“Sir, I have now served you for close on seven years,” Fergus said, swallowing nervously. “You have my complete loyalty, support and friendship Sir.” Fergus paused and bit his lip. This was going to be hard.
“Spit it out man,” Hadrian growled impatiently as he clutched the ship’s steering bar and peered at the horizon.
“I would like to request a transfer back to the army, Sir,” Fergus said quickly. “I am still officially a member of the armed forces. I would like to return to active duty. This is in no way a reflection on you Sir. I just miss the army life. It is what my father and my grandfather did. I just want to be a soldier again, Sir.”
For a long moment, Hadrian did not reply as he kept his gaze on the horizon. Then at last he stirred.
“That is out of the question Fergus,” Hadrian snapped. “I need you at my side. You are one of the best men that I have got. No, I am sorry, your request is denied.”
“Sir, please, reconsider my request. Have I not served you well? Have I not saved your life twice? Have I not been a loyal supporter?”
“Yes, you have,” Hadrian snapped as his face hardened. “But the answer is still no. You will remain at my side in my service until I deem the moment right to let you go. The matter is closed and I will discuss it no more.”
And as Hadrian fell silent Adalwolf caught Fergus’s eye and shook his head, warning him not to push the issue any further.
* * *
It was the middle of the night and Fergus sat slumped up against the wall of the small ship’s cabin, which he shared with his family, his two Dacian slaves and Attianus and Adalwolf. Wearily he stared at the doorway that led out onto the deck. He couldn’t sleep. Around him he barely noticed the gentle rocking movement of the ship, as it ploughed on across the sea or the soft creaking of the timbers. The stench of stale sick and urine hung heavy in the air. In the darkness and gloom he could hear Gitta and Efa whimpering in their beds and Galena’s very soft and quiet voice singing to them, as she tried her best to comfort her daughters. The girls were having a rough crossing and they were all exhausted but Hadrian had refused to slow down. Despite passing several more promising-looking islands Hadrian had refused to go ashore, not even for the traditional sailor’s habit of spending the night sleeping on a beach. If he was aware that his hard-line attitude was spreading misery amongst his staff and the crew, Hadrian didn’t seem to care. Fergus raised his hand to his eyes and rubbed them. Two full days had passed since he had unsuccessfully tried to persuade Hadrian to let him return to the army. The rejection had been a bitter blow but he would have to accept it, for he really did not have any other choice.
Close by, Attianus seemed oblivious to their wretched conditions as he lay stretched out in his hammock, snoring loudly. As Fergus gloomily gazed into the darkness there was a sudden movement beside the doorway and in the faint light he caught sight of a figure.
“Fergus,” a voice said quietly, “Hadrian wants to have a word with you.”
It was Adalwolf.
Silently Fergus rose to his feet and stepped out of the cabin. Outside, the night sky was covered in a fantastic array of stars, too numerous to count. Without saying anything, Adalwolf led Fergus across the deck and past the groups of sleeping rowers and towards the front of the Liburna, where a lantern had been fixed to the rigging. In its reddish swaying gleam, he caught sight of Hadrian, standing gazing out across the darkened sea. The slap of the waves breaking against the ship’s hull and the occasional cough from the rowers punctuated the peaceful night. As Fergus approached, Hadrian turned towards him but it was too dark to see the expression on Hadrian’s face.
“I am sorry to have woken you at this hour,” Hadrian said quietly but in a clear voice, as Adalwolf came and stood beside him.
“That’s all right Sir, I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Fergus replied.
“How are your men?” Hadrian asked.
“They will survive Sir. They are a tough bunch,” Fergus said. “But my team is down on numbers Sir. Alexander and Korbis are both dead and we had to leave Arlyn and the younger brother behind in Athens so that they can recover from their wounds. It will be several months before they are fit again to join us in Syria. That means I am short of four men. I will need to find replacements for them when we reach Antioch, with your permission.”
At Hadrian’s side, Adalwolf gave his boss a quick glance.
From his position at the prow of the ship Hadrian seemed to nod in the darkness.
“I realise that I never thanked you for saving my life during the assassination attempt,” Hadrian growled. “If you hadn’t forced me to the ground when you did, I reckon that spear would have got me.”
“It’s my job Sir,” Fergus replied stoically.
“Yes, it’s your job,” Hadrian muttered in the darkness. “And you do it well. You have been loyal to me and I appreciate that.”
For a long moment, no one spoke and in the darkness Fergus frowned. Where was this conversation going?
“I know who was behind the attempt on my life,” Hadrian said at last, in a calm and clear voice, as he turned to gaze back out to sea. “I do not have any proof but it doesn’t matter. It was not too hard to guess. That little shit Nigrinus and his friends in the War Party organised this. Who else would have the motive and the resources to do this? Nigrinus wants me dead because he wants to become the next emperor. The fact that they had tried to kill me means that the War Party are becoming desperate. They are losing the struggle. This is good news Fergus. A man should never forget who his true enemies are. They are not barbarians, Dacians, Parthians or these Armenians. No, my true enemies lurk in the shadows in Rome, like worms hiding under a stone.”
And suddenly there was a cold menacing tone in Hadrian’s voice as he turned to stare at Fergus in the darkness.
“But make no mistake, when the time comes, I shall deal with Nigrinus, I will end him and his line. I will destroy the War Party. There will be no place for any of them or their supporters when I become the next emperor.”
“Sir,” Fergus said, unsure of what else he was supposed to say.
“Nigrinus is the ring-leader, the man who organised the assassination attempt,” Hadrian continued, “But he won’t have done this alone. He would have had help and support. Celsus and Palma will have known about it. I am sure of that. They hate me and would love to see me dead as would that crazy book-keeper Paulinus. They are all involved in the plot to kill me.”
“What about the name that the dying assassin gave us Sir,” Fergus said quietly. “What do you think he meant when he said, Laberius knew?”
In the darkness, Hadrian did not immediately reply.
“I don’t know yet,” Hadrian said at last. “Laberius is a fairly common name but there is a Laberius at Trajan’s court in Rome. He’s a bit of an idiot, likes to be seen to publicly contradict and insult the emperor because it makes him look daring and cool, a bit of a rebel but harmless. Trajan just laughs at him. But before we left Athens I asked admiral Turbo to speak to him to find out what he knows. We won’t have a reply for a couple months.”
Fergus nodded and then glanced quickly at Adalwolf who was watching him closely.
“I appreciate you confiding in me like this Sir,” Fergus said lowering his eyes, “but you haven’t just called me out here in the middle of the night to tell me this. I know that. What is it that you really want from me Sir?”
In the darkness, Fergus did not notice the swift exchange of glances between Hadrian and Adalwolf.
“He’s sharp,” Hadrian said, with a sudden smile that was lost to the darkness. “Go on Adalwolf, you had better tell him.”
Adalwolf took a deep breath. “Fergus,” he said patiently in his Germanic accent, “we are confident we know who the men are, within the War Party, who organised the assassination attempt. There is however one man we are not yet sure about. Lusius Quietus, a Moorish prince from Mauretania in Africa. His position is ambivalent for he has not always been Hadrian’s
enemy. Quietus’s father was once close to Hadrian’s family. Now Quietus is a first-class general and soldier, hugely popular with the troops; an influential army commander. We need to know whether we can trust him. We need to know what he knew about the assassination plot and most importantly, when Hadrian becomes emperor, whether he will declare his allegiance to Hadrian. You see how important this is Fergus? If Quietus decides to remain loyal to Nigrinus and the War Party or make his own bid for the imperial throne, we could be facing a civil war when Hadrian becomes emperor. Do you see how volatile the situation is? We have to know where Quietus stands and where his loyalties and ambitions lie; it’s absolutely critical.”
In the darkness at the prow of the ship Adalwolf paused for a moment.
“So that is where you come in Fergus,” Hadrian suddenly continued. “I need you to do a job for me.”
“A job Sir?” Fergus frowned.
“You told me a few days ago that you wished to return to the army and active duty,” Hadrian growled from the darkness. “Well you will still be working for me. I am not releasing you from my service, but I am going to send you back to the army. I will arrange for you to be assigned to Quietus’s staff with the acting rank of centurion. Officially your job will be to organise and manage the logistics for Quietus’s field command. Trajan has given me responsibility for all army and naval logistics in the east, so I have the authority to appoint you. But unofficially, and this is the real reason why you are there Fergus; unofficially you will try to find out what Quietus will do when I am made emperor. I need to know whether he will swear allegiance to me or lead his troops against me. That will be the real purpose of your mission.”
Fergus’s eyes widened in surprise. He had not been expecting this.
“But what about your security Sir? Someone must command your guards,” Fergus exclaimed.
“You do not need to worry about that anymore,” Hadrian snapped, “I will be taking care of that. But I need you to do this job for me, Fergus. This is important, truly important. Quietus is highly popular amongst the legions and I need those fucking legions to be on my side when the time comes or else I will stand no chance. Do you understand what I am telling you Fergus?”
“I do Sir,” Fergus said hastily, “and of course I shall do as you ask. Thank you, Sir.”
In the darkness, Hadrian remained silent. Then slowly he took a step towards Fergus and laid his hand on Fergus’s shoulder.
“I do not forget my friends,” Hadrian said soberly. “I do not forget loyalty and I won’t forget what you are doing, going to do for me, Fergus. You are a good man. You and I have come a long way together since that freezing winter in Germania, seven years ago. I have not forgotten.”
Chapter Eleven – Antioch
Roman Province of Syria – January 114 AD
The beat of the drums was barely audible, above the wild, enthusiastic cheering of the crowds who had gathered to welcome emperor Trajan and his entourage into the city of Antioch. Among the porticos and the covered walkways that lined both sides of the magnificent two-mile-long colonnaded street, a vast mass of people, nearly a hundred thousand strong, pushed and struggled to get a clear view of their emperor. It was nearly noon and surprisingly cold, but that had not deterred most of the citizens of the third largest city in the empire. From his vantage point beside a massive stone column, Fergus could see that the normally congested street, that split Antioch into two parts, had been cleared of all traffic and rubbish. Praetorian guards lined the wide colonnaded street at intervals, their brilliant armour and shields gleaming and glinting in the sunlight. And further down the street, at the city’s main roundabout, the fountains of the Nymphaeum were in full flow.
Eagerly Fergus craned his neck, gazing in the direction where the old Cherubim Gate had stood, but there was still no sign of the emperor and his entourage. He had arrived early to secure himself a spot along the street, hoping to get a first glimpse of Lusius Quietus, the general for whom he would soon be working, but as of yet there was no sign of him either. Only the steady rhythmic beat of the drummers, standing drawn up along the sides of the street, gave any indication that Trajan and his entourage were approaching. Unable to shake the habit even when he was off duty, Fergus turned to examine the faces in the crowds, looking for signs of trouble. It had been more than three months since he and Hadrian had arrived in Antioch and his first impression of the people of Syria was that they were even more lazy and effeminate than the Athenians. Hadrian had thrown himself into his work with an energy and a sober sense of purpose that had taken everyone by surprise. There had been no more late-night drinking sessions, no more sexual adventures, no loose talk, nothing but work, work and more work. And with his newfound graft, Fergus had noticed an authoritarian streak appearing in his boss. Once the way into Hadrian’s affection had been to entertain him and ply him with drink and sex, but now it seemed the only way to win Hadrian’s favour was through doing one’s job and doing it well. And woe to the man who did not perform.
Syria and the east were different to the rest of the empire which he’d seen, Fergus thought, as he studied the faces around him. The east was exotic and diverse. He had noticed that right away. It looked far wealthier and more sophisticated than Britannia or Germania or the provinces along the Danube. There seemed to be an abundance of everything - food, wine, temples, cities, prostitutes, money, slaves and people but also a laxness and a careless frivolity amongst the population, as if everything they enjoyed was a natural given right. On their first day-out in the city, Galena and the girls had been amazed, overwhelmed and had returned wide-eyed. Antioch was a huge melting-pot of different peoples. It was unlike anything they had experienced before. Greeks and Romans lived side by side with Phoenician settlers from Tyre, Carthage and northern Africa and in addition to them, there were people the likes of which his family had never seen before. The girls had gawked at the Bedouin Arabs from the desert wearing their traditional Keffiyeh headdresses, black-skinned Africans, orthodox Jews with their beards and skullcaps and Indian merchants all speaking to each other in their strange high-pitched languages. In the markets of Antioch, he and Galena had seen camels for the first time and had come across spices and foods that tasted and smelt like nothing they had ever tasted before.
But amongst such a diverse population there was also the inevitable tension between communities. Shortly after he had arrived, Fergus had been warned that, like in Alexandria in Egypt, tension was especially high between the Greek speaking majority and the Jewish community because of the destruction of the Jewish temple in Jerusalem by emperor Vespasian, some forty-four years ago. This was still an open wound for many Jews. The Jews, he had been advised, were troublemakers and best avoided, for they still did not recognise the authority of Rome. Fergus sighed as his eyes wandered across the faces in the crowds. There would not be many Jews in the crowds today to welcome Trajan into the city. He had tried to keep an objective and open mind. What did he care about such community tensions. That was a matter for the locals and the city authorities to sort out. His job was to protect his boss Hadrian, and for that he needed to hire the best bodyguards. So, despite mutterings of disapproval from Hadrian’s staff, he had hired a bright, young Jew named Barukh to replace the two bodyguards he’d lost in Athens. Barukh seemed loyal and honest enough, eager to do the job. And as it looked like Hadrian was going to be remaining at Antioch for an extended period. Fergus had reasoned and argued that it would help to have a man on board his close protection team who knew Antioch and its people inside out. Such local intelligence was invaluable.
But that had been months ago and that was his old job, for in two days’ time he would no longer be responsible for Hadrian’s security. Eagerly Fergus turned to gaze down the broad colonnaded street as the roar of the crowds suddenly rose to a new pitch. Coming towards him down the broad, paved street were several squadrons of mounted Praetorian guards, their immaculate armour and shields reflecting the sunlight. Some of the Praetorian offi
cers, richly decorated in the skins and heads of bears, lions and wolves, were holding up imperial banners and the “Imagine standard,” the image of Trajan, set in bronze, as they slowly made their way down the colonnaded street. Just behind them came emperor Trajan himself, standing in a solitary, horse-drawn chariot. Trajan was standing bolt upright, with a straight back, one arm raised in the air as he greeted the crowds, whilst in the other he was clutching the horse’s reins. He was dressed in his splendid imperial purple cloak and the laurels of victory rested on his head. To Fergus, watching from beside a stone pillar, Trajan looked every inch the tough, seasoned warrior emperor that the army had long ago come to love and respect. And the crowds of spectators seemed to agree for as they caught sight of Trajan, the roar and cheering of the crowds grew and grew, completely drowning out the noise of the drums.
Directly behind Trajan’s chariot, riding on horseback together in a line, came the emperor’s principal generals and military commanders - Hadrian, Palma, Celsus, Maximus and Quietus. They were dressed in their splendid military uniforms and personalised cuirassed armour, and as he caught sight of Hadrian, Fergus studied his boss carefully. Hadrian looked like he was enjoying the attention of the crowds for he was grinning and beaming from ear to ear, but he was also riding side by side with the men who had tried to assassinate him just a few months ago. It had to be a very awkward moment for all of them. But as he studied his boss, Fergus could see that Hadrian was doing a good job at hiding and keeping his real emotions in check. That was just as well he thought, for without any hard evidence there was no way Hadrian could start publicly accusing the powerful members of the War Party of trying to kill him. At best, such accusations could get Hadrian dismissed and sent home in disgrace and at worst it could start a civil war.
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