The information he had extracted from the Greek traders provided one strong possibility, a Celt called Luekon who had hinted at a jealousy of Brennos by some of those around him and an ambition to match. Distantly related to Cara, Luekon was a man who could move freely inside the orbit dominated by Brennos, but he would first require his services to act as a messenger, because there was a second possibility. Luekon’s first task would be to make contact with Masugori, the chieftain nearest Brennos. He led the Bregones and had great promise, having signed a proper treaty with Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus and held to it all these years, neither siding with Brennos nor taking arms against Rome. Yet he had to be vulnerable to the constantly increasing power of his neighbour; did Masugori realise that the time must come when failure to stand against Brennos could mean annihilation for him? Perhaps he could be persuaded to act out of pure self-interest.
What Servius did not know was that Brennos had called a tribal gathering, something he did often in order to overawe his fellow chieftains. None of the chiefs would stay away for fear of offending him, and that led Luekon to Numantia with the hope that the circumstances necessary for what he had to encourage were most propitious.
‘Hannibal could never have invaded Italy without the Celts! In this I speak the truth, on the soul of the great God Dagda.’
Masugori nodded as if he were hearing the words for the first time, instead of the hundredth, but he knew better than to interrupt. Viathros, paramount chief of the Lusitani, the numerous tribe of the western shore, was too drunk to hear, let alone respond — not that he needed to be sober, for he had himself been subjected to this speech a dozen times. Brennos, who had also been drinking copiously, slammed the table with his hand, causing the platters and goblets to jump in the air as he addressed the men assembled, chieftains all. As usual, the subject was how to beat the Romans.
‘Carthaginians they called themselves. Do you know how many of the men in his army were actually from Africa?’
One word must have penetrated Viathros’s stupor. ‘The elephants were from Africa.’
If it was intended as a joke, he should have known better; Brennos had never had much of a sense of humour, and unbridled authority had done nothing to improve it.
‘That’s about all. His cavalry were all Celts and so were most of his infantry. He would never have got near the Alps if the tribes on the shores of the Middle Sea had opposed him, nor would he have got through the mountains without the Boii to guide him.’
Masugori decided on a bit of mischief, being well aware of the weak spots in Brennos’s personality. ‘The Volcae Tectoganes sided with the Romans, did they not?’
The resounding shout, as the Duncani chieftain responded, could be heard at the outer walls, and so could half the rant that followed. It was the same old litany, of Latin duplicity, with their tactics of divide and conquer which would reduce the Celts to slavery if they allowed it to keep happening.
The chieftain of the Bregones looked away, lest Brennos see evidence of duplicity in his eyes. The man had trained as a Druid and might still have the power to see into men’s minds. Luekon, the messenger from the governor of the province of Hispania Citerior, Servius Caepio, had hinted that matters would be eased for the Bregones by the death of Brennos. Masugori was not blind to the danger, yet he had survived by remaining aloof. Perhaps the time would come when he would have to take sides, but not yet. So, tempting as it was, he had sent Caepio’s messenger packing after the most perfunctory show of hospitality. That made little difference; if Brennos ever heard of the purpose of Luekon’s mission, he would see betrayal in the mere act of receiving him.
Right now he had little to fear, Brennos being too busy diminishing the reputation of Hannibal. Seventeen years the Carthaginian had stayed in Italy. He had beaten the Romans at Lake Trasimene and Cannae, then wandered the peninsula instead of assaulting the city, only to see his brother Hasdrabul, who had come to his aid, crushed at Metaurus. The Celts who helped him died in their thousands for his failure to take decisive action, or found themselves evacuated to North Africa, only to perish in an unfamiliar land at the battle of Zama. And, of course, the implication was clear. Masugori knew what was coming; at this point Brennos would always clasp that damned eagle on his neck, as though he was making a prophecy. History proved it; only a Celtic leader, with greater numbers behind him, could do better than Hannibal and actually succeed in destroying Rome.
The expected words did not emerge, for at that moment Galina entered and a mere look from her was sufficient to stem his flow. Masugori watched her move, quickly lifting his eyes from the allure of her swaying hips to observe the look of amused tolerance that filled her eyes, and he wondered, not for the first time, if such a woman might temper his neighbour’s ambitions, and absolve him of the need to either succumb to Brennos, or go to war with him.
Brennos found it harder to deal with Galina than his other women and it was not just because of her youth or beauty, though she had both those attributes in abundance. Her colouring was unusual, for it suggested that she had a different strain of blood in her veins: with her olive skin, dark eyes and black hair, she reminded Brennos of the Lady Claudia, the Roman woman he had captured after his first battle against Aulus, the first person to make him break his vow of celibacy. Cara, plump, matronly and fecund, had turned a blind eye, not to mention a regal back, on all his other concubines, but she hated this latest acquisition with a passion, never losing an opportunity to spit at her, calling Galina a changeling, a Roman-born bastard and a sorceress.
There was an assurance about the girl that intrigued Brennos; she was unlike the others, for neither his prosperity, nor his evident authority, had any effect on her. She talked to him as an equal, and on those occasions he had tried to check the girl, to remind her of the position he held, Galina had simply announced her departure, and walked out on him. Power and wealth corrupts nothing more than a man’s relationship with women; he is never sure whether a display of affection is prompted by love, fear or greed. Brennos would not have recognised the problem, having been convinced, all his life, that he required nothing from anyone, but he was, even if reluctant to admit it, human. Without losing face in any way, he always contrived to entice young Galina back to his bed.
‘If you mention Rome once more, I shall leave.’ He laughed, as much because of what she had said as the fact that she dared to say it, but the physical position contributed too. Her head was resting on his naked stomach, and this statement was addressed to his erection, which got a hearty tug, and a small bite, as a warning to desist. ‘It’s bad enough without visitors prattling on about them.’
‘Luekon has lived amongst them. He knows the Romans and their ways. What he tells me of their plans helps me to deal with them.’
She was across him in a flash, straddling his body, the eagerness that he loved quite evident in her eyes. ‘I know Roman ways. I might even have Roman blood and I want you to do to me, at least ten times, what they always do to their female captures.’
Luekon heard the hearty shout as Brennos responded to Galina’s delightful vulgarity. So did two of the chieftain’s nephews.
‘We are safe. That whore will keep him occupied for the whole night,’ said Minoveros, the eldest. As the son of Cara’s brother, he had command of the chieftain’s bodyguard.
‘They say Brennos can see through walls,’ said Luekon, a cautious man, with a healthy fear of sorcery.