The Fort

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  It was not a long parade, and the mood was good when he gave the order to dismiss, after small escorts of ten men from each contingent had marched the wreathed standards back to the principia.

  ‘Husband,’ Claudia Enica called to him as the men filed away. Bran and Minura waited a few paces behind the queen, the girl attracting a fair few admiring glances as men trudged away.

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘We would be pleased if you would dine with us in the praetorium this evening – Sulpicia Lepidina and I.’

  ‘It is my house, you know,’ he said.

  ‘Whatever has that got to do with it? I own you, so everything that is yours is mine.’

  ‘Then I shall be delighted.’

  ‘Yes, you will, otherwise I will sell you, although I doubt that I shall get much in return.’

  ‘Much obliged, I am sure, my queen.’

  Claudia Enica cocked her head to one side. ‘Do you know, I do not believe that you have ever called me that since I arrived.’

  ‘I only just recognised you from the flag.’

  Her green eyes flashed. ‘Huh!’ The sound was pure Brigantian, pure Enica. ‘Since there is no time for Vindex or anyone else to kill you and I cannot be bothered, you had better still come to dinner.’

  Ferox bowed. He let the queen and her guards pass and stood for a while, staring up the valley and wondering who the Dacian leader was and what he was thinking.

  Finally, he strolled back towards the fort, knowing that the responsibility was his and his alone for this place and all these people. The three heads he had taken were on spikes above the porta praetoria, their skins already tinged with green. Guards looked down at him from the towers. Few commanders ever wandered on their own as he sometimes did, but they were getting used to his peculiar ways. Knowing that Philo was bound to be waiting and ready to fuss, he did not hurry, but went to the principia for a while. There were reports and returns to read and some to write as there always were. If he liked some of the numbers more than he had a month or more ago they still were surely not enough. Even so he felt happier than he had for some time.

  XVIII

  Dobreta

  The day before the Ides of May

  HADRIAN LET THE masseur do his work, for this was one of his own slaves, and not one of the butchers you tended to find around army bases. He was in the praetorium at Dobreta, on the west bank of the river, and sharing the house with an equestrian tribune from I Minervia. The fellow had offered to vacate altogether, but Hadrian had insisted that he and his family stay and keep the lion’s share of the rooms. Word would spread, and it was easier to lead happy officers than sullen ones. Apart from that he did not intend to be here very long, so could put up with the tribune’s noisy and badly behaved children, and unctuous attentions of his plump little wife, who was a freedman’s daughter and absurdly excited to have a senator and relative of the emperor in her house. Thankfully she fell into mumbling incoherence whenever they met, so did not chatter away in useless flattery or irritate him too much.

  An hour earlier she had come upon the legate wrestling in the courtyard garden in the middle of the house, facing off against Ajax, a former professional now in his service. They were naked and oiled, as men should be, sparring on a patch of sand set down for the purpose, and the woman had appeared from nowhere, two maids behind her with baskets of purchases from the market. The mistress had shrieked, the slaves dropped their baskets, but Ajax had not been distracted and they had held the lock until they broke apart, honours even. Hadrian had stood up straight, and greeted the woman, who was now blushing crimson. Perhaps he was cruel, although when the story spread through the ranks of the legion – as it surely would – he had little doubt that men would laugh at her rather than him. For all the mistress’ shock and embarrassment, she had lingered long enough to take a good look, and that would surely become part of the story as well. Her husband was a slight, rather weedy little man, and the sight of Hadrian’s tall, well-proportioned and highly trained body was probably a treat for her. He smiled as he lay on the table and the masseur moved on to his thighs.

  The bout and the massage made him feel well, for he was getting back into a better routine than had been possible during his travels. He had told Ajax not to go easy on him, and the man knew his master well enough to do as he was told. The first few bouts had been painful, for a man lost his edge so quickly without practise, but this morning he felt that he was getting back to his peak, as muscles loosened and toned. Soon there would be no time for training, so he wanted to make the most of the chance and revel in that sense of being a fit and civilized man.

  The war was coming soon. All that he had seen confirmed his suspicions, and made him realise that there was less time than he had thought. No one else of high rank seemed to see what he saw, but that was all to the good for Dacia was a bonfire waiting for the torch to ignite it. The image reminded him of the fire at Piroboridava, of those desperate hours as they brought it under control. Once it was raging you had to channel and starve a blaze, which meant sacrificing some buildings to save others, tearing them down so that there was no fuel for the flames. Now it was a question of controlling, slowing and preserving what mattered. A mere legatus legionis like Hadrian could not extinguish the inferno that was soon to erupt – nor would the emperor thank him for doing so. Dacia had been Trajan’s victory three years ago and making that success final was his task and his alone. Hadrian’s task was to prevent the start of the war being too much of a disaster.

  Men would die whatever he did, probably many of them, for the garrisons across the Danube were scattered and vulnerable and nothing could be done about that. A few small disasters were both inevitable and useful to prove the seriousness of the situation to those far away. What he needed to do was make sure that the losses served a purpose, channelling the blaze and giving him the chance to slow it and then stop it, while making sure that all could see what he had done.

  A slave entered and coughed, in case his arrival had gone unnoticed.

  ‘What is it?’ Hadrian asked. The masseur continued his work, knowing his master’s preferences.

  ‘The noble Lucius Marcius wishes to see you, my lord.’

  ‘Let him come in,’ Hadrian said, suspecting that the tribune had come on business.

  If Marcius was surprised to see his commander naked and being rubbed by a slave, he did not show it. ‘Half of the waggons are now across the river, my lord. The remainder will have to wait for tomorrow as the ferry is needed for a caravan of merchants who have the permission of the legatus Augusti to cross.’

  Hadrian sniffed.

  ‘Once the rest are across there will be forty-seven waggons and two hundred pack mules, carrying a mix of wheat, flour, salted bacon and wine,’ Marcius said. ‘The detailed list is here.’ He passed a writing tablet to the slave who had ushered him in. ‘It is a great deal, and I cannot help wondering whether they have the space for it at Piroboridava.’

  ‘They will make the space, my dear fellow. I doubt that they have rebuilt any of the lost granaries, but I am sure that they can find somewhere for everything to go.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘You still appear troubled, my dear Lucius.’

  Marcius gulped nervously, but to his credit persisted. ‘It is the escort, my lord. Fifty infantrymen and a dozen cavalrymen all under a mere duplicarius and from a ragbag of different units. It seems too few for such a large convoy.’

  ‘There are the galearii – they will double the numbers.’

  The struggle not to point out that the army slaves were poorly trained and unprepared for any serious fighting was plain on the tribune’s face.

  ‘We are not at war, are we?’ Hadrian asked.

  ‘No, sir, but the Roxolani tend to be thick on the ground at this time of year. They are thieves, my lord, and utterly brazen when they are tempted and believe the pickings to be easy.’

  Well done, for seeing the threat, Hadrian thought to himself, his opin
ion of Marcius steadily improving. ‘But I cannot spare you to go,’ he said out loud and enjoyed the shock on the man’s face. ‘Nor an escort commensurate with your rank. Nor can I spare even a centurion and a couple of hundred legionaries. The bridge is what matters more than anything else and we must get it finished.’ That was an excuse he was using a lot, for he had taken it upon himself to see that the work was done. Apollodorus resented his involvement, but was glad of the fresh impetus and increase in the labour force. Hadrian had even persuaded the governor to send more troops, including half of the men from Legio I Minervia currently at Viminiacum.

  ‘Still,’ Hadrian went on. ‘I am pleased with your diligence and willingness to speak up. Find a reliable cavalryman to carry a message to Piroboridava with all haste. I shall order Ferox to lead a strong force out so that they can meet the convoy half way and protect it on the rest of the journey. Does that satisfy you?’

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ Marcius said, lying reasonably convincingly in the circumstances. It was no real solution, for the convoy would be on its own for two or three days given the slow plod of the draft oxen.

  ‘Risks sometimes cannot be avoided, and unless we could find several hundred spare soldiers we could not make them absolutely safe. We have not the men available, and even if we had they would need to eat on the journey, which would mean adding another twenty mules or a couple of carts because they would all need to come back.’ Hadrian was exaggerating, but only a little. ‘The more men we add the slower they will all go and the more food is wasted on the journey. And if we add a handful it will not make any real difference should there be an attack. … But I do not think there will be any attack, for the Roxolani would not take the risk of punishment. They will know that Ferox has a fair few cavalrymen, and that it would be hard to make off with waggons and not be caught.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Marcius’ face was wooden, and Hadrian could not blame the man at all. The flaws in all that he had said were obvious to anyone with a little sense and experience, and the tribune had both.

  ‘It is a risk, but soldiering has a lot of risks,’ Hadrian said blandly, and knew he must sound like a fool. This was a gamble and a deliberate one, based on how he felt people behaved, and especially barbarians. Added to that was Ferox’s account of his visit to the Roxolani and his comments on where their loyalty lay. The convoy and its escort might well be one of the houses he had to pull down to stop the fire from spreading, a prize too tempting and too weak for the Sarmatians to resist. If not, then the food would reach Piroboridava and give the garrison a greater chance of holding out for a long time if there was a siege. ‘But make sure that the trooper who takes the letter to Ferox understands how important it is that he gets there quickly. That ought to give them time to put together a column and meet the convoy in plenty of time.’

  ‘Sir.’ Marcius left, and Hadrian turned his mind to the letter he was writing to Trajan. The wording was delicate, and at the same time had to appeal to the princeps’ preference for direct, soldierly reports. In it Hadrian spoke of his certainty that war was coming:

  Decebalus is preparing and breaking every part of the treaty. Apart from his attack on the Iazges, his envoys go about the tribes of the whole area, bribing with gold and promising more. His forts are being rebuilt, his army trained and deserters welcomed with rich reward. It is only a question of when he will strike rather than if, and at present our garrisons are spread out and weaker than they should be, with so many men detached from the standards on other duties.

  That was a nice touch, for it was an obsession of the emperor that units were depleted by the demands of communities and officials for officers and men as escorts or to police roads and cities.

  In the past, Decebalus and other Dacians have launched unprovoked surprise attacks on our provinces and allies, and it is surely most likely that they will do the same once again. An attack using one of the mountain passes – or by the king’s allies across the plains against Moesia Inferior – could get across the Danube and lay waste a wide area before sufficient soldiers can be gathered to stop it.

  Hadrian wondered whether that was quite right. He wanted to show a rare insight without too accurate a prediction, which might raise questions as to why he had not done more or spoken up sooner.

  I have arranged to revictual the garrison at Piroboridava, which included veterans from Legio I Minervia and a strong force of Britons recruited in the wake of the troubles in that province several years ago. The post is commanded by Flavius Ferox, centurion of II Augusta on detached service, and in spite of his humble origins he appears to be a capable officer. Yet this fort is isolated, and the only one guarding the road leading directly to Dobreta and the works there.

  Was that all too specific? By the time the letter arrived in Rome Hadrian had little doubt that the war would have begun, and he was sure that he was right and one of the main attacks would strike first at Piroboridava heading for the great bridge. Perhaps there was a way of hinting at all this and he would need to think about it.

  Timing was the key. Hadrian wanted Trajan to receive and read the letter only a few days before the first news of the outbreak of the war reached Rome. That way it would do little to change the emperor’s plans, but should stand out fresh in Trajan’s memory as a lone voice of clarity and sense in all the shock and confusion.

  Decebalus has grown strong once more and will soon reveal himself as the enemy of the res publica. I humbly suggest that strong forces be concentrated here on the Danube under your personal supervision to deliver the much deserved – and I am sure final – punishment.

  There was rarely harm in recommending what someone was planning to do in the first place. This was Trajan’s war and he would win it.

  The masseur had stopped and Hadrian pushed himself up from the table. He gave the man a smile. The slave was one of the ugliest people Hadrian had ever seen, but also one of the finest at his trade.

  ‘Thank you, Sextus,’ Hadrian said. ‘That feels much better.’

  Hadrian made up his mind. The letter would be sent in three days, which ought to mean that with luck it would reach the emperor by the end of the month. Trajan was always restless at this time of year, like anyone else with sense, itching to get away from Rome before the hot and muggy weather set in. When this emperor thought of travel, his mind went first to thoughts of camps and marching armies.

  Yes, three days should be just right. That also gave time to consider every phrase to make sure that it was perfect.

  XIX

  Piroboridava

  Thirteenth day before the Kalends of June

  ‘I DO WISH that you would reconsider,’ Ferox said.

  ‘You are persistent,’ Sulpicia Lepidina told him, before prising an oyster from its shell. Ferox had learned by long practice not to wince at the sight. The Silures did not eat anything that came from the sea, lest it pollute their souls.

  ‘He is,’ Claudia Enica said. ‘Like a dog with a bone. So tiresome.’ Tonight she was once again the Roman lady, in a smooth silk dress so thin that it was like the drapes on a statue as she lay, propped up on her elbow. There was no one else on the couch, for with just the three of them dining each reclined alone.

  ‘There is unlikely to be another opportunity,’ he said. ‘You could come with us to meet the supply train, and then you and your whole household travel straight back with the escort to Dobreta.’

  ‘Take care that persistence does not stray into discourtesy,’ Sulpicia Lepidina told him. ‘As the wife of an officer it is my duty to stay.’

  ‘But you are not my wife, lady.’

  ‘Really,’ Claudia purred, ‘you used not to be so sure.’

  Lepidina shot a glance at her friend. ‘Now, now, children, behave nicely.’ Until then, Ferox had almost been able to forget that he was dining with a former lover and a wife who still kept her distance.

  ‘I am no stranger to hardship or danger,’ Lepidina went on. ‘You of all people must know that. But the children an
d I have come this far to be with my husband. Soon either Cerialis will send for us to join him where he is or he will go to join his legion and either collect us on the way or send word. Until then, I should prefer to be here. The air is healthy for the children, although the soldiers spoil them, and I have the company of my dearest friend. That is a good deal more pleasant than the boredom of a town like Dobreta, filled with gossip and lonely officers on the prowl for any unaccompanied lady. I feel safe here.’

  ‘But I fear that is not true,’ Ferox said.

  ‘It had better be, husband!’ Claudia Enica toyed with a small table knife.

  ‘That was not my meaning,’ Ferox said, making a final effort with his last lever. ‘This fort is a long way from any help if we are attacked. The risk is too great for the children.’

  Claudia Enica screwed up her face. ‘So we ladies no longer concern you? Callous man!’

  Lepidina raised her voice as she ignored her friend. ‘The answer remains no. We – that is I – appreciate your concern, knowing it to be genuine and from the highest of motives. But I ask you to consider this as a soldier.

  ‘We are here, and have been for some time now. There are only three of my husband’s Batavians with us, the ones who came with our escort, but they talk with the others. Thanks in no small part to Claudia here…’

  ‘It’s always down to me,’ her friend preened like one of Lepidina’s cats.