The Fort

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  XIII

  Piroboridava

  The fifteenth day before the kalends of May, the fourth hour

  PISO WAS NOT dead, at least not yet, but his breathing was faint and he would not wake. The medicus had examined him, found no other injury apart from the wound to the head. It was slighter than Ferox had suspected, for head wounds always bled like stuck pigs, but the medicus’ opinion was that more severe was the force of the blow.

  ‘Will he live?’ Hadrian had asked when he visited the hospital early the next morning.

  The medicus shrugged. ‘Perhaps? Perhaps not? And perhaps he will have some life, some of his wits, but not all.’

  ‘When will you know?’

  Another shrug. ‘I cannot say, my lord.’ The medicus added the title, because even the authority of his rank in his hospital ought to defer a little to a senator and senior officer. ‘I have attended to the wound and bound it. He sleeps without the need of poppy seed or any other comfort, so he does not feel any pain. The tribune may sleep for hours or many days and he may never wake. At the moment there is no more that can be done for him apart from keeping him warm and comfortable and making an offering to the gods.’

  ‘See to it.’

  The other casualty, a Brigantian struck so hard that the back of his skull had collapsed, was most certainly dead. Found under a pile of debris from one of the buildings when the fire was well under control, the death might have been an accident, but Ferox had not had the energy to investigate in any more detail as yet for there had been so much to do. Hadrian had not slept until the fire was extinguished, by which time the night was more than half spent. Ferox had kept awake even longer, and finally got a little sleep on the cot kept in the hut behind the main gates. Even then, he only gave in to exhaustion on the promise that he be woken at the slightest sign of trouble inside or outside the fort.

  An hour before dawn, Philo appeared with fresh clothes, and managed his old trick of shaving Ferox while the centurion slept. With less than half an hour to spare he had shaken his master awake.

  ‘Mongrel,’ Ferox had croaked at him, but the freedman was persistent and the centurion knew the signs.

  ‘The legatus, the noble Aelius Hadrianus, wishes to see you, so you must look your best.’

  Ferox grunted his opinion of that, but knew how the army worked and also how relentless Philo was bound to be. By his own standards, if not the much higher ones of his servant, he was smartly turned out by the time he stood waiting in the main office of the principia. Hadrian appeared just as the trumpets sounded the end of the night and the first watch of the day, and looked as if he had slept twelve hours on a feather mattress, before bathing and taking a leisurely breakfast.

  They talked for an hour, just the two of them, or rather Hadrian asked a lot of questions and each answer prompted even more queries. Then they toured the fort, talking all the time, but now attended by several officers and clerks. Apart from the hospital, Hadrian watched as the guards were replaced at the gates, before visiting the debris from the fire.

  ‘We were lucky,’ the legatus told them. ‘Without the rain…’

  They paused while the legatus had a light breakfast served in the principia, during which he issued orders for his escort and essential staff to prepare. After that he spoke to all the men from I Minervia not on other duties and, after dismissing the others, ordered Ferox to come with him and inspect the ground outside the rampart. They looked at the ditches, the pits and obstacles, wandered through the canabae past the bath house and down to the river. The questions kept coming, and they always were apposite. Ferox had met plenty of senior officers, and the senators even more than the equestrians liked to hear their own voices, but with Hadrian there was a grasp of detail that was unusual. It was a considerable relief to have undertaken so much work on the defences, for he suspected that the criticism would have been far harsher if the inspection had occurred when Ferox had only just arrived. Even so, there were suggestions that were effectively orders to do more, and Ferox could not really resent them. On the whole, the legatus was right.

  ‘This is not an easy task,’ Hadrian said as he strode across the planks of the bridge. His escort was still waiting inside the fort, and only two troopers had accompanied them and they sat their horses well out of earshot, for he wished to speak to Ferox alone. ‘That blaze was deliberate, no doubt about it. Do you think it was some of your Britons?’

  ‘No, my lord. I don’t see what they would gain. The sling shot lobbed at me most likely was, unless it was whoever attacked the noble tribune.’

  ‘Not much noble about that sod. No restraint or wisdom, little honesty and randy as a stoat.’

  Ferox forbore to suggest that this was surely fairly typical of Rome’s ancient families.

  ‘Cannot say that I’ll miss him,’ Hadrian said. ‘Saw him slide his hand onto your wife’s arse more than once.’

  ‘He would regret that,’ Ferox said without thinking and did not explain, just in case Hadrian decided that Enica or her people had anything to do with the attack.

  Hadrian’s brow furrowed, as if trying and failing to read the centurion’s thoughts. ‘Have you seen your wife yet?’

  Ferox shook his head.

  ‘My apologies, for I have kept you too busy. She has travelled a long way to be with you.’

  The tone implied surprise at such determination for so small a prize, or perhaps that was Ferox’s imagination. He was no longer sure whether he and Claudia Enica were married and was still wondering what her appearance meant.

  ‘I am truly sorry,’ Hadrian said, ‘but let us talk instead of the assault on Piso. Any idea who might have done it?’

  ‘No, my lord.’ Ferox suspected that the legatus was more likely to guess what had been behind the attack. ‘I had never heard his name until last night. Perhaps there is someone with a grudge against the family, but it seems improbable. And I cannot help wondering whether the dead soldier was killed by whoever attacked the tribune.’

  ‘Unless that Briton had a go at Piso, and then had a roof fall on him…’ Hadrian hesitated, and that was striking in so suspicious a man. ‘Or he was the one who tried to kill our tribune, and some pious citizen saw it, stopped him from finishing the job and then made sure that the would-be assassin would not have the chance to make any more trouble?’

  ‘Perhaps, my lord.’

  ‘Well, it would fit the facts, would it not? Robbery, hatred of Rome or even mistaken identity. If he was also the incendiary, then disposing of an officer would be an added treat for his Dacian paymasters.’

  ‘I shall see what I can find out,’ Ferox said, although he could sense that the legate knew a good deal more about the whole affair.

  ‘As you wish,’ Hadrian said. ‘See what you can discover, but some sense tells me that something very much like that happened. As long as there is no one else here in the pay of the Dacians, the danger may be over.’

  Like hell, thought Ferox, but said nothing. He would investigate even though he suspected that only Hadrian or someone working for him knew what had happened and had no intention of telling him.

  Hadrian grinned, his neat teeth very white. ‘Well if Piso wakes up he will be your problem and there is nothing I can do about that. But what can I do for you?’

  ‘I could do with more men,’ the centurion said, ‘more food to replace what we have lost, and assurance that help will come.’

  Hadrian walked to the far rail and tossed a pebble into the flowing water. ‘A legatus of a legion scattered in dribs and drabs in several provinces cannot command much. I shall do my best for you – and for my men serving here. But I cannot command and dispose as I will. And perhaps we are starting at shadows and seeing enemies where there are none? What do we have – rumours, suspicions, disgruntled men in an outpost. And the thought that Decebalus wants a new war and will attack as he has done before, and that he might attack here because then he could drive on unmolested, take our own bridge, damn his impudence, and inv
ade our provinces while we do not have enough to stop him. In Rome that would all sound very wild.’

  Ferox said nothing.

  Hadrian stared down at the river, surging beneath them and almost bursting its banks from the snow melting on the far mountain tops, and waited. ‘Just a little river,’ he said after a while, ‘and just a little road leading to a great river and a wonderful bridge. What would the enemy gain – that is if they are the enemy? But if they are not the enemy then why does Decebalus send his men among the Roxolani?’ Ferox had told him what he had learned from his visit to their camp. ‘And I hear on good authority he has sent men and gold among many peoples and tribes, and why does he keep luring over our deserters to serve him? And why does a well-built and kept granary in our only fort on this route get set on fire?’

  And why send Ferox and the troublesome Brigantes as its main garrison in the first place? Ferox thought, but did not say.

  ‘It cannot all be chance,’ Hadrian resumed. ‘There is too much to be a false trail, so somewhere the wild boar is lurking, waiting to charge. Then again what would he gain? We would win in the end. You were there weren’t you when Oppius Sabinus was killed?’

  Ferox nodded, surprised that the legatus knew this for it had happened twenty years ago, when the Dacians plundered Moesia, and he had been a newly minted centurion.

  ‘And with Fuscus, and then with XXI Rapax?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘That’s three big disasters, and yet here you stand as large as life – and as miserly with your words as Atilius Crispinus warned. Yes, yes, I know him, and he is much recovered in case you are interested. There is even talk of fresh offices in due course.’

  That explained some of the knowledge, for Crispinus had been a tribune in Britannia and spent a lot of time in the north. A clever young aristocrat, perhaps too clever, life had become complicated and dangerous whenever the tribune had appeared – indeed it had been quite a surprise that he had not turned up at Piroboridava. Still, during the rebellion of the Brigantes, Crispinus had played a dangerous game and presumably lost, for he had ended up a prisoner of the rebels, paraded in chains like an animal, beaten and brutalized. Ferox had never learned the truth of all that had happened and where Crispinus’ true loyalties had lain. Hadrian was enough of a friend to know about this and speak of his recovery, although not enough of a friend to avoid mentioning it at all. From what Ferox had heard, the former tribune’s family had done their best to cast a veil over his ‘illness’.

  ‘So I know something about you, centurion, much more than you guess, and since no one else up to now has bothered to have you dismissed from the army, I will believe that the good things are true and that gives me hope. You are a hard man to kill, and you have the knack of winning against the odds. … And please don’t try to make a joke of this and assure me that you are still young and can easily make a fresh start.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.’

  Hadrian glared at the rigid face for a long while. Then he stared over Ferox’s shoulder, but the centurion remained at attention and did not follow his gaze.

  ‘Very well,’ the legatus said at long last. ‘We will all have to do our best.’

  ‘Can I tear up the bridge, sir?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The fort is here to guard the road, and especially the bridge. It’s the route that matters, nothing else. Let’s say they come with an army. With luck, the fort may hold out – at least for a while. If it does, what’s to stop them leaving a couple of thousand men to keep us honest and sending the rest off to Dobreta. They could be there before the alarm has been raised, and certainly before a decent force can be concentrated. But without the bridge—’

  ‘Nothing big can get through,’ Hadrian cut in. ‘Not much in the way of supplies, no artillery – at least not decent sized stuff – and without those they’re not well placed to take Dobreta or anywhere else by storm or siege.’

  ‘So if we pull up the bridge they might not come at all, unless they’re looking for a cheap victory by taking one of our most vulnerable posts, stuck out on its own and unsupported.’

  It was Hadrian’s turn to lapse into silence for a while, before shaking his head. ‘No,’ he said at long last. ‘It won’t do. Not proper for a Roman officer to flinch at rumours. And if you rip it up and they change their plans and do not come then that’s what it will seem – a nervous officer who cannot even control his own soldiers panicking and destroying a perfectly innocent bridge.’

  ‘We’d be alive though,’ Ferox suggested.

  ‘Still,’ Hadrian went on, clearly giving little weight to that point, ‘have a word with the Greek and see if he has any ideas of how to make their life difficult if they do come.’ Ephippus was to stay at the fort, as were all but the legatus’ most important staff – and now Sulpicia Lepidina and her household, at least until Hadrian had seen the lady’s husband and found out his situation and whether or not it was safe for her to join him.

  Hadrian shaded his eyes from the sunlight as he stared up the slope at the fort as if measuring the distance. ‘Have you thought of reaching this spot with a ballista on top of the gate towers?’

  ‘They say it is too far, sir.’

  ‘Talk to Ephippus. He’s been trained by one of the best there is and strikes me as thorough. Maybe an extra storey to one of the towers would give more height and a longer range? There’s usually a way if only you can find it.’

  ‘My lord,’ Ferox said flatly so that the words could mean anything.

  ‘Yes, Crispinus told me you were insolent. Let us hope he was right in his other judgements.’ Hadrian whistled to attract the attention of one of the two cavalrymen and then gestured at the fort. The man rode away to summon the escort, while the other brought over the legatus’ horse. Hadrian nuzzled its face with great fondness. ‘I must leave,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure that you do not want a larger escort, my lord? It is a long way to Sarmizegethusa.’

  ‘Then better to travel fast. If they kill a Roman senator in time of peace then the princeps would be implacable and destroy Decebalus and his kingdom.’ Hadrian snorted. ‘He might even thank me for the chance! But I don’t think any harm will come to thirty well-armed soldiers. Not yet at least.’ He swung himself easily up into the saddle. ‘And I do love a hard ride. Reminds me of when I was a tribune and…’ He seemed to decide that Ferox was not a worthwhile audience for the story. ‘No matter.’ The escort were trooping out of the main gateway. ‘Time to leave. Good fortune to you, Flavius Ferox. Let us hope we meet again, eh!’

  ‘Sir.’ Ferox saluted and Hadrian gave a wave in return as he put his horse into a trot.

  ‘Come on, lad, they can catch us up!’ he called to the other cavalryman and headed away up the valley. Ferox stood on the bridge and watched them pass – twenty-nine troopers, half a dozen mules, and five civilians, one of them the surly freedman, Sosius. He stared at Ferox, eyes cold and confident. If anyone on Hadrian’s staff knew more about the fire, the dead Brigantian and unconscious tribune it was surely him, but he was going and Ferox suspected that it would take a lot of coercion to break a man like that even if he had the chance.

  Once across the bridge they broke into a canter to catch up with the already distant legatus. Ferox stared at the little column as the figures grew smaller, revelling in a solitude that was unlikely to be repeated for a long time. When he was young he might have thought of riding away in the opposite direction, although he would not have done it. Now, not even the thought occurred because he knew that he had to go wherever the army sent him, for he had no other life or home. Finding a pebble, he tossed it into the water. Then he took a deep breath and prepared for the first great battle.

  A wood-gathering party passed him on his way up the slope, with forty men and three waggons, making him wonder whether he needed to increase the size of such detachments, or at least the proportion fully equipped to fight if necessary. Probably this was too soon, but it might do no harm t
o err on the side of caution. Ephippus already had plans, and most would require more timber. There was also the question of repairing the demolished ends of the barracks and finding space for all the stores they had saved.

  Sabinus was waiting for him behind the gateway, as was Petrullus, the centurion who had come up with the newly arrived contingent of Brigantes. He was tall and slim like most Brigantes, with a lean, sneering face, and hair and moustache so blond that they were almost white. He was the eldest son of an important chief, head of a clan which had stayed loyal to Rome and to Claudia Enica, and he was said to be brave and capable. Ferox had met the man for the first time that morning and already found him irritating. Therefore it was no surprise that Petrullus had come to complain, for he had done as much and more to Hadrian, then complaining about the billeting of men and horses in the belief that the existing garrison held more than its fair share of the barracks and stables.

  ‘There are no servants,’ Petrullus said. ‘My warriors were promised servants when they arrived at the garrison.’

  ‘Not by me,’ Ferox said flatly. There was no sense in letting his anger spill out. ‘Nor at any time to my knowledge. They can keep anyone that they have brought with them, but otherwise no slaves to be brought or purchased while they are here.’ He just stopped himself from adding families to the restriction, not because it was not also true, but because Enica was now here. While it was unlikely that any sane woman would travel all the way from northern Britannia to drag herself and her children to be with her man, you never knew. If any appeared, then they would deal with the problem at the time. ‘No more slaves. And while you are here and under my command, everyone works – everyone.’