Cnaeus Pompeius Longinus was surprised to see Hadrian and did not bother to hide his resentment.
‘Crowded enough here already without sightseers turning up.’ Longinus was a former consul, had governed Moesia Superior under Domitian and Pannonia under Nerva and was not about to be impressed by a distant relation of the princeps. He had a high, heavily creased forehead, slightly milky eyes and the thin face of a scholar, all of which appeared to inspire him to be gruff and aggressive in speech, as if worried that no one would take him seriously as a commander.
‘The king is always happy to give rooms to distinguished visitors in one of his halls,’ the tribune suggested.
‘Sod that,’ Longinus barked. ‘Not eating meat for days and having the pious little bastards sniffing as their slaves pour you wine. You can go if you like,’ he added, gesturing at Hadrian. There was not a lot of room in the praetorium in the fort.
‘I should like to stay with my men,’ Hadrian replied mildly. ‘That is why I am here, so that I can inspect every detachment of my legion and make sure that they are ready to do their duty.’
‘Their duty is to remind Decebalus that he had better keep his word or ten thousand more just like them will turn up and drag his royal arse over the coals until he squeals – that’s their job, and they do that simply by being here, no matter whether you come to gawp at them or not. And thanks be to Jupiter, Juno and all the rest he is a smart enough barbarian to understand threats and won’t make any trouble. Oh, he will stamp his foot and have little tantrums, but in the end knows we have the bigger club and can pound him into the dust.’ Longinus sniffed. ‘Still, while you are here you may as well come along to the audience tomorrow so that we can use the language of diplomacy to lie to each other while making clear the power that lies behind us. No harm in saying that you are Trajan’s cousin either – family is important to them.’
The audience did not happen the next morning as planned, nor the one after that, for on each day a message arrived soon after dawn to say that the king was indisposed by illness. On the third morning the messenger informed them that the royal diviner had observed the stars and concluded that this was a day for fasting and prayer rather than business.
‘Impudent rogue,’ Longinus declared, after sending a formal message saying that he quite understood and would look forward to meeting the king tomorrow. ‘Mucking us about just to show that he can. Pity the princeps is not keen on a new war at the moment otherwise I could soon teach the king a lesson.’
As the days passed Hadrian began to feel the true claustrophobia of the place, but there was nothing to do but wait, now that he was here. An attempt to raise his concerns with Longinus prompted amused scorn.
‘Might want to spend more than a few days in the area before jumping to conclusions. Decebalus is irritating, but not a threat. As I say he’s bright and no mere barbarian. He knows just how big the empire is and how small Dacia is by comparison, so understands that he cannot go too far. If we ever decide to do it, then we can bring enough force to crush him like a beetle. Might take time to muster, but the end will never be in doubt. The little cuss will never risk bringing that on himself. He knows that Trajan will fight if he has to, and won’t give up like Domitian.’
Hadrian remained unconvinced. For all his many faults, Hadrian reckoned that the last of the Flavians had not been that bad an emperor, nor his campaigns against the Dacians the humiliation that everyone – not least Trajan – liked to claim. Domitian had done enough to cow Decebalus, but then had to shift the weight of his forces to meet other threats from the Sarmatians and the Suebi. True enough, the empire was strong, with thirty legions now that Trajan had added a couple, and even more auxiliaries, but it could not be strong everywhere all the time. Now that he had seen Decebalus’ stronghold, its strength and good order, his last doubts that he was wrong were fading away. He wanted to leave this place, leave Longinus with his fool’s confidence, and start to see what he could do to prepare.
‘His fortress is strong, equipped with siege engines he isn’t supposed to have anymore, and it’s not the only one,’ Hadrian said, in a last effort to persuade Longinus. ‘And he is welcoming deserters as readily as ever.’
‘Worthless scum the lot of them. If they’ve betrayed us, they’re not likely to prove loyal to him. No, no, my boy, you worry too much because you don’t know these people.’ The boy was insulting to a former praetor, but Hadrian let it pass. Longinus was sure of himself, so let the man plough on with this furrow and see where it took him. Defeats were coming, probably a crisis, and with them would come opportunity.
At long last the king’s health and his diviner’s opinion both agreed that the day was a good one, so the Roman party marched out of the gate, through the bigger gates into the royal compound, and along a circuitous route through several compounds until they came down to a wide terrace.
‘We’re honoured,’ Longinus said, his irony heavy. ‘These are some of their shrines.’ Hadrian glanced at a great circle of pillars and another beyond it. Neither had roofs, and he remembered reading somewhere that the Getae and Daci worshipped the stars and made their temples open. He wished that there was time to take a closer look and ask questions, for he was sure that there was a pattern and purpose to the designs.
Decebalus was waiting for them, sitting on a chair that resembled the ones used by Roman magistrates. This stood on a wooden platform and over this was a canopy striped in many colours. There were noblemen around him, all of them pileati, the cap wearers, and beyond the platform at least fifty warriors, wearing brightly polished scale cuirasses and carrying the curved swords of their people. By convention, the Romans brought only a dozen legionaries as escort, as well as Longinus, Hadrian, a prefect from the garrison and a centurion from the governor’s staff.
As they approached a shout went up and a man who had been kneeling in front of the king was dragged away by two men, followed by another who carried a stout club.
‘Oh, justice time,’ Longinus whispered to Hadrian.
The victim was made to kneel again, this time with his head resting on a flat stone. There was no signal, no last glance back to receive the order, for the clubman simply swung with all his force, producing an audible crack when it hit the man’s head, as his limbs jerked. The executioner raised it high and struck again, and this time the weapon came up bloody, but he hit four more times before wiping the tip of his club on the grass. There was little left of the victim’s head as the others dragged the corpse away.
‘Don’t notice it,’ Longinus said in a low voice. ‘They always lay an execution on for our arrival. Sometimes it’s the club and sometimes a beheading with a falx. Always wondered what would happen if the king did not have a criminal handy to execute.’
‘There’s always someone,’ Hadrian whispered.
‘True enough.’
Decebalus was smaller than Hadrian had expected, for without really thinking he had assumed that any barbarian king must be large – Polyphemus, but with two eyes. The king had two, both blue and both alive with intelligence. His beard and hair had plenty of grey, and he must have been in his forties at least and probably older, but he showed every sign of vigour. Longinus had told him that Decebalus spoke Greek well and more than a little Latin, but that he tended to speak via an interpreter most of the time.
‘Just do not say anything tactless,’ the governor commanded. ‘Leave that to me, if it is necessary.’
The prefect accompanying them had said little, although Hadrian had met him before back when Trajan had been adopted by Nerva. Petilius Cerialis was a Batavian from the Rhineland, an eques, and coming to the end of a long spell as commander of a cohort of his own people. He was handsome, clever and ambitious, although by now Hadrian suspected that he might be wondering just how far the emperor’s old promises of favour would translate into reality now that there was a whole empire to satisfy. Well, he was not alone in that.
The king asked politely about the health of Cerialis�
� dog, which had been sick, and smiled at the news that the animal had quite recovered.
‘And are your family well?’ the interpreter asked on the king’s behalf.
‘I am pleased to say that I have recent news of them and all are flourishing,’ Cerialis answered. His delight at Hadrian’s news of Sulpicia Lepidina and the four children was still fresh after several days, during which he had no doubt read and re-read the letter he had brought many times.
‘I hope to meet them,’ Decebalus said, using Latin and not waiting for the interpreter. ‘A man should have children.’
‘I regret that they are unable to join me for some time, lord king,’ Cerialis said. Hadrian had been tempted to warn him, but had been relieved when the prefect had been adamant that his family stay away from Sarmizegethusa and wait until he received his posting as narrow stripe tribune to a legion, which must come soon. With any luck that ought to mean a decent sized base somewhere with a good house for them all. Hadrian had already requested that Cerialis be appointed to I Minervia when a post became vacant at the end of May and was gratified by the man’s delight when he told him of this.
After children and dogs, the king showed concern for the garrison’s horses and the welfare of the soldiers stationed at other spots in his kingdom. This went on for some time, before Longinus was invited to ask what he wished. His questions were equally banal, and when once or twice they approached a sensitive subject, the answers were vague and were not challenged. Hadrian had hoped to learn from the audience, but it did no more than confirm his impressions of both the king and of Longinus.
XV
Piroboridava
The Kalends of May
THE DAY BEGAN with excitement, Ephippus almost bouncing as he supervised the trial. This was the culmination of many long days of work since he had first rushed into the principia shouting, ‘I’ve worked it out, I’ve worked it out!’
Ferox had never seen the man so animated before, or indeed so ready to chatter. Sabinus and Dionysius had exchanged glances, while the nearby soldiers had adopted the wooden expressions that suggested they were trying not to laugh.
‘It’s a monâkon,’ the Syracusan had shouted so loud that his voice echoed round the courtyard. Heads appeared at several windows. ‘A monâkon! Just think of that.’
‘One-armed?’ Dionysius at least reassured Ferox that his guess was right. ‘I fear that I am still at a loss, my dear fellow.’
Ephippus regained some control as he realised that he was now the centre of attention and his nervousness tried to reassert itself. ‘My apologies. It is an engine. Philon of Byzantium writes of them, as do others, though no one for hundreds of years. I’ve never seen one, nor even a picture, but that is surely what it is. Thank you once again for the loan of Philon’s book.’
‘Did not even know I had it,’ Sabinus assured him. ‘Did you notice, sir?’
‘Geometry has always given me a headache,’ Ferox replied. He had read a fair few of the scrolls from Sabinus’ little library, but had struggled with anything talking about measures and ratios and set those aside. Thankfully it seemed that Ephippus had discovered something useful – or at least that was what he must hope, while he waited for the engineer to get to the point.
‘Geometry.’ The Syracusan was shaking his head. ‘Not geometry, my lord…’ He seemed genuinely puzzled to encounter someone so lacking in basic understanding and yet given a post of authority. ‘You must come and see!’ he shouted again and scurried away.
Ferox chuckled. ‘Well, I suppose if we must, we must.’
They followed the engineer to the granaries. In the best traditions of the army, the shells of the two that had burned and the remnants of the third had been thoroughly demolished, leaving an odd patch of open ground in the fort. Ephippus’ wonder was in the remaining building given over to Dacian engines. Ferox had not been there for some time, and was impressed at how much more space there was. Naso and his men had done well, aided since he arrived by Ephippus, and had managed to get a fair few of the ballistae working again. The Sicilian was now standing with great pride by one of the tall cranes.
‘So that’s what it is,’ Sabinus said, voicing the words before Ferox had a chance.
‘You see it is really a lot like one of the old staff slings. A one-arm engine rather than a two-armed like all the others. Isis knows how the Dacians knew how to make it. Advice from one of the cities on the inner sea, I suppose. I really wonder who and what plans they used. As you can see, this cranks down and is held under tension of the sinew and ropes, and you can adjust the washers so that it lobs high or low. Of course, it is not easy to aim, for you have to move the whole frame and cannot pivot at all, but then the force produced…’ It was a while before Ephippus realised that his audience had ceased to follow him.
‘Apart from its historical interest, I take it there is a reason for bringing us here,’ Ferox asked as patiently as he could.
Ephippus blinked at him, mouth hanging open and giving his face a fish-like quality. ‘You told me that you wanted something that could shoot as far as the bridge. I think that this may be the answer.’ He smiled as he saw their renewed interest. ‘That is if I can get them to work. They are in a bit of a state.’
That had been ten days ago and since then they had been busy. On several nights it had taken a direct order to send the engineer to his bed, for if he was not in the workshops, he was outside measuring and surveying, or indoors with the beads of his abacus clicking back and forth and his stylus scratching away on writing tablets. One of the machines was in a dreadful state, the other only a little better, and it was soon decided to strip all that was useful from the first. Other parts had to be made, which in turn required exact measurement and more than a little guesswork for the manual was vague on many points. After a few days Sabinus took charge of a work party building a platform extending back from the rampart about twenty paces to the left of the porta praetoria, because Ephippus informed them that the machine would need to be raised up.
‘How about a tower?’ Dionysius had suggested.
Ephippus dismissed the idea. ‘No. We could not build one that was high enough and strong enough.’
When the machine was pronounced ready, Ferox could understand why. It was bulkier than any ballista he had ever seen, with a rectangular frame of big, squared off beams as its base. About a third of a way back from the front was a solid upright, heavily padded and with supports joining on to the front of the frame to give it more strength, and just behind it the great metal washers. Now that he had looked – and had it explained to him plenty of times – Ferox could see that this was like one side of an ordinary ballista, whether a light scorpio or one of the big stone throwers. The only difference was that this was on its side, running between the two long sides of the frame. From it sprouted the high beam to which Ephippus had fitted what for all the world was just like a giant sling. A heavy rope hooked onto a catch on the beam, allowing it to be cranked down and held by a second cross-beam near the back, turned by a big wooden windlass worked by levers. A rachet prevented this from spinning back as the levers were lifted out and moved to the next socket.
‘You really wouldn’t want that lot going off without warning,’ Naso assured him. Like many others he had taken more and more interest in the machine as the days passed.
‘Some men just like machines,’ Ferox told Claudia when she asked why so many kept wandering down to see what was happening and whether they could help. ‘Machines are straightforward and do not get mad at you.’
‘Huh!’
Eventually Ephippus tested the mechanism under a low tension and was satisfied, so that they could begin the major task of moving the monâkon to the rampart. The engineer had designed a cart with a wide, flat platform, and cranes to help lift the engine onto it, but even so fifty men were needed to haul on the ropes. ‘I wondered about fitting the thing with wheels of its own, but am worried that it might roll back when we shoot.’
Five pairs of o
xen pulled the cart, and men pushed and made sure that the wheels did not bog down as the weight pushed them into the packed grit on the road surface. Sabinus sighed at the sight of the deep trails ruining the previously flat surface. ‘I guess we have another task for a work party,’ Ferox told him.
‘The men will be delighted,’ Sabinus replied with heavy sarcasm. ‘Let’s just hope this demonic device actually works.’
‘We’ll soon see.’
Ephippus had ordered that the platform end in a ramp, and had made the slope as gentle as was possible while still permitting people to pass this section of the intervallum. Ferox had refused the engineer’s eager request to knock down a couple of barrack blocks to make more room. Posts were driven deep into the rampart so that an array of blocks, ropes and pulleys could be secured, with rollers prepared to ease the catapult as it was drawn upwards.
It took half a day to get the monâkon to the base of the ramp, and night had fallen by the time that they were done, so that men with torches lit the way. Ferox had been surprised at how slowly the engineer raised the great machine, inching it up the slope, then stopping and having men thrust in levers as brakes to hold it in place while pulleys were adjusted. He did not stay to watch the whole thing, because he wanted to show trust and also had a lot of other things to do. Yet he made sure to pass by every half hour or so and sometimes the thing had barely moved.
‘Sure this is a good idea?’ Vindex asked time after time.
‘No,’ Ferox replied, prompting Claudia Enica to shake her head in dismay. She was dressed in high Thracian boots, a short, belted tunic under a mail shirt, with a sica, a curved sword of the type common in this area and used by Thracian gladiators on one hip and a gladius on the other. Today she was not wearing a helmet, and her long hair was braided and coiled on top of her head. This had been her garb each day, sometimes with a different cuirass, sometimes with a plumed helmet, and very occasionally adding a cloak if the morning was cold.
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