‘What sort of arrangement?’ she asked the governor. Rufinus’ eyes widened. Gods, that woman!
‘Come on, Senova.’
But she resisted his jerking at her sleeve. The governor and the procurator shared a conspiratorial look, and then the bony face turned back to face her. ‘That is none of your concern, young lady.’
Senova kept her unblinking gaze on the governor long enough that eventually he looked away in discomfort, and finally she relented and allowed Rufinus to lead her away. The sound of the two bows being lowered and the arrows returned to sheathes in the shadows filled Rufinus with relief. He’d rarely been more grateful to leave a room as they emerged into the light of the inner courtyard, where two slaves were scrubbing pigeon remains from the marble.
‘What in Hades was that?’ he snapped at Senova as they strode back across the courtyard.
‘He is up to something. Something illegal, I think.’
‘Of course he is, he’s a governor. Can’t trust any of them further than you can shit a cobble stone,’ he snapped angrily, slipping into the sort of language legionaries use and which he’d tried to stamp out of himself since his move into more delicate circles.
‘You wanted to know what the arrangement was. I could sense that.’
‘But I’m smart enough not to ask him directly.’
Senova simply snorted. ‘Romans are too indirect sometimes. You dance around the subject too much.’
He fell silent for a moment and finally chuckled in a relieved voice. ‘Well, we’re out and moving without an arrow in my nethers, so no harm done. And did you see the look on their faces when you asked them? Like two young kids caught by their mother with all the honey cakes.’
Senova nodded. ‘Children. That is what they are.’
‘Still, please learn to be a little more circumspect.’
‘Circum-what?’
‘Careful,’ he sighed. ‘Some of these people are powerful enough to have us killed without blinking an eye.’
‘Try being a slave for half a decade.’
He sighed. Somehow it always came back to that.
‘Let’s find the city’s mansio and book in for the night. We still have the documents, and we don’t want to set off ‘til morning. The sun’s nearly down now. What do you make of that, though? Albinus and Niger not being here?’
Senova sucked on her teeth as they passed through the palace office area and down the steps to the first courtyard, space opening around them and Acheron once more.
‘I think we can go back to Rome.’
‘What?’
Senova gestured with open palms. ‘Your job is done. You were sent to join the legions here and they aren’t here. The legions were supposedly putting down an invasion which has been repelled. Surely we can go home?’
Rufinus shook his head. ‘I was sent to join the legions of Dacia. Doesn’t matter where they are. And it doesn’t matter that the fighting is over. Cleander wanted me well out of the way and wanted a report on the loyalty or otherwise of the local commanders. If we go home without even meeting Albinus and Niger, I will not have obeyed Cleander’s orders. We have to go on to Drobeta. After that, we will see how the land lies.’ There was a long silence as they exited the building and made for the hitching rail where Atalanta waited with their gear.
‘He will be fine, you know,’ she said suddenly, apropos of nothing.
‘What?’
‘Publius. He will be fine. He is too important to endanger.’
Rufinus nodded absently. He’d tried not to think on his young brother too much, languishing in the grip of Cleander at court. Senova was correct. As long as Publius was safe and in Cleander’s grasp, Rufinus was no threat to the chamberlain, so he would be kept well.
‘I will find a way,’ Rufinus replied, ‘to get Publius out and safe and to bring that snake bastard down. Maybe Pescennius Niger can help? Maybe even Clodius Albinus. If Cleander distrusts them and Vibius Cestius likes them, then they might be just the right men. I think I learned this past year that there is no way to effect true change on my own. I need the help and support of good men.’
There was an oddly loaded silence as he tucked the scroll case back into the saddle bag, and he chuckled. ‘Yes, and good women.’
A low growl issued near his hip.
‘Yes. Good dogs, too.’
III – A legion diminished
Rufinus had to admit to a certain level of awe and excitement at the journey onwards. There had been a number of people in the mansio in Viminacium that night, and it had not taken Rufinus and Senova long to fall into conversation with one of them. Minius Strabo worked for the cursus publicus, carrying letters around the region for the Roman administration. He had been a veteran of the Fourth Flavia Felix in that very city, and between his military history and travels in his new career – he told them in confidence that he had left the army and married a woman that had turned out to be a bottomless pit into which his pension went – he had an unparalleled knowledge of the area and its geography. Strabo had told them many stories of the road from there to Drobeta, and each of the man’s effusive tales made Rufinus more interested in where they were going. Better still, even Senova was enthusiastic enough that she never blinked when Strabo told them he was saving for a new slave for his wife.
So they had set off in the carriage once more from the north gate of the city with Atalanta tied to the back and Acheron curled up in cushions near Senova. There was no bridge across the smaller river, due to the low-lying levels and the need to keep the channel free for ships, and so they paid – over the odds in Rufinus’ opinion – a ferryman to take them across and there picked up the road east. Senova now kept the carriage windows open, peering out as they passed. The first day was nothing special, passing through the last of the lowlands, the terrain much as it had been for the past few days. That first night, they stopped at a small rural inn recommended by Strabo, had one of the better meals and best night’s sleep on their entire journey, and cursed the imperial way stations and their blandness.
The second day, however, the scenery changed, and the glory Strabo had promised became a reality. They reached the foothills of the Carpates, and the Danuvius no longer meandered across a plain, but carved a path through high hills and then wooded mountains. Senova spent so much time peering out of the windows and moving from side to side in the carriage that eventually she gave up, brought a cushion with her, and joined Rufinus on the driver’s bench. Just after noon on the second day the road, constructed by the legions of Trajan eighty years ago, became the wonder of which they’d been told. The great river entered a long, sheer gorge known as the ‘Iron Gates’, where the riverbank disappeared and gave way to high, grey cliffs. Rather than find some distant way around, needing to keep to the river and that all-important border, the great emperor’s fine engineers had provided an ingenious solution. Here, the road was carved directly into the cliff-side: a great hollowed out highway following the Danuvius, which became unnavigable in places here due to rocks and obstacles. To widen the initial construction, a wooden walkway hung out over the water, trestles supporting it dug into the cliff-side below. It was a work of engineering the like of which Rufinus had never seen, and the carriage only just fit beneath the rock-cut ceiling. Still, he kept to the right as they travelled, Senova making nervous squeaking noises every time they moved out onto the wooden boards above the water.
The second night they stopped at Taliata and found adequate lodgings in the mansio there. The next day brought new and breath-taking views of the Iron Gates, and toward the end of that third day, they passed a neat canal that had been carved through one of the rock impediments in the river, allowing boats to pass between two of the larger towns, and for a time the road became an ordinary riverside highway, though still with magnificent views of grey mountains and green-blue water. The third night they stopped in a small town opposite Tierna, which sat heavy and brooding on the north bank. More marvels filled the last day, and as the sun
began its descent they came within sight of Drobeta and its famous bridge.
It was hard to imagine how any human being had looked at the huge expanse of water between where Rufinus now stood and Drobeta on the north bank and decided it would be a good site for a bridge. Yet Apollodorus – and his master Trajan – had conceived here a bridge longer than any in the empire. Oh, Caligula had built a longer one, yes, but it had been a temporary structure made mostly of boats. This was a permanent timber and stone span, allowing access to the lands of the Dacian kings for the legions of Rome. Here a world had been conquered – or at least here that conquest had begun.
Rufinus’ father had always upheld Trajan as the paragon of all that it meant to be Roman, as had much of the empire. Beneath Trajan’s guiding hand the empire had reached its greatest extent – in fact, since his day it had actually shrunk a little. Trajan had built many of the architectural wonders of Rome and the empire. He had been a soldier, a leader, an administrator, an innovator, even taking a personal interest in the running of the empire at its lowest level, or so it was said. Of course, Rufinus took everything his father said with appropriate levels of scepticism, but there had to be more than a grain of truth to it and, looking at this bridge, which spanned almost a mile of water, it was hard not to be impressed.
The bridge, on powerful arches of stone, marched across the Danuvius, linking the world of Rome proper with this odd trans-Danuvian province in the mountains. Drobeta sat on the far bank, a fortress of stone on the highest point, beside the bridge, the civilian town stretching out west from there, down to the riverbank sixty feet below the bridge, where the port stood.
The carriage rumbled out onto the timber boards and crossed one of the empire’s greatest rivers with a rhythmic thumping which finally made Rufinus aware of the value of the vehicle’s suspension. The sun finally dipped behind the mountains to the west mid-crossing, and Rufinus was surprised by how swiftly the shadows rose to encompass the world even as he heard the watch calls ringing out over Drobeta’s fort. By the time they passed beneath the grand monumental arch that marked the bridge’s northern end, it was most definitely evening.
A mansio stood close to the bridge, off to the left, and beyond it in every direction the town of Drobeta spread, a surprisingly large place considering its relatively recent foundation. A small amphitheatre rose beside the mansio, built of the same dark stone as the bridge. But the town and its facilities were not their destination, and Rufinus drove the carriage on past the mansio and amphitheatre, making for the high walls of the fortress on the bluff above the water. In the gathering gloom, lights were springing up along the walls.
His suspicions rose once more at the sight of Drobeta. The fortress was large enough, and strong, but whatever the Moesian governor might have thought, it would not be large enough to hold a legion. The west gate stood impressive and powerful, torches burning above and men on guard at the parapet. It was something of a relief to see a banner displaying the lion of the Thirteenth Gemina. Given the size of the place, Rufinus had begun to worry that the army had moved on again and he’d once more missed them. Perhaps the bulk of the legion who would not fit in the fort were camped beyond, out of sight.
He rattled the carriage along the road and toward the gate. The doors had been shut for the night, and the legionaries atop the wall called for him to halt away from the walls. Rufinus hauled on the reins and craned to see the top of the wall.
‘Who goes there?’ called the soldier above in a thick regional accent.
Rufinus cleared his throat and shouted back up at him. ‘Imperial guardsman Rustius Rufinus, direct from Rome on the orders of the imperial chamberlain. I am to present myself to the commander of your legion. I have all the appropriate documentation.’
There was some discussion atop the wall. Rufinus caught only fragments of it, but surmised that they were trying to decide whether to admit him after dark or tell him to stay in the mansio until morning. In all honesty the latter path sounded infinitely preferable, granting them food and the chance to relax rather than a meeting with important officers, but that was up to the Thirteenth. Finally, the gate creaked open and two legionaries emerged. Rufinus was surprised at how young they looked and almost chuckled when he remembered that he’d been much the same back in Vindobona not so long ago.
‘Documents?’
Dutifully, Rufinus retrieved the scroll case, fished out the appropriate paper and leaned down to pass it across. The legionary propped his pilum against the wall, took the paper and examined it. His brow raised in surprise, probably at the imperial seal attached and what it suggested, and he showed them to his friend and they came to a mute consensus.
‘Come in. Leave your carriage and animals with us and we’ll put them in the stables. I’ll have someone escort you to the headquarters.’ Behind him, more legionaries opened the doors fully to grant them access, and Rufinus slowly drove the carriage across the threshold and into the fort of the Thirteenth Legion. Inside, he and Senova climbed down and he was grateful for a display of courtesy as one of the legionaries helped the lady from the carriage. There was a collective intake of breath as Rufinus opened the carriage door and Acheron dropped to the ground, stretching and huffing irritably at being disturbed.
Briefly, Rufinus considered gathering the most important gear – particularly the silver spear – but decided against it. He was simply presenting himself to the governor and did not need to be fully equipped. With Senova at his side and Acheron padding along at his heel, Rufinus followed the beckoning, wide-eyed legionary as he led them along the main street to the arch of the headquarters building, where two more soldiers stood guard. An escort had hardly been necessary for the simple journey – walking forward sixty paces from the gate – but there was something oddly formal and naïve about the whole thing. Everything here was being done so ‘by the book’ that it seemed out of place. No fort was ever quite so formal. As if to compound that impression, at the headquarters the legionary escort stopped, saluted to his peers and rattled off every morsel of information he had on Rufinus. The legionary beside the arch announced that he would show the visitor to the commander.
Rufinus rolled his eyes.
‘I know a fort and a headquarters, man. I can find the office myself.’
The soldier stared at him as though he’d sprouted a tree from his head, frowned deeply, and then repeated that he’d show him to the commander. He turned with parade precision and marched into the complex. Rufinus shared a strange look with Senova, and they duly followed. The other guard at the arch took a single pace back as Acheron passed. Another thing that struck Rufinus as odd was that, though people were surprised and possibly dismayed at the sight of Acheron here, none of them were leaping away from him as seemed to be the norm. He reminded himself that he was currently about as close to the homeland of Acheron’s breed as a Roman ever got. Perhaps the Sarmatian hound was common here. Perhaps Acheron was not frightening because they were used to seeing his kind.
The legionary led them through the principia’s courtyard, with statues of Mars and Minerva and the emperors Trajan and Commodus, and into the basilica hallway. The chapel of the standards was well guarded, though it looked a little bare. A few flags and signa stood there, but no eagle or embossed image of the emperor. Rufinus’ suspicions returned in force as he was shown to the office and announced with every bit of formality the legionary could muster.
Finally, ceremony over, the legionary bade him enter and then returned to his station. Rufinus strode into the office with Senova and Acheron close behind.
‘Close the door,’ said the man at the desk in a refined, cultured voice, carrying tones of Campania. Rufinus had never met Clodius Albinus or Pescennius Niger, but it was instantly clear that this was neither of them, for he wore the broad-striped tunic of a tribune. Rufinus clicked the door neatly shut and straightened to attention as he examined the man before him.
The tribune was not old, perhaps in his mid to late twenties. He was p
ale and smooth-skinned, with a neat blond beard and short, naturally curly white-blond hair. His nose was a little flat and his eyes sharp and a piercing ice blue. Long, expressive fingers drummed on the desk as he looked up.
‘Gnaeus Marcius Rustius Rufinus. Sent by Cleander of all people to join the legions of Dacia on detached duty from the praetorian guard. An odd situation, if I might say.’
‘I agree whole-heartedly, Tribune,’ Rufinus replied. ‘Might I ask after the governor, Clodius Albinus? It was to him that I was ordered to report.’
The tribune leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘I am Appius Iulius Celer, senior tribune of the Thirteenth Gemina, ranking officer and interim commander of this vexillation of the legion.’ He smiled, and something about that smile put Rufinus at ease. It was a surprisingly friendly smile. ‘I am afraid you are out of luck, Guardsman Rustius Rufinus. The governor has moved north once more.’
Rufinus’ spirits sank. Missed him again. Was he doomed to chase Albinus around the province? Tribune Celer tipped water into the wine krater on the table and poured a cup for himself. He gestured to the visitors and Rufinus and Senova both nodded hungrily. The tribune poured a cup for each and slid them across the desk. ‘Please, sit. You are both clearly tired and travel-worn and the lady should rest.’
He took a sip of the wine. Senova noisily gurgled hers down in one go, raising another smile from the tribune. Rufinus sipped slowly and sparingly at his, relieved that it had been well watered.
‘How much do you know about the situation in Dacia?’ Celer asked.
‘Not much,’ admitted Rufinus. ‘I had heard that there was an incursion of Sarmatians that had caused a lot of trouble, but the governor in Viminacium suggested that the troubles were over.’
Eagles of Dacia Page 4
