The second day’s march brought more of the same, weather-wise, and the cohort continued to climb in the sizzling sunshine. Even had he not had access to the map, Rufinus would now have been under no illusion that they were doing anything other than march into the lower reaches of the Carpates. The hills rising to either side of the valley they travelled were getting ever higher. At noon that second day they passed a spur that held a tiny fractured tower. Even from this distance, Rufinus could identify an old Roman signal station. Along with the slighted fort at Ad Mutriam, it stood as mute evidence of Trajan’s grand army passing this way some eighty years ago.
Throughout the morning, Rufinus continually found ways to keep Daizus occupied and out of the way, though he could see the frustration and irritation building in the optio as this went on, and knew that at some point it would have to come to a head. During the afternoon, he was running out of reasons to send the man away and things began to sour once more. Rufinus tried to keep up the mood with another marching song but barely had he managed half a verse before Daizus blithely overrode him with a different song. Rufinus opened his mouth to object, but it was too late. This song was one of native origin, including Dacian words Rufinus did not know, and was picked up instantly by all centuries and belted out. Rufinus walked silently alongside, unable to join in. Occasionally, again, he heard the name Locusta bandied about with a snigger, though he’d yet to catch them at it.
That afternoon they arrived at the small fort of Stegara, which sat in low arable land at the head of an enormous shallow valley that ran south as far as the eye could see, delivering fresh water into the Danuvius far away. The fort was occupied by an auxiliary unit from somewhere in Arabia, and Rufinus was one of the small party who accompanied the tribune to pay their respect to the fort’s prefect as the cohort set up camp on the river bank beyond the civil settlement. The auxiliaries were dark-swarthy skinned with suspicious brown eyes. They spoke in some eastern language, occasionally dipping into what Rufinus now recognised as a local Dacian dialect. Not once did he hear them speak intelligible Latin. The prefect, who was from Ravenna, was a sour man, unhappy with his posting, polite but otherwise unhelpful.
The night was once again warm, and Rufinus began to feel that strange prickling sensation in the muggy evening that suggested thunder on the way. How appropriate as they made for Vulcan’s Pass. He spent the evening with Cassius, who was fast becoming a good friend, and Senova, who had a number of blunt opinions on the legionaries around them and on the Roman tendency to consider themselves above whoever they happened to be encamped among. Cassius took the comments in good spirits, stroking the ears of Acheron who lay curled on a blanket, though Rufinus could see how easily a Roman officer could take offence at them.
‘Romans never make an effort to learn the language of a region,’ she said, taking a sip of wine.
‘Respectfully, Senova,’ Cassius replied, ‘more than half this cohort are fluent speakers of the Dacian tongue.’
‘Because they are from here,’ she pointed out. ‘But find any soldier who has come from the west or from Italia itself and see if they can speak the language beyond ordering beer and seducing women.’
‘Why would they need to know anything else?’ laughed Rufinus, and then fell silent under Senova’s hard gaze.
‘You should teach your men to use extra vocabulary of their own language, anyway,’ Senova said, loftily. ‘Then perhaps they would not have to refer to faeces or genitalia in every sentence.’
Now, Rufinus laughed again. Trying to clean up the legionaries’ bad language would be a sure way to sink relations to an all-time low. Senova glared at him again. ‘Slaves have to learn to be polite. They cannot speak out of turn, lest they be beaten. Legionaries could take a lesson in politeness from even the roughest slave.’
Now, Cassius sat up in interest. ‘You have the tone of a knowledgeable woman, Senova. Have you owned many such slaves?’ Rufinus’ eyes slid to the figure of Luca, who scrubbed the pots quietly in a corner.
Senova turned to the veteran and Rufinus realised she was about to launch into her life story. Thus far he had not spoken of her status as a freedwoman to anyone, and the lack of brand marks on her made it impossible to tell. Moreover, her Latin and the accent that carried it had improved so immeasurably over her time with Pompeianus that she could easily have been a Roman matron from Campania rather than a slave from Britannia. Rufinus was not at all sure how Cassius and Celer would take the news that the woman they had been so accommodating for was an ex-slave. Moreover, one who had belonged to a traitor. Certainly if that information leaked back to his century, the men would never respect her or him again
Before Senova could speak, Rufinus dived in. ‘Senova is from the rough world of northern Britannia and spent time at court in an imperial villa. She has seen the best and the worst of slavery.’
And lived it, but there was no need to admit to that right now.
As Cassius nodded his understanding, Rufinus could feel Senova’s glare boring into his skull. He would pay for that at some point and would have to try and persuade her to keep her secret. It would be tough. Senova was a plain and simple thinker. She would not understand how being a former slave could carry any baggage. To her she had been a slave. Now she was not. Rufinus, however, know just how much that information would colour the Roman world’s view of her.
The third day, Rufinus was torn. Somehow, his interference and opposition in the previous night’s conversation had angered Senova again, and he could feel her disapproval radiating all morning as they prepared to leave. He could spend time travelling with her and try to explain the problems and why she needed to be more circumspect. But to do so would mean not marching with the men, and that would give Daizus full rein to trash him in his absence. In the end, he decided that Senova could wait, and concentrated on trying to stop the spread of the optio’s attitude rot.
He was at best half successful. As the afternoon wore on, the heat never once abating and the promise of thunder remaining just that, Rufinus realised that, almost unnoticed, the Carpates were upon them. Though the valley they were moving north along seemed huge and thoroughly flat, he could now see the blue grey lines of low mountains stretching out ahead and to both sides. They were moving toward the pass at pace now.
They arrived at the evening stop-over half an hour later. An auxiliary fort rose on the bank of a narrow river, though it had been abandoned for a long time, by the looks of it. There were no gates in the archways and the walls had tumbled in places.
‘Strange,’ he commented, gesturing at the fort as the column halted and the centurions gathered.
Cassius shrugged. ‘It hasn’t been manned since Trajan’s wars, but it has never been levelled. It’s too useful as a stopping point when crossing the mountains, so it’s kept in a semi-liveable condition.’
As they moved into the fort and began to disperse the men, Rufinus could see what Cassius meant. The defences were still easily the match of any temporary camp, and would require no effort to put in place. Assigning guards would be enough. And the buildings were not in the best of conditions, but there were good roofs on them all.
‘Are the baths still working?’ he asked hopefully, but Cassius shook his head before moving off to settle his men. Further along the column, Luca drove Senova’s wagon forward, following a pointed gesture from another centurion.
Rufinus found one of the barrack blocks and assigned his men to it, checking out the centurion’s room at the end. It had a door and a bed. That would be enough. He unpacked his kit and used his blankets and cloak to make the bed, arraying everything carefully. He then dropped in to the barracks to check on his men and was dismayed when what sounded like ribald conversation stopped the instant he entered, and Daizus, his forehead lump now receding and the bruise fading to pale yellow, glared at him in a most unfriendly manner.
Leaving the place, he wandered off to find Senova. They had not spoken all day, and now he would have to try and make thing
s right. He found her carriage by one of the granary buildings and strode to the door, knocking.
Luca opened the door and admitted him. Senova was making a bed on a temporary cot from one of the supply wagons. The table nearby showed evidence of a half-prepared meal where Luca had been at work.
‘I think we need to talk,’ Rufinus said in a conciliatory voice. Somehow whenever he was with Senova he seemed to be apologising for something, though he was rarely sure what for, and even when he was, he often thought it nothing that required an apology.
Senova straightened and threw a look at him that carried so much dissatisfaction it almost knocked him over. ‘I thought I was not supposed to talk. I believe you have started doing it for me, now, like a good Roman.’
‘For the love of Jove, Senova, stop rubbing my face in it. I only ever have your good at heart.’
‘Hmph.’ She turned and went back to the bed-making.
‘Where’s Acheron?’ he said, his gaze playing around the room.
‘Isn’t he with you? He’s your dog,’ she added in a tone that clearly put him at fault again. He sighed. ‘I thought he was in your carriage. I’d best find him. Try not to be angry for ten breaths when I get back so we can talk.’
Turning, he stepped out of the granary door and strode back toward his century’s barrack block. Calling in at his room to see if Acheron had made his way there, he was assailed at the doorway by a stench of ammonia that made his eyes water. Holding his breath and entering to investigate, he located his bed and discovered a lake in the centre had soaked his blankets and cloak and dripped through to create a puddle on the floor below. Anger flooded through him. They had pissed in his bed. On his kit…
Furious, he left and walked to the next door, where many of his century were gathered, bursting into the room in a rage.
‘What animal has pissed in my bed? When I find out who it was, I will string the bastard up from the roof.’
There was a silence from the room. Some of the men looked distinctly uncomfortable, but many were suppressing smiles. Daizus was the picture of innocence, though Rufinus was under no illusion as to who had been the ringleader. This was as bad as the bullying when he’d first joined the praetorians, but it wasn’t supposed to happen now. He was a centurion for gods’ sake.
‘When I get the names, and it has to have been more than one of you unless you’ve been saving it up for a week, I will drag you before the tribune and have you flogged. Do you have any idea how that feels, because you’re in for a treat?’ Again, many looked distinctly uncomfortable, and now that number outweighed the smiles. They had gone too far and some were starting to realise it. Perhaps this was the beginning. He could start to break Daizus’ hold on them.
‘Until the names of the guilty are given to me, this century is on one quarter wine rations, on latrine duty each night, and will cycle through guard duty with no free time. Daizus, because you are such an important man, I want you there for all latrine duties and all watches bar one.’
The optio’s lip curled into a sneer.
‘I think it’s probably feral cats, Centurion. They’re everywhere and they pee a lot. Bastards, they are.’
‘I think it more likely rodents masquerading as soldiers,’ snapped Rufinus. ‘Now go strip down my bed, requisition fresh kit from the wagons, clean and fumigate the room and put it all right before I need to sleep. Any man who shirks this duty goes on the flogging list.’
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and stormed from the room. He was back out on the via principalis before he began to breathe even remotely normally. He had almost lost it back in that barrack room. He’d actually been tempted to hit Daizus again, and if he did that it would end any hope of putting things back together. In fact, though, having seen the change in the men’s expressions when they realised they had taken it too far, he was content that this unfortunate episode had been the best thing that could have happened. In pushing things to that extent, Daizus had lost support. And in responding in a formal, authoritative manner rather than merely knocking out the optio’s teeth, Rufinus had further turned the legionaries away from the man.
He stood for a moment, still trembling, and started with surprise as someone called his name. He turned to see Cassius Proculeianus strolling toward him along the street, Acheron pacing faithfully alongside. Thank the gods.
‘Cassius, thank you. I’ve been looking all over for him.’
‘Except the one place he shouldn’t have been, Rufinus: in the tribune’s rooms. Celer walked into his quarters to find Acheron curled up in his spare tunic. You might want to avoid the tribune for the next day or two. He hates dogs. He was so angry he couldn’t properly form words.’
Rufinus sighed. What next? What else could go wrong today? Then he remembered he said he’d be back shortly to Senova. That answered that question, then.
‘Fancy a drink before we turn in?’ Cassius asked.
‘At your quarters maybe. Mine smell too much at the moment.’
Cassius frowned in incomprehension, but Rufinus waved it aside. ‘I have to go see Senova for a while, then I’ll come along. Shall I bring wine?’
‘Most certainly,’ smiled the veteran, and was then gone about his business. Rufinus turned back to the granary and strode across. Luca opened the door to him again, and now Senova was sitting eating quietly. Rufinus urged Acheron in and followed, taking a seat opposite Senova as the dog curled up on a pile of spare blankets.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know that you are free and of value. And for all I know you might have been royalty back among the Brigantes. But having ever been a slave still carries a stigma in Rome. I’m trying to save you from the trouble such knowledge will bring.’
Senova gave him a piercing look. ‘You are trying to save yourself from it.’
Bollocks. Should have seen that one coming…
‘Yes. To some extent, yes. I’m having a hard enough time being accepted here, and that would add a nail in the crucifixion of my reputation. But I truly do want to save you, too. Oddly, Cassius might not care. And I don’t. But Celer would see you in a totally different way, and would stop treating you well. And the soldiers? Some among them might see you as fair game. Right now you are thought of as important and noble, so you’re untouchable. But remember you’re trapped in a fort with five hundred sex-starved soldiers. Consider the ramifications of everything you do.’
There was a long silence, and then a nod. ‘Alright, Gnaeus. I concede you might be right on this occasion.’
Rufinus almost fell off his chair. An admission of defeat? This would be an evening to remember.
‘I see you found Acheron,’ she said finally.
‘Actually, Cassius found him. He’d gone to see Celer. I might not be popular for a while with the commander. If you see him can you use your ‘lady’ status to try and smooth things over for me?’
‘Cassius is a good man,’ Senova said. ‘Acheron likes him, and Acheron is a good judge of character.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘Pompeianus once likened Roman politics to a great game. I thought he was over exaggerating, and believed that when Lucilla fell, the game for me would be over. But then Perennis and Cleander happened, and it began again. And this game won’t be over until Publius is free and Cleander dead. So given the advice Pompeianus gave me years ago, it might be time to start building my collection of playing pieces. I am hoping that Albinus and Niger, who are both powerful men, will be such pieces in the game. They can surely help me, since Cleander does not like them.’
Senova nodded. ‘Cassius is on your side, I am sure.’
‘He is. How much use he can be in the game at Rome I don’t know, but right now he is invaluable. Tribune Celer seems good too. Hopefully, he will be of aid. I’ve never needed allies like I do now, Senova.’
‘You’ve got me,’ she said quietly. And oddly, it was the most comforting thought he’d had all day.
VI – Fire and Ice
Rufinus was swiftly developing a l
ove/hate relationship with the Carpates. As a mountain range, they were beautiful. Very different from the arid mountains of northern Hispania where he had lived as a boy, and different again from the areas of the Alpes he had encountered on journeys to and from the Danuvian frontier during the wars. They were more reminiscent of the Apennines of central Italia, though again loftier and somehow more rugged. The Carpates were green and grey, the green of endless forests and the grey of the rock bones of Dacia.
Vulcan’s Pass followed the line of a river that snaked through the heights, climbing steadily and following a deep, winding gorge carved by the ice-cold, crystal clear water. The valley was wide enough in most places for the column to move in full, eight men abreast, though the tribune kept the column at half that to avoid constant adjustment for terrain. The river meandered back and forth around the valley floor, green swards and shale banks the ground beneath their feet. On occasion they were forced to cross the river, where it moved from one side of the valley to the other, and there, the locals had constructed low, rickety timber bridges that slowed travel to a crawl as men backed up waiting to cross.
The river was a gods-sent thing, though, for it provided beautiful clear water for the column. Forays into the hillsides each evening brought plentiful meat in the form of birds, rabbits and occasional deer. Cassius had warned them of the likelihood of wolves and bears too, but as yet none had been encountered. Firewood was abundant, too. Moreover, given the terrain, fortification of a camp was almost impossible and largely unnecessary, so the setting up of evening camp was a swift and easy task.
Eagles of Dacia Page 8
