by Jack Ludlow
The streets of Rome had been crowded for hours, since long before cock-crow, as the population jostled for the best places. Calpurnia was there, in a special place in the central isle of the Circus Maximus, secured for her by her brother Fabius, one that would allow her to see the whole parade. The noise rose to a crescendo as Titus came through the gate, his fiery black horses pawing the ground, half-alarmed by the noise, half-filled with the desire to race through the gap in the crowds.
The city cohorts lined the route, each soldier’s arm raised in salute. Those behind them threw flowers and blossoms that paved the cobbled roadway, turning it from a mere street into what looked like a pathway to the heavens. Having traversed the Velabrum, the Forum Boracum, the parade entered the crowded, oval-shaped circus. Here assembled were some of the elite of Rome, those who did not qualify to attend the actual ceremonies, and who had bought places that afforded them the best view. Men, women and children cheered themselves hoarse, jabbing the air with laurel branches as a salute to Titus Cornelius, but cheers went to his subordinates too, and both Aquila and Marcellus were at liberty to acknowledge the accolades of the crowd, while behind them officers like the Calvinus twins and Gaius Trebonius had to keep their heads rigidly to the front, ignoring the cries of admiration.
Exiting from the Circus Maximus, they made their way down the roadway named for the purpose, the Via Triumphalis, then turned into the Via Sacra. This ran in a wide arc, ending alongside the open debating space of the Forum Romanum, with the Senate meeting place, the Curia Hostilia, standing in paramount splendour. The road rose steeply up the side of the Capitoline Hill, till it terminated in the great open space before the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Here stood the men who ruled Rome, the patrician and plebeian senators, all in specially whitened togas, those who had served as consuls marked out by the thick purple stripe that bordered the garment.
Claudia had secured a place from which to observe her son, her breast swelling with pride as he entered the plaza behind Titus. Even in the uniform of a high-ranking Roman officer, he looked like his father. Then she turned her gaze towards Titus, for here was a truly noble man, who had sought nothing but victory in arms. Now he would have a wealth to rival that of his father and a reputation that would place his family mask high in the decorated cupboards of the Cornelii chapel after he was gone.
She caught her breath as the cart containing the body of Brennos came into the square. She could not know what he looked like before this, since Aquila had ordered the undertakers to restore his features. Gone was the battered and bloody face that had taken so many stones; now he lay there, in seeming repose, hands across the silk tunic he wore, his silver hair well dressed and held back by a braided band. The two warriors pulling the cart, prodded by their jailers, swung it round towards the temple and the sun caught the single object that lay on the cadaver’s breast. Claudia knew, even from the great distance at which she stood, that it was that same gold charm she had seen so many times, that same eagle she had clutched in her hand the day that Aquila was conceived.
Titus swung his chariot round until his horses faced the temple steps. Men rushed forward to hold the bridles as he dismounted, and he walked over to Brennos’s cart and looked at the body of his enemy. There was no hint of triumphalism in this, even though those present raised an extra cheer. If anything, he looked sad, as though he regretted that his actions had ended in this death. Then he looked at Aquila, still mounted, and nodded. Titus turned, and, followed by his lictors, he entered the temple of the premier Roman deity to dedicate his laurel wreath, and his victory in battle, to the gods.
Aquila spoke to Fabius, who dismounted and took charge of the cart containing Brennos’s body, and men of the 18th Legion, who unyoked the two warriors and personally dragged the vehicle away, suddenly replaced the guards who had escorted it. Fabius signalled to more of his men, who formed an escort for the two Celt-Iberian warriors. They were obviously not going to be killed, as was the custom, and they would need those escorts to protect them from some of the more over-enthusiastic members of the Roman mob.
As Titus entered the temple, the assembled senators pushed forward, cutting Claudia off from any further view of the proceedings. She was gone by the time Titus exited from the temple, did not see Quintus embrace his brother, nor observe the question and the response, but others did, and it was the talk of Rome for days.
‘Is this the right time to remind you of your vow, Quintus?’ said Titus, half-turning to indicate the temple where it had been sworn.
Quintus raised his arms, his face concerned, trying to convey both exasperation and pity simultaneously. ‘Look around you, Brother, at all these august senators. You will look in vain for the face of Vegetius Flaminus.’
‘What’s happened to him?’ Titus hissed.
‘I blame myself, Brother,’ Quintus replied. ‘Since I intended to bring a case before him in the house, I felt it only fair to show Vegetius the detail of the charges.’
‘He knew those very well!’
‘Not all of them. Nor could he know that father wrote to Lucius Falerius listing them in detail. I’m afraid that when he saw what I had he was very downcast. Poor man went home and opened his veins. I’m afraid that Vegetius is dead.’
The sound that Titus emitted, halfway between a growl and a roar, affected his brother not at all. Quintus continued as calmly as if he had not heard Titus’s displeasure.
‘Never fear, Brother, our father is avenged, even if it’s not as tidy as it should be.’
Aquila called on Claudia while the triumphal feast was still in progress, having changed out of his uniform and now wearing a plain white toga. The streets outside were crowded with the same multitude who had watched the parade, but now they were carousing, drunk and noisy, still celebrating. The first greeting was stiff and formal, made more so by the presence of Claudia’s curious maid, Callista. But once she had dismissed her, she walked over and took his hands in hers. They stared at each other for a long time before she spoke.
‘I have dreamt of this so often, and shed so many tears.’
Her son, so much taller than she, leant forward and kissed her on the forehead. The crying, which she had fought so hard to contain, began immediately.
They sat by the window, looking at the stars up above. Claudia had sent Phoebe and her daughter to the country because she did not want her son to feel he had an obligation to either of them after all these years, and, in truth, she wanted him to herself. But it was difficult; both were nervous and strangers to each other. Slowly, with many a pause and a lot of sighs, Aquila persuaded his mother to tell him everything, especially of her capture and subsequent treatment.
‘Out in the streets they are singing songs that say Brennos was a beast and a murderer. Perhaps he was, Aquila, though it ill becomes Romans to throw out such an accusation. All I can say with certainty was that he was never like that with me. Oh, I daresay I felt the same as that mob when I was captured. In truth, at that time I despised him and showed it. Yet, he stood between me and death. The other chieftain wanted to send my head back to Aulus. It was only the force of his personality that kept me alive. Then, for safety, he accommodated me in his own tent.
‘We spent nearly two years together. I was shown all respect; in fact, I was pampered. Over time I learnt to trust him, and then, when I allowed my Roman pride to subside, I actually listened to what he had to say. We are born and educated to see the Roman way as perfect, so it comes as something of a shock to find out otherwise, but in time, I came to esteem him. He was clever, wise and dedicated to his goal of subduing Rome. I fought him on that, of course, but my will to defend my homeland wore thin. Months spent close to someone of his power wove a spell I couldn’t resist. And finally, one night…’
Claudia dropped her head at that point. ‘When Quintus found me, he sent for my husband, his father, to come to that covered wagon. I suggested to Aulus that he put me aside, but he assumed that I was with child because I’d been abu
sed. Yet it was not like that, it was something that I sought myself. When Brennos looked into my eyes, I found I couldn’t resist him. Perhaps he cast a spell over me, who’s to tell, but I wanted his child. You! I was going to the north, to safety, when the wagon was intercepted. If that hadn’t happened, I would never have seen Rome again, never have wounded Aulus, who was such an honourable man, and you would never have ended up on that riverbank.’
He touched the chain on his neck. ‘And this?’
‘I loved that charm. If anything, that shows he wasn’t an ogre. Brennos had a copy made for me. That one you’re wearing is Brennos’s own. I so wanted something of his to take with me when I left his encampment, so I exchanged them while he slept. The one round his neck today was the copy he made for me.’
Aquila held out his hand as he stood up. ‘Come.’
‘Where to?’
He put his finger to his lips, and as she gazed into his compelling blue eyes she saw there that same power that Brennos had exercised. She stood and he led her across the atrium to the gate. It opened to reveal his legionary escort. The leader was grinning from ear to ear, no doubt taking hold of entirely the wrong impression when he saw his ‘uncle’ holding the hand of an older, but still handsome, Roman noblewoman. A glare from Aquila had him eyes front and they marched off, making their way through the celebrating throng towards the Esquiline Hill.
As they walked out onto the open space at the crest, Claudia recognised the cart that had carried Brennos’s body. It was sitting there, still guarded, now empty, but a high pile of wood stood a few yards away, with his body just visible on the top. Both stood for a moment in silent prayer, before one of the soldiers brought Aquila a torch. He tried to pass it to Claudia, but she refused.
‘It falls to a son to carry out the funeral rites of his father, in the Celtic religion as well as the Roman one.’
He stepped forward and jabbed the flaming torch into the dry kindling. It took immediately and the flames shot up to engulf the body. Soaked as it was in that potent grain spirit which had preserved it all the way back from Spain, the corpse flared in a great whoosh of flame that made Aquila’s men jump backwards.
‘He even weaves spells in death,’ said Claudia, with wonder.
Aquila turned to his mother. In his hand he held the gold eagle that had been given to him by those scarecrows outside the walls of Numantia.
‘It’s time you had your own property back.’
With that, he tried to put the gold charm, with the wings that made it look so like an eagle in flight, over his mother’s head. Claudia put a hand up to stop him, then took it herself, holding it out so that the precious metal picked up the flickering light from the billowing flames.
‘No. Let Brennos take it with him. He always believed that he would conquer Rome. Now, his ashes will. He cannot be allowed to go to his resting place without some symbol of his dream.’
Claudia kissed the eagle, then threw it into the flames.
About the Author
JACK LUDLOW is the pen-name of writer David Donachie, who was born in Edinburgh in 1944. He has always had an abiding interest in the Roman Republic as well as the naval history of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, which he drew on for the many historical adventure novels he has set in that period. David lives in Deal with his partner, the novelist Sarah Grazebrook.
By Jack Ludlow
THE REPUBLIC SERIES
The Pillars of Rome
The Sword of Revenge
The Gods of War
THE CONQUEST SERIES
Mercenaries
Warriors
Conquest
THE ROADS TO WAR SERIES
The Burning Sky
A Broken Land
Written as David Donachie
THE JOHN PEARCE SERIES
By the Mast Divided
A Shot Rolling Ship
An Awkward Commission
A Flag of Truce
The Admirals’ Game
An Ill Wind
Blown Off Course
Enemies at Every Turn
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
13 Charlotte Mews
London W1T 4EJ
www.allisonandbusby.com
Hardback published Great Britain in 2008.
Paperback edition first published in 2009.
This ebook edition first published in 2011.
Copyright © 2008 by DAVID DONACHIE
(writing as JACK LUDLOW)
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–4001–7