of the camp were guarded but open, while the men on duty lined the route to protect the swimmers. Fabius was right about the water, it was icy, but after such a hot, tiring day, it was a blessed relief. He emerged onto the bank to find Cholon standing by his clothes. They had hardly exchanged a word since the day Aquila had thrown him out of the camp, and every time the Greek had thrown a glance at the new quaestor, it had immediately turned to a sour frown. Yet now the man was smiling, and he even picked up and offered Aquila his robe, at the same time indicating the men splashing about.
‘I’ve often wondered at your Roman love of water, Aquila Terentius.’
The younger man was not one to bear a grudge against someone like Cholon, who had, after all, been invited to come to the base camp, and he knew that Titus, who had issued that invitation, held the man in high regard, so he smiled back at him, making the peace.
‘A distinct advantage, having soldiers who can swim. I hope you have noted in your history how it won us that battle at the river.’
Cholon’s eyes were fixed on Aquila’s neck, with the gold eagle swinging back and forth as he roughly towelled his naked body.
‘Will it win you this one?’ asked the Greek, pointing to the water from which he had just emerged. Clearly it was a way in and out of the defender’s perimeter.
‘It might,’ replied Aquila thoughtfully, nodding towards the fort, huge and menacing on the hill above them. ‘It depends on whether they can swim too.’
Having surveyed the terrain, Titus called a conference of all the officers in his army, down to the rank of centurion. Only the most senior knew what was coming, but before them all lay a map of the fort and the surrounding countryside, with a great ring running like a line of blood at the extremity.
‘We will build forts of our own at these seven points. I want them joined by a palisade, permanently guarded, with a mobile reserve standing by in each fort to sally out and hold the line if it’s attacked.’ Titus stabbed his finger at various points. ‘I want all these trees cleared and one or two of the hills close by flattened. No one is to get in, or out, unless we wish it.’
‘The rivers will still be open, sir,’ said Publius Calvinus.
Titus looked up from the table, his face hard.
‘That will be the last thing we will seal. I want a pontoon of bridges over them, backed by booms and chains. We will cut Numantia off from the outside world, and if we have to stay here forever, we will starve them out.’
‘You speak the language,’ said Titus. ‘And anyway, it’s a bad idea for a commander to negotiate personally.’
‘Why?’ asked Aquila, puzzled. He put down his knife, stopped chewing and looked hard at his general.
‘Because his word would be final,’ added Cholon.
Aquila half-suspected this whole scheme was his idea. They might be at peace with each other now, but he suspected that Cholon was a slippery customer.
‘Is that a bad thing?’
Cholon smiled, increasing Aquila’s discomfort. ‘An envoy makes proposals but he can always pretend that there is a point beyond which he cannot proceed and, should he go too far, his commander can always reprimand him and revoke the agreement.’
Cholon was basing his attitude on what he had achieved as an envoy in Sicily all those years ago, acting on behalf of Lucius Falerius Nerva. The old senator might have set them, but it was he who had negotiated the terms that saw the slave leaders desert their followers, though one, a Celt, had proved intransigent and died for his stubbornness. For a moment, he contemplated giving Aquila an explanation of those events so he would comprehend what Cholon was driving at — for he had always had the ability to deny things on the grounds that his superior would not agree — or go back to the table and say some previously agreed point was not acceptable, but he decided against it as being too distracting.
Aquila, who was looking at him very directly, took another mouthful of food, chewing slowly while he ruminated. ‘So what you’re saying is this: that I should go into the hills, talk to a tribal chief called Masugori, an ex- client of Rome, who would like to do nothing more than stick a spear so far up my arse that it comes out of my mouth, and make promises that you might decide not to keep?’
Cholon winced at the way that Aquila had reached his conclusions, though he replied calmly enough. ‘That, as an interpretation, is somewhat crude.’
‘Get stuffed!’
Titus burst out laughing, while Cholon’s face took on a hurt expression.
‘If I make an agreement,’ said Aquila, his blue eyes now boring into those of the Greek, ‘Rome keeps it, never mind Titus Cornelius.’
‘So?’
‘You’ve met this Masugori, you said, so you should know.’
‘It was a long time ago, before I even put on my manly gown.’
‘But you trusted him?’
‘I think it’s worth a try.’
Again Aquila thought long and hard before replying. The attacks on the legions had ceased as soon as they reached Numantia, and both he and Titus knew what that meant; the enemy was chary about facing the whole of Titus Cornelius’s force in full battle, but they wanted them to stay, and they were giving them a breathing space to get well dug in. The attacks would be resumed just as soon as they commenced the assault and the tribesmen thought the Romans, being both occupied and taking casualties, and running short on supplies, would be so weakened that they could be defeated.
Masugori held the key. His tribe was the closest, and barring the Lusitani, the most numerous. They had once signed a peace with the general’s father that had held until later commanders had so abused their office. If the chief of the Bregones could be brought back to neutrality, it would ease Titus’s task immensely, since supplying the army would become relatively straightforward. It was the life of one man put at risk to save the lives of many. He looked at the two other men, who were watching him closely to see what he would decide, so he just nodded and went back to his food.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Why me?’ asked Fabius for the twentieth time, with that truly agonised expression he could produce on demand.
It was a litany that Aquila had become used to, but he knew that his ‘nephew’ would have killed anyone who sought to accompany the quaestor in his place. It was part of Fabius’s way to play the endemic coward, just as he reserved the right to steal the officers’ food and wine; and if he had stopped moaning, Aquila would have been seriously worried.
‘What am I doing out here, in the company of a madman in his underwear, with not even a pin to protect myself? No sword, no spear, nothing! Well, I tell you, “Uncle”, if those tribesmen come anywhere near me, before they stick a weapon in me, I’m going to hoist up my kilt and give them a good look at my bare arse.’
