‘They were good men, and I do not believe that they were traitors.’
‘What you believe is neither here nor there, centurion. The evidence was clear, and I for one will never take an unnecessary risk when there is a threat to the emperor’s life.’ Hadrian’s voice was as level as it was unrelenting.
Still Ferox did not believe a word of it or doubt that Sosius was the source or at least had provided the justification. Presumably unmasking the alleged plot would be another way for Hadrian to show his ability and loyalty. Already flush with the victory over Diegis and the relief of the garrison, uncovering a plot was bound to add to the emperor’s favour. No wonder Hadrian was confident that he would receive the post of governor of the new province.
The legate had calmed and was watching him, one hand rubbing his bearded chin. Even if Ferox tried to tell the truth and was believed, Hadrian would be seen as overzealous in his enthusiasm to preserve the emperor’s life, even if sadly mistaken. He would still get his province and Trajan’s favour and if Ferox spoke up then he hurt Claudia badly, and might ruin the life of Sulpicia Lepidina and his son. Trajan had made a great show of enforcing the adultery laws with severity, especially when anyone of senatorial family was involved. It was imagination, no more, but Ferox felt the cut to his arm throbbing for he knew that he had failed the men who had sworn to him and that there was no chance of vengeance now or perhaps ever.
‘May I have their bodies, my lord, to honour after the manner of their tribe?’ he asked.
‘Sorry, they went in the river.’ Hadrian reached for a papyrus and unrolled it on his table. After a moment he glanced up. ‘Anything else, centurion?’
‘No, sir. Other than to say that you really are a bastard, aren’t you?’
Hadrian smiled, for he had won. ‘You would have had to ask my parents about that, I suppose. But in the sense that you meant, I would hope so. Rome needs bastards in charge, as long as they are clever. Now close the tent flap as you leave and go and write your letter. I shall read it, of course, before it is delivered, so please bear that in mind. Good luck to you, Flavius Ferox. I should not bother to make you one of my men unless I had the highest opinion of your worth. When they are recovered I will probably send you some of your Brigantes to command. They strike me as handy men. Together you will do great things in the service of Rome and that is a noble end even if the means are sometimes ignoble. Now go!’
Ferox limped out of the tent. The camp was bustling as army camps always were, and the sentries on duty were immaculately turned out. A trumpet sounded for the start of the third watch.
‘Omnes ad stercus,’ he said under his breath, and went to write to his wife.
Historical Note
The Fort is a novel, its plot and the majority of the characters either wholly fictional or greatly embellished from the little known about their real predecessors. However, I have done my best to set the story in as accurate a context as possible, given our limited sources for this era. More details of the sources can be found at my website, adriangoldsworthy.com
Trajan’s Dacian Wars were major conflicts, eventually resulting in the acquisition by Rome of the new province of Dacia, its heartland in modern-day Romania. Conquests on this scale were fairly rare after the death of Augustus, Rome’s first emperor, in AD 14. Rarely did a Roman emperor want to spend years off on campaign outside the empire, and even more rarely did they trust anyone else to do this for them, lest they become a dangerous rival. Trajan was one of the few exceptions and has gone down in history as a great soldier, who spent almost a third of his reign on campaign. As far as we can tell, his military record before he became emperor was fairly modest and a large part of his quest for military glory came from a desire to justify his rather weak claim to rule. Dacia, a former enemy who had inflicted several humiliating defeats on the Romans in recent memory, offered an ideal opportunity for an aggressive and glorious war.
Trajan’s First Dacian War (AD 101–102) brought victories and was widely celebrated, but left Decebalus of Dacia in charge of much of his kingdom. The Second War (AD 105–106) resulted in the abolition of the kingdom, the suicide of Decebalus, and the formal creation of the Roman province (which was subsequently divided into three provinces). Both wars required the commitment of substantial numbers of Roman troops, with perhaps a fifth or even a quarter of the entire army involved and an even higher proportion of legions contributing detachments or vexillations. Warfare on this scale was expensive, but Dacia, rich in mineral resources, especially gold, which appears to have been a royal monopoly, was a great prize.
The loot from Dacia funded the construction of Trajan’s Forum in the heart of Rome itself, enough of which is still visible to give an idea of its grand and lavish scale. At its heart was Trajan’s Column, 93’ high on a 20’ pedestal, decorated with carved reliefs telling the stories of the two wars – it was claimed that the height was to show how much earth had been excavated from the hillside to permit the construction of the complex. The sculptures are very detailed, depicting soldiers marching, parading and sacrificing, building roads and forts, and fighting battles and sieges. In most cases weapons were added as bronze miniatures, long since plundered and recycled so that apart from a few carved swords and bows, men wave empty hands at each other. Much is stylised, so that ships and buildings are shown on a smaller scale than the figures. Trajan is prominent, but depicted as only slightly larger than everyone else – this is no great king smiting his feeble foes. Legionaries are marked out as clearly distinct from the regular auxiliaries, let alone the irregulars, and everyone is dressed as an audience in Rome would expect, rather than with strict accuracy, so that the Dacians in the main are generic barbarians, with shaggy hair, beards and baggy tunics and trousers. Debate continues to rage over the accuracy of the scenes.
Trajan wrote an account of his campaigns as Commentaries, just like those written by Julius Caesar. However, only a single line from this has survived. Nothing at all has survived directly from the many other accounts celebrating the victories, or from narratives of the earlier campaigns under the Emperor Domitian. All we have are a handful of fragments, and the only remotely complete account is provided by writers of the Byzantine period, who summarised the fuller account written by the senator Cassius Dio in the early third century AD. What we have is brief and at times confused and we have no real idea how much fuller or reliable the original was.
Thus the Dacian Wars, for all their scale and importance, are very poorly known. Archaeology helps to a degree, not least in giving more sense of Dacian society, culture and the sophistication of their architecture, as well as the establishment of Roman forts and subsequently cities. Excavation is rarely suited to helping us to understand the faster moving events of individual campaigns and instead reveals longer term trends. At fort sites, attention naturally focuses on the later, more permanent phases of occupation, usually built in stone, rather than the initial establishment of a base. Trajan’s Column clearly tells a detailed story, presenting the official line and quite possibly representing in art many of the incidents Trajan had described in his Commentaries. Yet it is rather like trying to understand the Bayeux Tapestry, but without the captions and with very skimpy knowledge of the history of 1066.
This is even more true of the fascinating monuments at Tropaeum Traiani (modern Adamklissi in Romania, not far from the Black Sea). Dedicated to Mars Ultor – Rome’s war god Mars in his role as the avenger – these include an altar and a cenotaph, a memorial to the ‘bravest of men’ who fell, presumably during one of the conflicts with the Dacians and their allies. (Among the units listed is one from Britannia, which might well make this the first extant memorial to British soldiers.) On the great drum-shaped Tropaeum itself, there were sculptures of captives, and a row of scenes or metopes depicting battle scenes, where Roman legionaries and auxiliary infantry and cavalry parade and fight against barbarians until these are killed or captured. There is a story in these images, but we do not know what it is,
in part because we do not even know the original sequence of the metopes, let alone the precise date of the incidents depicted.
The cenotaph has the space for some 3,800 names, but is badly eroded so that most of it is illegible. The first man listed was a praefectus or prefect, and while his name is lost, it states that he was born in Pompeii, but now resident in Neapolis (Naples), which means that he died sometime after the eruption of Vesuvius. Some scholars believe that the names are those of men who fell in a great disaster, perhaps one of the two major defeats suffered under Domitian. So many fatalities make it highly unlikely that the monument commemorated a hard-fought victory, but that leaves the possibility that it includes the names of all the men who had died during the course of one or both of the Dacian Wars. As with so much concerning the period, we simply do not know. The sculptures give a better idea of the true appearance of the peoples of the region and also what Roman troops looked like in the field.
The Fort makes use of the little certain information we do possess. Trajan’s First Dacian War imposed a treaty on Decebalus, including a ban on hiring Roman deserters and on seeking allies. It also resulted in the establishment of Roman garrisons within his kingdom, mainly in the lowlands and the valleys leading to and from passes in the Carpathians. There was a Roman detachment at Decebalus’ capital of Sarmizegethusa Regia and part of its substantial defensive wall has been excavated, although the details of the post are not very well understood.
The peace proved temporary and there is a fair chance that both sides prepared for hostilities long before they resumed. One of the most visible signs of this was the great bridge across the Danube, which was opened by the end of AD 105 and part of a wider programme improving communications in the area. The base of only one pier remains to this day, but confirms the scale of the project, which was described in some detail by Dio and is depicted on Trajan’s Column. Trajan left Rome for the Danube on 4 June AD 105, so that much of the campaigning season was already spent before he arrived in the theatre of operations, and it looks as if he was taken by surprise. Trajan’s Column also shows a number of Roman forts under Dacian attack before the emperor arrives, while Dio told the story of the capture of Longinus. Rather than be used as a pawn in negotiations, the Roman officer committed suicide, using poison obtained by a freedman. The narrative does not make clear whose freedman this was, but claims that Decebalus demanded his return after the man escaped, offering his remaining Roman hostages as payment. Trajan refused.
The Fort takes these fragments and depicts an uneasy peace with men on both sides anticipating a renewal of war and trying to gain an advantage. Sosius in our story is fictional, for we know nothing about this freedman, nor does the summary of Dio hint at foul play behind the scenes of Longinus’ death. As stated at the start of the book, there was a Roman fort at a place called Piroboridava occupied at this time, but it was not located where it is in the story. Our Piroboridava is fictional, loosely based on the remnants of early phases of forts, such as the site at Rãcari in Romania. Counter attacks or large scale raids were a feature of Dacian war-making, partly for plunder and prestige, but also to wrong-foot the enemy. The heartland of Decebalus’ kingdom lay high in the mountains, which meant that it was virtually impossible to attack it on a large scale during the winter months. Thus delaying any Roman campaign was well worthwhile. When Hadrian became emperor, he had the Danube Bridge decommissioned, removing the road and leaving just the pillars and arches, which still looked impressive four centuries later. The Romans were not usually fond of bridges on their river frontiers, and some, like Hadrian, appear to have seen them as vulnerable spots. Trajan’s construction of the bridge was a sign of confidence, even bravado, which his successor did not share. Our story offers a reason for Hadrian’s fears and subsequent action.
The Roman army is depicted as accurately as possible in the story, just as in the Vindolanda trilogy, but there is much that is guesswork and more detail can be found on my website and in books such as my The Complete Roman Army. Epigraphic evidence as well as logic suggest that a legion would have had an unusually high proportion of veterani some twenty years after its initial formation, although it is far less clear what was done with these men for the last period of their military service. In later centuries the frumentarii expanded their duties far beyond the organisation of supplies and became a form of secret police, bringing information to the emperor about the activities of his officers in the provinces. Hadrian is credited with starting this process, so there seemed no harm in suggesting that the idea had already occurred to him long before he became emperor.
Ferox is fictional, as is the irregular unit of Brigantes placed under his command. Such tribal units were increasingly common in the early second century AD; Trajan’s Column depicts bare-chested barbarians wielding clubs fighting alongside regular auxiliaries as well as legionaries. In later years the vague term of numerus or unit was often associated with these regiments, but at the time of our story they were usually referred to by an ethnic designation and listed as ‘under the care of’ (sub cura) a named commander. Little is known of their internal organisation and equipment, and there is a good chance that such units varied considerably, being composed and organised to meet a local need or simply on the basis of available manpower.
Ferox will be familiar to readers of my Vindolanda trilogy, as will Vindex, Enica, Philo and co, and the story of the Brigantian rebellion. Sadly all are fictional, as are the majority of the men at the fort and elsewhere. Sulpicia Lepidina and her husband Cerialis were real, attested in the Vindolanda writing tablets, although their stories have been considerably fleshed out in my novels. No trace of their lives has survived for the years before they came to Vindolanda and after they left. A Lucius Tettius Crescens is recorded on an inscription from Sardinia, noting that he was merchant in Dacia at the time of the war. A centurion and Roman citizen named Petrullus is recorded a generation later as having come from Britannia, so our Petrullus is meant to be his father whose loyal service gained the family the franchise.
Maximus – fully Tiberius Claudius Maximus – is known from his tombstone, which records his career as a legionary cavalryman, who subsequently rose to become a decurion of auxiliary cavalry, serving as standard-bearer, a member of the acting governor’s bodyguard and scout along the way. He led the party that chased down Decebalus at the end of the Second Dacian War, and is depicted on his own monument and on Trajan’s Column riding forward just as the king slits his own throat. Highly decorated, Maximus’ career appears less distinguished than might be expected, which may suggest that he was one of those soldiers very good at fighting, but perhaps less suited to peacetime routine.
Apollodorus of Damascus was one of the most famous architects of the era, the man in charge of Trajan’s Forum complex as well as the Danube Bridge. Hadrian had a deep passion for engineering and architecture, most obviously expressed in the variety and scale of his villa at Tivoli, and in his restoration of the Pantheon in Rome, with its great domed roof. There is a tradition that Apollodorus lacked patience with the amateur’s enthusiasm, dismissing his fondness for domes as mere pumpkins. Later Hadrian is supposed to have sent plans of a temple he had designed, which featured giant statues of seated deities. Apollodorus was unimpressed, tartly mentioning that if the god and goddess chose to stand then they would go through the ceiling. One source claims that Hadrian grew so tired of Apollodorus’ condescension that he ordered the man’s execution.
Hadrian is remembered as one of the better Roman emperors, an essentially good ruler under whom the empire prospered and enjoyed a great measure of peace. His decision to build Hadrian’s Wall in Northern Britain, give up some of Trajan’s conquests in the east and avoid aggressive wars appear pragmatic compared to Trajan’s enthusiasm for expansion. Yet Hadrian was not a popular emperor, most of all with the senatorial class who more than anyone else shaped the memory of each ruler. A little of this came from the shift towards a more cautious, defensive strategy. Rather mor
e was due to the execution of a number of senators, particularly in the early months of his reign. While this was scarcely a widespread reign of terror, good emperors did not kill senators unless they had no other choice. Nerva had exiled Crassus Frugi, the father of the Piso in our story, after a truly inept plot. Trajan recalled the man and then exiled him once again, but Hadrian had him executed. The son appears on an inscription in the family tomb as the last of the line. Nothing more is known about him, and I would hope that he cut a rather better figure than the character in our story.
Hadrian was openly ruthless at times, which meant that he was never loved by the aristocracy. It was said that after his death the Senate hesitated to deify him, the usual routine on the death of an emperor, hence Vespasian’s supposed dying words of ‘I think I am becoming a god.’ Hadrian was tactless, which did not help, for instance in his spectacularly public affair with and then mourning for the youth Antinous. Such things were supposed to be managed discreetly and not paraded. Even in smaller matters, Hadrian appears to have been a clever man who could never resist showing off his cleverness by correcting those around him and always had to be right. He was a competent, perhaps gifted ruler in spite of not being an especially nice person.
Trajan was the cousin of Hadrian’s father, although the precise details of the relationship are unclear, and when Hadrian’s father died, Trajan became one of his two guardians. This was before Trajan was adopted by the Emperor Nerva. Trajan’s widow and other members of court subsequently claimed that, while on his deathbed, Trajan adopted Hadrian. Whether or not this was true, it is highly significant that this did not occur earlier. There were clear traditions about marking a man out as successor and Trajan extended none of these honours to Hadrian – or indeed to anyone else. He never appears to have made a public effort to select a successor, although some anecdotes claim that he hinted about senators good enough to do the job. Hadrian was given the emperor’s grand-niece as wife, but his career under Trajan was good without being truly spectacular.
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