The Fort

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  The pig was gathering pace, squealing in alarm, but he was close now. Vindex looped the end of the reins over one of his saddle horns and grasped the spear with his left hand as well. The mare was steady, keeping straight, and he lowered the spearhead, knowing that it would need less of a thrust than a steady hand to let the speed drive the iron into the beast.

  The pig swerved to the right. Vindex reached, point chasing it, then his mare stuttered in her run, he felt his legs slipping from the grip of the saddle horns, and the point of the spear rammed into the ground. The shock flung him off and to the side to crash onto the soft turf.

  There were more whoops of delight and amusement. Ferox passed him, a pig neatly skewered on the lance he held up.

  ‘Having fun?’ the centurion asked and then trotted away.

  ‘Bastard.’

  Ardaros and the man whose lance he had taken appeared.

  ‘I told you I prefer mutton,’ Vindex said, and when the warrior translated his words the nearest riders cheered. The scout rose, sore, but nothing broken.

  ‘That’s a good horse,’ Ardaros said, for the mare had gone no more than a few yards and stopped, waiting for him.

  ‘That’s one mean pig.’ Vindex reached the mare and jumped up. The herdsman and his boy remained where they were, watching and saying nothing.

  ‘Do we pay them for these?’ he asked.

  ‘We do,’ Ardaros said. ‘For we do not kill them or plunder their homes. None will starve because of what we take.’

  Vindex did not bother to say anything. These were not his people or his lands, and soon they were riding again, leaving the pigs and their owners far behind, apart from the bloody carcases slung behind a few saddles. ‘So tell me why they call the centurion Flavius the Bad?’ Vindex asked after they had ridden for some time.

  Ardaros shrugged. ‘Because there was already a good Flavius when he arrived.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘And he is a life-taker. A taker of many lives.’

  ‘He’s a proper bastard all right,’ Vindex conceded. ‘But he’s a warrior and we all must kill to live.’

  ‘There are stories. Most must have happened when I was a slave, if they happened.’

  ‘Knowing the centurion they probably happened.’

  ‘One day five warriors swore an oath to avenge the death of their cousin and kill Flavius or die in the attempt. This was far to the east, near the mouths of the great river.’

  ‘I’m guessing it didn’t work out for them.’

  ‘Flavius was alone, and they thought they caught him unaware, sitting by his fire at night. He killed two when they attacked. The third he killed the next morning and the fourth that night, and each time he cut off the man’s head. The head of the fifth man was found within bowshot of his people’s encampment on top of a stake driven into the ground.’

  Vindex nodded. It was easy enough to believe. The Silures were skilled at using the night, and Ferox was good even by their standards. The moustached warrior asked Ardaros what they were talking about, and as he explained the fair-haired one joined in the discussion and a couple of others rode over to join them.

  ‘He says that there were six of them – and another man says that he heard that there were eight,’ Ardaros said after a while. ‘Many tell the tale and much changes in the telling.’

  ‘Except that they all died.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So,’ Vindex said, ‘your folk don’t have much cause to love him, do they?’

  ‘We used to know him. Some hate, some trust and all fear him. That is how it is and how it should be. Tomorrow morning any with a grudge may challenge him to fight and kill him if they are able. That is our way. If they do not challenge, then none may attack him for one moon after he leaves as our guest. The same applies to him. Flavius must challenge anyone or leave us in peace for the same time.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘What about you?’ For the first time there was impatience in Ardaros’ voice. ‘You are his sworn brother. You must fight if he refuses, do what is necessary if he dies, and then decide whether or not to avenge him.’

  ‘Just me?’

  ‘That is the duty of a friend.’

  Vindex did not have more to say and nor did the others. They chased some deer, shooting several down, and soon after noon stopped to eat. The older chieftain drew his sword, shouting something as he spun around, arms wide, and then drove the blade into the earth. All of the warriors went in turn to the sword and bowed.

  ‘It is the symbol of their god of war, the greatest of their gods,’ Ferox said, appearing at Vindex’s side. ‘They revere the wind which blows wherever it wills as the breath of life in all living things. The air gives life and the iron sword rips it away, so they offer to both for good fortune.’

  Already the pigs were cooking, the smell rich and making Vindex hungry.

  ‘Is this what you planned?’ he asked the centurion.

  ‘More or less. We’ll see in the morning. There might be trouble, so be wary, although you should not be at much risk. Should be fine as long as no one really wants to kill me.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ Vindex whispered. He was about to introduce Ardaros, until the man saw that Ferox was beside him and turned away.

  ‘He’s one of theirs, but still wary lest they think he is a spy of the empire,’ Ferox said, as if he knew or guessed who the dark warrior was. ‘No one is sure whose side anyone is on these days.’

  ‘Is that good?’

  ‘It’s how it is.’ Ferox clapped him on the shoulder, making Vindex wince from the pain. The aches were growing now that they had stopped. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Probably anyway.’

  XII

  Piroboridava

  The sixteenth day before the Kalends of May

  PHILO WORRIED BECAUSE never before had he been responsible for entertaining such a prestigious guest and everything had had to be done in such a hurry. Ferox had not returned, and from what the Lord Sabinus had said, this was also worrying, although Philo had waited too long and too often for his master to return to give the matter much thought. Even if the centurion had been here, the real work would have fallen to him, for Ferox had little sense of what was proper and had far too casual an approach to food, furnishings and those little touches that showed true respect for the guests and reflected honour to the host. In some ways, the centurion’s absence was for the best.

  The ladies had helped, and it was fine to see them both, and even more the staff they had brought with them. Privatus, the chamberlain of the noble Sulpicia Lepidina and her husband Cerialis, was an old friend from Vindolanda, and had been a wonderful and very practical help, as well as having the sense to step back and assist rather than try to take charge. In haste they had unpacked some of their finest tableware, to add to the items produced by the queen. To the three new slaves purchased by his master were added his pick of the other households – or at least those travelling with their mistresses.

  The legatus had naturally occupied a number of rooms in the praetorium, just as Ferox had ordered. His stay was to be a short one, perhaps no more than a single night, and the modest number of slaves and freedmen travelling with the noble senator were under strict instructions to make no fuss or demands and to obey Philo’s orders on domestic matters. It was courteous and a great condescension, since even Philo had to admit that his own master was of minor importance compared to a former praetor and relation of the emperor himself. It also made it easier to ignore the thinly veiled arrogance of the legatus’ staff, especially his bald freedman, Sosius.

  Sulpicia Lepidina supplied the clue to one of the guest’s favourite foods, while Privatus had heard of this from one of the legatus’ staff and was able to offer the recipe. Thus, Philo was able to watch as the slaves carried a tray to place in front of each couch. Apparently it was called tetrafarmacum, and he prayed that they had put in the right mix of ham, pheasant and sows udders and baked the pastry as it should be. The whole mixture w
as outlandish and the name had puzzled Privatus until Philo wondered whether it was meant as a joke at the expense of the Epicureans, and Sulpicia Lepidina had nodded in approval.

  Philo stood apart from the diners, and part of him enjoyed the sheer responsibility of presiding over the occasion, directing the slaves and arranging every detail like a general with an army. Once Indike passed him, carrying a small jug of sauce to garnish the meats, and as she passed she pressed his hand for a moment and smiled. It was going well, but the ‘battle’ was not yet won and the ‘enemy’ willing to acknowledge that they had been well entertained.

  They had lamps on high brass stands, but not too many. Overzealous efforts to clean the walls on the part of one of the new slaves had smeared the paintings and broken off whole pieces of plaster. As a result, one nymph had only one leg left to her, while in the scene where a shepherd surprised another group of nymphs bathing, he no longer had a head, which may have helped to explain their distress. Nearby a city appeared to have suffered an earthquake, so much had fallen away. The shadows offered some protection, and only one of the guests had commented so far. For a timber fort this was a decent enough dining room, even if it could not compare to some of the ones in the stone houses in forts they had visited on the long journey from Britannia. This room was a good size, had a flagstone floor, plaster walls, and just one high window, the window closed and shutters drawn to keep out the noises and odours of the fort. Yet it had not been well maintained, and the painted walls were cracked and had damp patches even before they were attacked in an effort to clean. Nor was the place ideal, for the ceiling was lower than it should be, so that the music of the lyre player and even the diners’ conversations echoed uncomfortably.

  There were eight guests, for the ninth place was reserved for Ferox, should he have appeared in time. Philo was relieved that he had not arrived at the last moment, no doubt filthy from travel and truculent in his refusal to be made acceptable for the occasion. The two ladies sat, one on either side of Hadrian, for one was a senator’s daughter and the other in a sense their hostess. Apart from that, Hadrian appeared to enjoy their conversation, no doubt because both were well able to make themselves entertaining. Sabinus, Dionysius and the senior decurion were on one couch, and Piso and an equestrian tribune from I Minervia on the third. Hadrian had sent word that this was to be the seating order, and this had been his only intervention. Piso was the one who had seen the headless shepherd and pointed it out to the other diners.

  All in all, Philo was pleased so far, while remaining intensely nervous. He watched every step taken by the girls as they carried the pies to the table, his mind racing with nightmares of someone slipping and dropping their precious cargoes. Thankfully, they arrived safely, were placed without fuss, but in the most convenient places, and then their carriers gave the slightest bow and retired.

  Hadrian was in mid flow, speaking of the genius of poets and slipping easily between Latin and Greek and back again as he quoted. Now and again the ladies said a line or two, and Philo noted that Claudia Enica tended to get the words slightly wrong, no doubt deliberately for this permitted the legatus to correct her. This was always done with good humour and better manners – or almost always. Piso tried to take the lady’s side more than once, saying that her change was an improvement. The others said little, and if Philo had not been so occupied he would dearly have loved to listen to the legatus, for he seemed a man of immense learning and considerable insight. He was also obviously fond of all things Greek, unlike so many Roman lords who privately were Hellenes, but paraded in public a boorish disdain.

  The conversation seemed to be nearing a natural break, for they had moved on to descriptions of food, with Sulpicia Lepidina saying that at last they were eating their tables, which Philo remembered as an allusion to Virgil, when Privatus came to his side and whispered a message.

  Philo sighed, but orders were orders and he did not feel that he could ignore them. Privatus waved a questioning hand, indicating that he was willing to do the fell deed, but Philo stilled him.

  He tapped his staff – another item borrowed for the night – on the flagstone floor. ‘Noble lords and great ladies,’ he said. ‘Please beg my pardon for interrupting.’

  ‘Not at all, Philo,’ Hadrian said. ‘Do go on.’ There were not many senior officers – or junior for that matter – who would have learned his name and used it, and Philo was impressed.

  ‘I am pleased to announce that Flavius Ferox, praepositus of the numerus Brittanorum and curator of the praesidium has returned. He apologises profusely for his absence on duty at the time of your arrival and thus for his inability to greet you in a fitting manner.’ Ferox had never apologised profusely for anything in his entire life, but Philo was not about to let the truth get in the way of fitting words.

  ‘He also apologises for the limitations imposed on his hospitality in this desolate outpost, but hopes that the humble hospitality his household was able to offer such distinguished guests did at least do a little to refresh them after the rigours of their journey.’ Philo considered this to contain the essence of his master’s ‘I bet the mongrels are complaining.’

  ‘It has indeed, dear Philo,’ Sulpicia Lepidina replied.

  ‘Quite so,’ Hadrian added. ‘And tetrafarmacum, if I am not very much mistaken. My four-fold medicine never disappoints. You must try it, dear ladies, you really must. But where is the centurion? Surely he will join us.’

  ‘My lord Ferox begs to excuse himself from attending on his esteemed guests. Stained as he is from a long ride.’ Philo’s tone implied a level of unutterable filth. ‘He does not wish to interrupt or spoil his guests’ enjoyment of their meal. He will refresh himself and bathe.’ Philo almost regretted not being able to supervise and chivvy his master into performing these tasks properly. ‘And will then be ready to wait upon the noble legatus later tonight or in the morning, as most suits my lord.’

  ‘He should come,’ Hadrian said mildly.

  ‘My lord,’ Philo said, surprised by his own boldness, ‘my master fears that he is scarcely presentable.’

  ‘He rarely is,’ Claudia Enica commented. Philo saw Lepidina’s lips purse in disapproval, although since Hadrian reclined between the two ladies, Claudia did not notice.

  Hadrian smiled. ‘This is the praetorium, not a villa in Baiae. I do not think anyone would be offended by the honest sweat of a good soldier doing his duty.’

  ‘We are not all soldiers,’ Lepidina suggested.

  ‘And you have not smelled my husband.’ Claudia wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust.

  ‘Indeed we are not,’ Piso said, speaking loudly, his voice a little slurred from wine. ‘And may Venus and all the nymphs be praised that there is beauty among us.’

  Julius Dionysius wriggled his shoulders and moved his head from side to side, as if preening. ‘Well it’s nice of someone to notice.’

  ‘Send for the centurion,’ Hadrian ordered.

  ‘Are you sure, my lord?’ Philo said before he had time to think.

  ‘My husband is not the finest companion at a table,’ Claudia said quickly to cover the freedman’s embarrassment at having doubted so distinguished a guest. ‘His manners are…’ she paused in thought, ‘at times a little rough. And apart from that I…’ She trailed off into silence, dropped her head and blushed.

  ‘They have been apart for a long time,’ Sulpicia Lepidina whispered into Hadrian’s ear. Less discreet, and just audible was Piso’s muttered, ‘Don’t worry, he can rape you later.’

  ‘Please ask the centurion to join us as soon as possible, and not to worry about his appearance.’ Hadrian reached over to pat Claudia on the hand. ‘I am sorry, my dear, but this is a matter of duty and the good of the res publica. You may have a proper reunion later.’ Hadrian caught Piso’s smirk and glared at him.

  ‘My lord,’ Philo said and bowed his head in obedience. Privatus caught his eye, nodded and left the room to seek Ferox.

  Hadrian reached for th
e plate with the pies. ‘Let me offer you some, dear ladies? Four-fold medicine,’ he said happily, ‘is the cure for all ills and every woe.’

  ‘Is it filling?’ Claudia asked. ‘I have eaten a good deal.’

  ‘You need have no fear – not least because your figure is that of a goddess.’

  ‘Well yes,’ she conceded. ‘However, dear Lepidina, do you not realise the implication of that compliment.’

  ‘Dear Claudia, I am sure that Aelius was not in any way contrasting us.’

  Hadrian’s smile broadened. ‘Tis as well you two are not generals, for I am already outmanoeuvred. But have a taste, I beg you both.’

  Philo’s nervousness returned as Hadrian cut small slices to serve each of the ladies. On the other tables, the guests were devouring the pie, but that was only to be expected when it was known to be a favourite of so senior an officer, who might notice their reaction. Only Piso remained disinterested, picking at his food with no sign of emotion just as he had done with every course. Philo jerked his head to Indike, who now had an amphora of wine, which she took over to refill the senior tribune’s cup. Piso made no effort to hide his scrutiny of the young woman, especially as she leaned forward.

  Hadrian did not watch as the ladies nibbled, instead focusing on the whole pie he had served himself. Philo could barely breathe as the legatus cut into it and began spooning up the contents. The first mouthful was chewed and swallowed and the legatus paused and looked straight at Philo, his face rigid.

  ‘This is good,’ Hadrian said at long last and smiled. ‘My compliments to your chef.’