“Sir,” Fergus muttered as he glanced at Lucullus.
“I thought you should know,” Lucullus said as he turned to gaze at the endless forests that lined the eastern bank of the great river, “when we reach Aquincum, the Legate Hadrian has requested that it is our company that escorts him into the city. He has granted us this honour, so make sure that the men are presentable and ready to go once we reach the town.”
“Yes Sir,” Fergus nodded, then for a moment, he hesitated. Lucullus was an old-school officer, an aloof, strict disciplinarian who did not mingle with his men or seek their friendship and the relationship between him as commander and his second in command, was still new and rather awkward.
Lucullus nodded and for a while he remained silent as he stood beside Fergus.
“Titus should have been in command of the company,” Lucullus muttered at last. “He was the finest soldier that I have ever known. He and I were friends. His death is a blow, a heavy blow, Fergus. He is going to be a hard act to follow.”
“I know Sir,” Fergus replied looking away. “He was a good man. We shall honour him when we go into battle against the Dacians. This was his company, he made us who we are Sir, but I am also glad to see you have recovered from your wounds. What with Titus dead and Furius honourably discharged, there are not too many familiar faces around here anymore.”
Standing beside Fergus, Lucullus nodded gratefully.
“I was an optio for nearly eight years,” Lucullus said quietly, “and I would probably have remained an optio for the rest of my time in the army if Titus had not been killed. So, now they have promoted me to centurion, in charge of the whole company. The army,” Lucullus said carefully glancing at Fergus, “does not promote men to the rank of centurion until they have served a very considerable time; many years at least. I have served nineteen years Fergus, and my retirement is not far away. There was a time when I scoffed at the idea of retiring but now, now it somehow doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”
“I understand, Sir,” Fergus said in a stoical, neutral voice.
“When we reach Aquincum,” Lucullus replied quietly, “we will be joined by the cavalry squadrons of the 2nd and 9th Batavian auxiliary cohorts; a cohort of Syrian archers and several units of civilian pioneers and engineers. We will be forming the western flank of the main invasion and it’s going to be tough. The Dacian’s know the land and they are formidable fighters. They are going to put up a ferocious fight in defence of their freedom, families and homes. Who wouldn’t.”
“The company will be ready for anything,” Fergus replied stiffly. “I know the men, they are a bunch of professionally-trained killers and thugs Sir. They would scare the shit out of me if I was the one facing them. Titus trained us well.”
“I know he did,” Lucullus muttered. “But I am going to need your help Fergus in commanding them.”
Surprised Fergus glanced across at his commanding officer but Lucullus just shrugged and tried to smile.
“You were there when Titus died and I was not,” the centurion said simply. “In Germania, in the mountains, you took command when all the officers were either dead or incapacitated and you successfully led the company back to safety. The men, all of them, they owe their lives to you as does Hadrian but that is a different matter. You are a good man, you are a leader, Fergus, and I know that the men respect you. I think they respect you more than they respect me. But you are my second in command. That’s why I need your help. The coming war is going to be hard and the performance of our company is going to be all important.” Lucullus turned once more to look at Fergus. “I want to survive this war and I want my men to survive this war. So, can we agree on this. The fate and honour of the company and our men is paramount and to keep them alive we, you and I, must work closely together. We must trust each other, Fergus. Any mistakes or misunderstandings between us will get people killed.”
“Strict discipline and sensible orders Sir,” Fergus said quickly. “That’s what we need. And I agree, the performance of the company is our responsibility. I will not let you down. The Dacian’s will not know what has hit them.”
“Good man,” Lucullus murmured, laying a hand on Fergus’s shoulder. “Good man,” he repeated.
As the Centurion made his way back to where the rest of the company’s officers and NCO’s were gathered together, Fergus sighed and looked down at the deck of the ship. Lucullus was a good officer, Fergus thought, but ever since the man had arrived to assume command of the company, he had worried that the new centurion did not have the energy or ambition to carry out his duties properly. Then with another weary sigh and a little dismissive gesture, he stooped and reached for something in his marching pack that lay at his feet. Holding up the small wooden letter to the morning light, he turned to gaze fondly at the small, neat and distinctive handwriting. He had read the contents of the letter so often that he could repeat them from memory, but there was something reassuring about staring at his mother Kyna’s hand writing. The letter had been handed to him by a Batavian just before the battle group had started out down the Danube and from the date scratched into the soft wood, he could see that it had taken over six months to reach him. As he silently re-read the contents of the letter he grunted. His mother’s letter was dated to late summer of the previous year and it told him of the most welcome news that Marcus, his father, had finally returned, alive and well, from his year-long journey to Hyperborea. It was good news, Fergus thought, lowering the letter and clenching the wood in his hand, and good news was to be cherished, always, always, always. But Kyna, his mother had also written that the land dispute was far from settled and that there was a very real possibility that their farm on Vectis, their home, would be taken from them. That thought, the knowledge that his family were in trouble combined with the lack of news from Galena, his wife, had started to keep him up at night and deprive him of sleep.
Chapter Nineteen – Aquincum
The rhythmic crunch and thud of the soldier’s iron-studded boots on the gravel reverberated along the straight Roman road. It was around noon and in the sky, the sun had driven the dark clouds from its domain, bathing everything in a brilliant, warm and bright light. Fergus, clad in his army uniform, full body armour and wearing a white focale scarf tied around his neck, strode along at the rear of the small formation. In his hand, he was clutching his long wooden optio’s staff. Ahead of him, the ranks of the legionaries of the 2nd company, 2nd Cohort of the Twentieth Legion were marching down the road, eight men abreast and divided into a rear and advance guard. From his position at the back of the column, Fergus could just about see Lucullus’s red-plumed helmet and the company’s standard leading the men towards the Roman frontier town of Aquincum, that had appeared, half a mile away. The discs and crescent moon symbols on the proud company-standard glinted in the bright sunlight. And sitting on top of their horses, in the gap between the ranks of the rear and advance guard, rode the new governor of Lower Pannonia – Hadrian followed by his staff, bodyguards and two ox-drawn wagons that contained the Governor’s personal possessions. Hadrian was sitting bolt upright on his horse and was staring in silence at Aquincum. For a moment, Fergus’s eyes lingered on Hadrian. For the past two days and nights he had been waiting to ask something of Hadrian but he’d had no chance to approach the Governor. And as he studied him, Fergus could not help feeling sorry for the man. Adalwolf had told him in confidence that Hadrian had wanted to take part in the Dacian war, for he loved being a soldier and being around soldiers. Hadrian had not wanted this position as governor of Lower Pannonia. Trajan, Adalwolf had said, was deliberately denying Hadrian any chance of winning fame and glory in the upcoming campaign. And as if reading his thoughts, riding at Hadrian’s side, Adalwolf, one of the Governor’s principal advisers, turned in his saddle to glance back at Fergus bringing up the rear of the escort.
As the procession approached the gates of the old legionary fortress, Fergus noticed to his surprise, the banners of the 2nd Legion Adiutrix, proudly
flapping in the wind from the stone ramparts of the playing-card shaped castrum, the legionary fortress. The 2nd Legion had once been based in Britannia and had been the predecessor of the Twentieth Legion at Deva Victrix, until they had transferred to the Danube some twenty years earlier. All around the legionary fortress the civilian town of Aquincum had grown up. To Fergus, the organised, well-constructed and planned Roman-style terraced houses with their neat red-roof tiles, gutters, wooden blinds, sturdy stone walls and paved streets with drainage channels looked, just like the numerous other Roman frontier towns he’d passed through on his long journey from Bonna on the Rhine. Close by in a cleared area of the growing settlement, he could see labourers hard at work on the construction of an amphitheatre. Lucullus’s sharp shouted cry brought the company to an abrupt halt just before the gates into the legionary fortress. Fergus craned his neck to see what was going on. Coming out from the fortress towards them was a small welcoming procession of dignitaries, led by a couple of priests carrying something in their hands and as they drew closer, Fergus caught the scent of incense.
As the welcoming committee finished their religious and ceremonial welcome for the new provincial governor, Lucullus’s voice rang out once more and with a crunching sound, the company began to enter the fortress.
“What do you mean, she is not here?” Hadrian bellowed angrily at the hapless, shaking and terrified slave. Fergus, his arms folded across his chest, and the rest of the escort, Hadrian’s bodyguards, staff, priests and the local dignitaries together with the two ox-drawn wagons, stood gathered around waiting, gazing silently at the miserable looking slave. In front of them was the Principia, the legionary HQ building that stood at the very centre of the army camp and the place from where Hadrian would govern the province. The building however looked deserted and around it, amongst the rows of dreary-looking barracks blocks, only a handful of legionaries were to be seen. The slave had been the only person who had come out of the Principia to greet Hadrian.
“The soldier’s my lord, all marched away to war, a few days ago,” the slave stammered not daring to look up at the furious looking Hadrian.
“But where is my wife and her servants?” Hadrian roared at the slave. “They were meant to be here days ago. Why are they not here to greet me? Why is there no one here to carry my belongings into the Principia?”
“The Lady has gone swimming in the lake,” the slave stammered. “She has taken her servants and slaves with her. She did not tell me when she would be back, my lord.”
“The bitch, the fucking bitch,” Hadrian snarled, not caring who heard him as he wrenched his eyes away from the slave. “She has done this on purpose. She knew that I would be arriving today.”
Furiously Hadrian rounded on the slave.
“Go and find my wife and tell her,” he hissed, “that I await her arrival in my quarters and that I expect her to come at once. Now go, go, go, damn you!”
Without hesitating the slave shot away and vanished amongst the barracks blocks. Angrily Hadrian turned and pointed his finger straight at Fergus.
“Fergus,” Hadrian snapped, “assign a squad to bring my belongings into the Principia. The rest of you are dismissed for the day. Get pissed or go and fuck something. I don’t want to see any of your ugly faces here today.”
And with that the Governor turned and swiftly followed by his staff and bodyguards he stamped away and disappeared into the Principia building.
Fergus caught Lucullus’s eye but the centurion just shrugged.
“Aledus,” Fergus called out, “get your squad to unpack the Governor’s belongings and bring his stuff inside.”
***
His men had just finished their task when Fergus, standing just outside the entrance to the Principia, noticed an enclosed litter, carried by four sturdy litter-bearers coming towards him. A clutch of female slaves followed on foot, carrying baskets, towels and clothes and from inside the litter Fergus could hear laughter, squeals and loud drunken voices.
“Oh shit,” Fergus muttered as he realised what was about to happen, but before he could do anything or warn Aledus, Hadrian was already approaching, drawn by the noise.
And as Hadrian stepped out into the bright sunlight the litter-bearers came to an abrupt awkward halt just a few yards away. From inside the enclosed litter a woman giggled and someone else burped loudly.
“What’s the hold up?” a bold drunken-sounding male voice called out. Then an inquisitive young man’s face poked out beyond the cloth that covered the litter to see what was going on. As the young handsome man caught sight of Hadrian glaring at him from a few yards away, his face, as if in slow motion, slowly transformed into a look of sheer horror. Then with a wild, terrified yelp, the young man rolled out of the litter and onto the ground and with surprising speed he sprinted off down the street, screaming in terror. Stunned, Fergus watched the man go. The man was stark-naked and a pink ribbon had been tied around his cock.
“What’s going on?” a woman called out slurring her words. A moment later a female face poked out from the litter but as she caught sight of Hadrian, her only reaction was to roll her eyes and take a deep, weary breath.
“Oh, it’s you, husband,” Vibia Sabina, Hadrian’s wife called out in a scornful voice. “I thought we were about to be robbed. You gave poor young Antoninus such a fright.”
Standing before the litter bearers, Hadrian’s face darkened until it seemed he was about to explode with rage.
“You are a disgraceful wife,” Hadrian roared as he erupted. “You do this to humiliate me don’t you. Well I will not tolerate it any longer. It is time that you started to treat me with respect. I am your husband. I am going to be the next emperor of Rome and I expect your loyalty and devotion. But instead of this you must humiliate me at every occasion. Was that one of your latest boyfriends? I will not have my wife shagging other men in public!”
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t do it, if you ever showed some interest in me,” Vibia shouted back at her husband in a defiant, angry voice. “And as for shagging, what about all those pretty, slave boys whom you have had. Have you forgotten them? You are just as bad as I am. I will not take any lectures on love from you, husband.”
“Take her around the back entrance and dump her into bed,” Hadrian roared at the litter-bearers, “And don’t let my wife leave her room until she has sobered up. She is a disgrace to me and to Rome.”
As the litter-bearers and the clutch of female slaves dutifully turned and began to make their way around the Principia buildings, Hadrian shook his head in silent disgust and turned to step back into his HQ.
“Fergus, you and your men are dismissed, go and get pissed,” Hadrian snapped as he passed by Fergus.
“Yes Sir,” Fergus replied snapping out a quick salute. “Sir,” Fergus hesitated. Now might not be the best time to raise the matter with Hadrian but he was worried that he would not get a second chance and the matter was pressing.
“What is it?” Hadrian paused and turned to glare at him.
“Sir, I have a request,” Fergus stammered nervously, “It’s about my family, Sir. They own a farm and land back on the island of Vectis in Britannia. In Carnuntum I received a letter from my mother saying that the governor is trying to steal our farm and take it for himself. So, I was wondering Sir. I want to help them. Would you be willing to intervene with the governor of Britannia on my behalf? I mean if you could write him a letter explaining our case, it may help my family. Please Sir, I want to help them, but I don’t know what else I can do.”
Surprised, Hadrian remained silent as he stared at Fergus. Then he frowned and slowly shook his head.
“You are a good soldier, Fergus,” Hadrian replied sharply. “I appreciate what you did in Germania but this is not a matter where I can help you. Your family’s land dispute is in Britannia. It is for the authorities in that province to sort it out. I have no jurisdiction. So, no I will not write the governor of Britannia a letter. I am sorry. I wish you the best of luck.”
“I understand Sir,” Fergus said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. “It was worth asking.”
“Yes Fergus,” Hadrian said as his expression seemed to soften a fraction, “You are right, it was worth asking but the answer is still no.”
***
The men of the 2nd company were sitting around in small groups spread out along the road that led the short distance from Aquincum to the battlegroup’s camp on the banks of the Danube. It was early evening and it was getting cold. Beside the road, the men were chatting, resting or gambling. Catching sight of his friends Aledus, Catinius and Vittius sitting clustered together with the men of their tent group, Fergus resisted the urge to sit down and take part in their game of chance and money. Instead he forced himself to step out onto the road, poking the gravel with his staff. Hadrian’s rejection of his plan to help his family was bad enough but he knew that if he started gambling, it would just make things worse, for he would lose; he always lost. Fergus bit his lip in frustration. He knew he had a weakness for gambling and it had got him into a lot of trouble in Carnuntum a few months back. Hadrian’s three hundred denarii bonus, which he’d received upon his return from Germania, had more than compensated for his debts and yet the debacle of going into debt again had left him depressed. He really did need to get a grip on his habit, but resisting the temptation to gamble was a true slogging-match, the outcome of which hung finely balanced on spinning dice. Grimly he turned in the middle of the road and gazed back down the street towards the provincial capital. How long was Lucullus going to make him and the men wait? Their centurion had given no explanation for his absence, except to tell Fergus to keep the company beside the road and wait for him. And that had been more than an hour ago. As he stood in the road clutching his staff, Fergus heard the thud and clatter of hooves. Squinting down the road in the direction of the town he suddenly caught sight of horsemen coming towards him. There were loads of them and as the riders streamed towards him, he recognised the proud Batavian standards carried by the foremost horsemen.
The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 17
